Neighborhood 2011: Part Two

My second most frequent off-compound neighborhood excursion is not to so much a place, but an area… Little Portugal. Just last week I went to the nearby Luis Deli to stock up on olive oil. And whenever I make my grandmother's chicken and rice, I get chouriço there. It really makes a difference in the dish. Before we moved to Vauxhall, I used the Spanish version (chorizo, which even Wikipedia thinks is close enough and is available in all the big grocery shops) but the spice balance in the dish is all wrong for chorizo. It just came out too acidic. But as soon as I used real chouriço, the dish tastes just like avô used to make. The deli unfortunately do not have any Azorean chouriço, which is much spicier than the typical continental version. But there is a Alentejo version available here that is almost as spicy. On my way home from work, if I hear anyone talking Portuguese on the train, they always get off the train at the same stop as me... seems I've found the London version of New Bedford, quite by accident, but found nonetheless.

Photo Credits:
Gallo
Oliveira da Serra
Chouriço
My Kitchen

Neighborhood 2011: Part One

I am not sure if anyone noticed, but 2011 marks the first in last five Augusts that we did not move. Let me assure you that we noticed. It was a treat beyond description not to move: no searching, no packing, no crazy flat mates, no wondering what temperature the shower would be, and no rodents and their traveling companions. I was flicking through entries about our previous flats and noticed that I usually posted something about the neighborhood shortly after moving. Not this time: probably because our flat is part of a monstrosity with many amenities right in the complex… or as I like to refer to it: the compound. Don’t get me wrong… it is all very convenient and orderly and clean but it is also very gentrified and sterile. I’m certainly not pining for a run down and dirty neighborhood, but a little personality would not be a bad thing, would it? The restaurant is probably the compound’s best feature. It’s called Aqua and it’s halfway decent… and on one of the 10 days in the year that you might actually want to eat outside in London, the outdoor seating area has a fantastic atmosphere. The pub on the other hand is awful: the beers are generic, the atmosphere is too posh, and the chips are the worst I’ve ever tasted. How can you mess up chips...and in London of all places!

Which brings me to my most frequent off-compound destination in the first year. The Windmill is a pub on Lambeth High Street. The term ‘high street’ may be unfamiliar to Americans and can be loosely translated to ‘main street’ or ‘downtown’. Lambeth High Street bless its little… hmmm I was going to say ‘heart’ but I’m not sure it has one. This poor ‘little street that would’ has got to be the saddest high street/main street/downtown ever, and I’m from New Bedford! You don’t need any fingers to count the number of shops on it: the pub is it. And even though the selection of beer is weak, I really like this place. There is something about the outdated decor featuring actual couches that is honest and unassuming in a way that makes you think you could be having a pint in someone's grandparent's living room. I’m not a weekend pub goer and I hope this place is rip roaring on the weekend, but during the week it is quite quiet, which is part of its charm. Sometimes it's so quiet that I am a little concerned that the next time I go it will be gone.

Photo Credits:

Aqua
Windmill