The cakes are scattered around the room, kept safely under their little glass dome, much alike the rose in Beauty & the Beast (I can’t help it that is what those things make me think about all the time). Much akin to the random spread of cakes, the furniture itself is an ode to the Brownian motion – which is really what the theatre is behind the curtains.
It is appropriate that Shoreditch Grind has a name reminiscent of “the daily grind”, as that is what it ultimately seems to be. Just like its apparent sister, London Grind, the place entices you with neon signs and logos such as “sex, coffee and rock n roll”, but it’s questionable how well it delivers.
Etched into memory from that night was my trip to the toilet – and it wasn’t even the stained glass in the cubicle. As I went to the sink, a gentleman appeared, opened the faucets, poured soap in my hands, handed me a towel and closed the faucets for me. It was rather odd, and it was unfortunate that the food wasn’t nearly as memorable.
Rushing down what seemed to be the Greenwich equivalent of Diagon Alley (more because of the shape of the street and the quirkiness surrounding it), we entered Red Door, or what could have arguably been at some point an opium den. Without the opium or the prostitutes, but the red lighting, the furniture, the busy buzz of it was all there.
My trip to Portugal brings back fond memories of over-consumption of Pasteis de Belem and general intoxication – after which much needed rest in a cafe would be needed. It was great to then catch up with a blogger friend at A Corner Of The World, a Portuguese cafe in Bethnal Green.
Coffee/tea-shops have always been a place where one can retreat, regain their strength and go back into the world (or work). The eternal search to find an adequate such safe haven in Canary Wharf seems to be just that – eternal. There is a variety of options but they all fall a bit short.
Royal Victoria area covers quite a few exciting bits: the Emirates Air Line (which, I presume, is a London Eye of the East), wakeboarding, shiny new glass buildings and an emptiness uncharacteristic to London. Then there’s also questionably named places like “The Crystal Cafe” (or have I just seen too much Breaking Bad?).