Absolutely Nothing To Sniff At

You probably know this already. That’s because you’re probably very clever. Some clever things, however, only seem that way.

Take, for instance the bright idea that someone had about how to ensure that anyone, anywhere could buy a “ripe” peach no matter how far they lived from places peaches grow: just pick them before they ripen, and let them mature on their journey. Bingo! One way to do that is to refrigerate said peaches to retard said maturity. This is why when you reach out to touch the beautiful dusky, slightly downy fruit you recoil in shock because they feel like marbles: ice cold and just as hard.

Those unfortunate shoppers who buy fruit by sight alone might never have tasted a genuinely ripe peach. This is tragic. Don’t let this happen to you. Occasionally some slip through though. Here’s how to detect them as they hide, visually identical to their tasteless, mealy cousins.

First, very gently touch each one. You will immediately be able to feel which are rock hard, and which have just the tiniest give. Pick up that peach and sniff it. Best yet, close your eyes. If it smells bitter, it is unripe. If it smells like nothing at all, it is unready. If it smells instantly like a peach — a sweet, heady aroma that makes the hairs in your nostrils tingle — then it is a likely candidate and must be placed in your basket.

Once you get home, eat your peach. They do not like to wait around all perfect until you decide you’re ready. No sir. Take a sharp paring knife, your peach, and a bowl, and get to work.

Why the bowl?

Just you wait and see.

Absolutely Nothing To Milk

I don’t know about you but my franglais is rather limited to ordering beer and it seems when I say Bonjour I generally get a Bonsoir reply, and vice versa. So, when it comes to shopping in the French supermarche, I can just about work out the contents of a packet, through a few recognisable words and a cartoon picture. For example, a happy pig winking with a chef’s hat on = pork product and a black and white cow with a bell round its neck = dairy product and so on. When given the task of finding fresh milk – “just like in England” – for my two boys who demand gallons of it 10 times a day, I’m always perplexed with what exactly is fresh milk in France? There’s a variety which comes in plastic bottles with either green, red or blue tops which is definitely not fresh as it’s not in the chiller cabinet and then there are the cartons of some kind of milk product which has certainly been pasteurised and homogenised but also has a shelf life of about 20 years. Not so fresh. The only thing I can ever find in the chiller cabinet are the minute cartons of which I’m presuming is cream…..due to size, nothing else. Generally, whatever I buy is always the wrong thing, that was until now!

Located outside the entrance to the local Intermarche is a vending machine about the size of a photo booth and next to it a slightly smaller one which dispenses empty, plastic, one litre bottles. It was quite clear from the ginormous winking cow, that this was a milk product and to my joy, and a handful of euros, it was indeed the freshest of chilled milk.

Getting the bottle was pretty straightforward, 20 cents in the machine et voila. Then, I hovered for some time clutching my 1 euro piece in front of the cow vending machine and finally plucked up the courage to slot in the coin at which point I was greated with the audio of a cow mooing it’s heart out at full volume. Thankfully this is a familiar sound to the passers by so not too many heads turned and stared. Once the mooing had begun, a latched door popped open revealing a tap, spout sort of thing which, when the green button was pressed, dispensed me a litre of the coldest, freshest milk I’ve tasted in years.

Of course the first time I came home with the new milky treasure I was quizzed for some time by my constantly sceptical wife asking how I knew it was definitely safe to drink and in fact definitely milk. But once tasted and even after translating the label, she seemed almost convinced. So no it’s not pasteurised but it’s fresher and more delicious than any milk I’ve ever tasted and not a single tummy is complaining……yet.

Absolutely Nothing to Eat : The Best Burger in East London

I don’t have anything particularly against American food. Frankly some days there’s nothing better than a big fat juicy burger, fries and a milkshake. But you know, not every day. Not all the time. But maybe it’s just me, maybe this is what people want to eat ALL THE TIME. I only wonder as it’s struck me that around the small enclave of Hoxton Square it seems that it’s all you can eat ( I do appreciate that this is a rather localised, East London rant, what can I tell you, I never leave).

First up, we have the original Diner on Curtain Road. A Sunday afternoon essential for all strange hair-cutted locals and their hang-overs having a languid de-brief over the previous nights Russian bar activity. Or you could pick something similar up at BarMusicHall a mere skip and a jump away. OR you could go retro and hit the Square itself – hey knock yourself out with a fat burger at Bar and Kitchen or chicken burger at Ziggy’s on the corner. You want more Americana? Heck – don’t forget The Breakfast Club. Surely, that’s enough though eh? Surely that’s more than ENOUGH AMERICAN FOOD OUTLETS IN ONE SMALL SQUARE? Apparently not. Recently opened, a Byron burger. Then whack bam next to it on the opposite corner? The Red Dog Saloon. Offering all manner of pulled pork sandwiches and fries and who knows what else.

I don’t know whose idea this all was. Why we can’t have more of a happy mixture in the area (yes, yes I know there are like a million Thai and Vietnameses on Kingsland Road, but we LIKE them). I don’t know. I mean everyone loves a homogenised high street chain restaurant, non? If it’s good enough for Islington then surely we can suck it up? Everyone must just love eating American food ALL THE TIME. Or perhaps it is some sinister plot to rid the good people of Hoxton of their skinny jeans by making it impossible for them to fit them. We just don’t know.

But if you would like to eat something other than American food in the Hoxton area, may one recommend these establishments:

Fifteen: the original youth project from Mr Oliver. It’s still great. And you get to feel nicely smug about supporting the kidz.

The Princess: Lovely British gastropub, super charming staff and super yummy fare. Do rock up for a roast. It’s also a divine haven from the hen night hell of Old Street on a Saturday night.

Hoxton Apprentice: The only corner of the Square un-Yanked. Delicious and good for the community.

The Rivington Grill: The best fry up breakie in town.

Charlie Wrights International Wine Bar: I jest not. Rock up for the bargainous and delicious Thai food, then stay well into the small hours for a classic Hoxton night out with all kinds of local ‘sights.’ Double dare you.