Rainbow Cuisine

Freshly cracked oysters, fragrant langoustines, fillets of fish cooked simply with lemon and butter – Cape Town is a seafood lover’s mecca. Reading each restaurant’s menu is a roll call of the oceans, with meat dishes listed like a hasty afterthought, and the limited vegetarian options limping in last, if at all. One thing is certain: if seafood isn’t your thing, the incredible freshness of the cuisine here will be completely lost on you. Sure, you can order a delicious kudu steak, or some barbecued boerewors, and you’d most probably enjoy a fantastic slice of South African cuisine – but you’d still be missing out on the astoundingly fresh ingredients the surrounding seas have to offer. And Cape Town’s gastronomic scene is not just fresh: it’s creative, colourful, and consistently good.

First up, to the renowned Cape Grace Hotel and its Signal restaurant– named for Signal Hill, a giant lion-shaped mound seated next to the magnificent Table Mountain – where we were swiftly introduced to the outstanding cuisine the Cape has to offer. The region has a wonderfully vivid heritage, including Dutch settlers, Asian traders, French Huguenots and, of course, native African cultures. Ancestral traces of Malay spices can be tasted in the infused curried dishes, whilst European influences assert themselves in rich seasoned flavours, and local specialities proudly fight for dominance in specialities straight from the African plains. It’s no wonder South Africa is known as the Rainbow nation: even its food is distinctive and deliciously diverse, a melting pot of global flavours. In keeping with such a legacy, Signal restaurant delivered exquisite springbok steak, tuna tataki, and kingklip fish – all sourced locally and cooked to precision with an inventive twist.

But the outstanding freshness of Cape seafood was nowhere better on show than at Baia and Harbour House, two restaurants overlooking the plush V&A Waterfront. Where Baia served up incredible langoustines, and sashimi that melted like butter, Harbour House offered a seafood platter fit for a mermaid, including mussels, shrimp, lobster and scallops. These were all catches of the day: light and almost sweet to taste. The impeccable service, especially at Harbour House, made these two restaurants world-class – in fact, they could easily give top London restaurants a run for their money. For the best oysters in town, make straight for Pigalle, a retro restaurant complete with live entertainment every night. Cracked open just before being served, they were so fresh they were practically still alive (trust me, don’t let that put you off). A squirt of lemon and a dash of Tabasco and they were ready to eat. With iconic movie stills smouldering down from the walls, this was a sleek joint, and whilst the live jazz band injected a buzzing atmosphere (their impressive repertoire ranged from 60s classics to modern-day hits), the friendly waiters kept us laughing all the way through to dessert. After all, there’s a reason why Pigalle is one of the top restaurants in town: this wasn’t just dinner, it was a great night, the whole shebang. 

And if you just can’t get enough seafood, head to Haiku for truly great sushi and sashimi. Chic and sumptuous, this Asian fusion restaurant in the heart of the city served up all the oriental classics besides sushi: there was Chinese dim sum, fragrant Malaysian hot pot curries, and Japanese tempura, all cooked with great authenticity and care. This was by no means Asian food catered for westernised appetites: it was the real deal, and combined with the crisp freshness of the Cape’s seafood, it worked a treat.

So whether it’s Asian, South African, or a more European flavour your tastebuds are after, Cape Town is guaranteed to deliver. This may be a country once divided by apartheid, but with food the different ethnic backgrounds have peacefully combined forces, each distinctive cuisine lending balance and strength to the other. After all, it’s meal times that traditionally bring people together, no matter what culture, and it was great to see such global connection in Cape Town’s restaurants. There may be a lot in this country’s past that it wishes to heal, but the Cape’s cuisine should be proud in the knowledge that it demonstrates worldly and world-class harmony. Dining in Cape Town proves the Rainbow nation is as colourfully bright as ever. Just make sure you’re prepared to eat seafood. 

The Cape Winelands

We’re in the very heart of the Cape winelands and although it’s softly raining, there’s no mistaking the almost dreamlike scenery – the vivid, fertile green of the vineyards postcard perfect in every way. Ahead a sweeping tree-lined avenue gracefully recedes, the beautiful gables of a Cape Dutch house beckoning in the distance. This is the epitome of pastoral tranquility – especially as springbok and zebra peacefully graze beside the road, totally oblivious as we begin the long drive up to the estate. Welcome to Saxenburg Wine Farm - a renowned vineyard in its native South Africa and around the globe for its world-class vintages, elegance, and fascinating history. Even this entrance lives up to its name with fierce pride: it’s thoughtful, precise, almost regal. You can practically savour its wine already.

Sitting atop the hills above the Kuils River near Stellenbosch, Saxenburg is prime winegrowing land. With the Atlantic Ocean to one side, and the Indian Ocean to the other, the vineyards are perfectly positioned: the cool breezes from the two seas and the deep rich soil combining to produce the finest grapes. And let’s face it, the stunning view across to Table Mountain doesn’t hurt, either. Everything here is well thought through: somehow even the car park is pretty. We’re here for a private wine-tasting session (thanks to my wonderful friend) and we are certainly not disappointed. The service is beyond hospitable, the wine is outstanding, and we are even given a personally inscribed copy of the estate’s book. The little touches. Under the inspired guidance of its owners, the Buhrer family, and the talented winegrower Nico van der Merwe, Saxenburg has flourished of late – often walking away with all the medals at prestigious South African wine competitions. In particular, the Saxenburg Shiraz Select (SSS) is a truly great vintage– an award-winning wine celebrated for its unrivalled quality. We bought a bottle of the Reserve Collection Shiraz Select 2003 and were blown over by its rich complexity - spiced yet subtle. No, the bottle did not last long, and yes we ordered a few cases to ship back home. After all, you can never have too much of a good thing.

And if wine tasting isn’t your thing (if such a thing were possible) then book a table at the estate’s restaurant, The Guinea Fowl - a great place to enjoy a delicious meal as an accompaniment to the farm’s wine. With dramatic views across False Bay to Table Mountain, it was no surprise the Guinea Fowl is extremely popular as a wedding venue. When we arrived the decorations were exquisite, with dreamlike floral arrangements, fairy lights, and white muslin lining the tables. And besides careful attention to detail, it boasts a great menu bursting with traditional African dishes, including Mozambican curry and South African bobotie (think moussaka, but better). Whether you want to go big or go small, this little restaurant is guaranteed to put on a good show.

There’s a wonderfully intimate feel to Saxenburg that makes it unique. Its refined taste is totally unlike some of the other wine estates we visited in Stellenbosch which were too commercial, too touristy. This is a place that treasures the traditions of winegrowing – harvesting only the very best grapes, crafting only the very best wines, and marketing it all with stellar attention to detail. There’s an Old French proverb that says, “in water one sees one’s own face, but in wine one beholds the heart of another”. Wisely quoted to us at the tasting, it perfectly sums up Saxenburg’s devotion to its vineyards – the love, pride and joy they get from making outstanding wines, and relishing the fruits of their labour to boot. These are wines of distinction: wines to savour, enjoy and, above all, cherish. Just as well we’ll have a few extra bottles at home. 

http://www.saxenburg.co.za/

The African Wilderness

Last night I ate kudu kebabs. They were fragrantly spiced, cooked in the African bush by the side of the track, and they tasted surprisingly good. With the setting sun gracefully bowing out of a deeply purple sky, and nothing but the sound of silence out in the bush, it felt good to be on south African soil. Ten minutes later, and we were in hot pursuit of a male lion we’d heard roaring in the distance. Such is the pace of life in the African wilderness: a calm connection to the land that, without so much as a warning, can be changed by a single moment. Then it becomes pure adrenalin rush - the thrill of the chase (or, if you’re one of the unlucky ones, being chased) propelling you on. It took us over an hour to track down the lions, the long grass and surprisingly dense vegetation always keeping them one step ahead. But suddenly there they were, every inch as I’d always imagined them to be: lean, majestic kings. When one of these magnificent beasts opened his mouth and let rip his roar, we felt the air vibrate, rippling us to our very cores. The sound travelled for miles, echoing impressively in such a vast, open space. Given he was lying barely a few metres from us, it was breathtaking stuff - if a tiny bit intimidating. Never in your wildest dreams could you picture yourself so exposed to a powerful lion such as this, and yet here we were, within a split second pounce. Out in the African wild, it seems anything is possible.

We’re in the Madikwe Hills, a reserve in the northern tip of South Africa where the country borders Botswana, and all these incredible experiences have been down to the faultless set-up they have here. At 160 square km, this is one of the larger game reserves in the country- and with fabulous safari lodges, impeccable service, and rangers like walking encyclopedias, Madikwe is undoubtedly the place to come for adventure. Kudu kebabs are just one local dish we’ve been privileged to try - alongside springbok carpaccio, marinated eland (beats beef anyday), warthog rashers, and lots and lots of biltong. Although I found Pumba to be somewhat on the chewy side, everything else was surprisingly delicious, and I’d definitely choose eland on the menu again.

And it’s not just the cuisine that has been to the highest standard. Madikwe Hills is a sumptuous resort - luxurious lodges built into the hillside. With dramatic views across the plains and an ice cold plunge pool, it’s the perfect setting to soak up the African sun in between the early bird safari (wake up call at 5.30am) and the afternoon drive. And when you’re not enjoying yourself eating or sunbathing, the rest of your time is spent out amongst the animals - if not walking and directly braving the wildlife, then at least admiring it from the safety of the vehicle. The reserve boasts the Big Five - elephant, rhino, leopard, cape buffalo and, of course, the lion. We managed three out of five in our 3 days here, the wily leopard and elusive buffalo sadly laying low in the scrub. For all that, though, we were lucky enough to witness some incredible sights - a lion pride feeding on a kudu, elephants having a mud bath, and a brown eagle killing a deadly puff adder. We’ve all watched from our sofas as David Attenborough guides us across the plains, but to live it up close is like nothing you’ll have ever done before. Longleat can’t even compare. I’ve held chameleons and giant millipedes, and seen spiders big enough to eat birds whilst hippos splash in the river. Every drive promised something unexpectedly different. It’s been utterly magical, and one thing is certain: I’ll be coming back to Madikwe to try my luck at finding the magnificent, evasive leopard.

La Bodega Negra

There’s a new Latino restaurant in town, and it’s causing a bit of a Mexican wave amongst fajita fans. (Apologies, the pun was just too good to resist). This newly-opened eaterie, La Bodega Negra- the Black Shop - is a slinky, fun spot in Soho that is hugely popular with young trendy types and sharp businessmen fresh from the office. We arrived to find James Corden merrily chowing down at the table next to us, and at just 6.30 the place was already spilling over, a small queue snaking out the door. We dined in the café-taqueria, accessible from Moore Street, which boasts a buzzing, magnetic atmosphere. Retro posters beam down from the walls onto a diner-style setting – complete with booth seating, low lighting, and soulful jazz music. In this sense, Bodega boldly imitates its older sister, La Esquina, set in hip Nolita in Manhattan: it’s a throwback to the Mad Men era, fizzing with sleek but playful charm. The food, too, was highly stylised, each tortilla and taco perfectly round. Think little soft circles of delicious delight, topped with street-style fillings such as avocado, steak picante, and duck. You might think duck would taste better merrily stuffed in a Chinese pancake (and do I love a good pancake), but strangely Latino duck does sort of work. Nothing a lick of salsa verde won’t fix, anyway. Sure, Bodega’s menu doesn’t try to be completely authentic; in fact, it’s a Spanglish-style take on a decent selection of Mexican favourites, chucking down its sombrero in the face of tradition. Portions are slightly on the small side, which is frustrating, as they do leave you wanting more. But on a brighter note, the service was faster than you can say Speedy Gonzalez, so at least you won’t have to wait long when you decide to order more (as you will inevitably want to do). One word of warning, though: the chorizo tortillas are only for those who can handle a bit of jalapeño spice and I found its flavours somewhat overpowering. So much so that it ruined my wine, disaster. For those willing to dig a bit deeper into their pockets, the basement restaurant dishes up the same taqueria selection but also offers slightly bigger (and pricier) dishes. Cue heavy steaks, stews, and proper seafood dishes. And whilst a whiff of Esquina’s hipster influence can be faintly detected upstairs, here it reigns supreme: from the moment you walk through the black entrance off 9 Old Compton Street, saucily marked “Sex Shop”, it’s dark, daring, and seductive. Whichever section you choose, La Bodega Negra is undoubtedly a heaving hangout for adventurous Soho revellers – a nightspot for you and your amigos that’s as bright and promising as a piñata, and full of beans to boot. And with a list of tequila as long as the wine menu, this is one Black Shop that knows how to show its guests a great time.

Behind the Lens

“Fashion is the armour to survive the reality of everyday life. To do away with fashion would be like doing away with civilization”, quips Bill Cunningham – the legendary street snapper and photojournalist for the New Yorker, somewhat sensationally. To the average Joe or, to aim more accurately, the average Josephine (all the average, blokey Joes are more likely to be down the pub upon hearing the word ‘fashion’) this might seem like a vast overstatement. It’s too epic, too melodramatic, too ridiculous and sweeping. The world is hardly likely to spin off its axis if we all disrobed and declared fashion dead. Fashion is only armour inasmuch as it shields us from the elements. Only nudists willingly step outdoors in the buff; the rest of us have modestly used fashion merely to cover our nakedness, something we’ve been doing ever since Adam and Eve first glanced southwards and grabbed the nearest fig leaves.

But Bill Cunningham is no average Joe, and something in his statement rings true. Before fashion blogs, Twitter, and live streaming from the catwalk, there was just one lone man roaming the city that never sleeps - with nothing but his camera, his Schwinn bike and bucket loads of vision to sustain him. He’s the pioneer of fashion photo blogs, the grandfather of snapping style trends on the street. The Sartorialist was probably in nappies when Bill first clicked his shutter. His name is a byword for Manhattan trend, whispered almost reverentially by fashion titans such as Anna Wintour and Iris Apfel. But if he passed you in the street, you wouldn’t even blink. Everyday he dresses in the utilitarian blue jackets worn by French street-sweepers – a simple uniform that allows him to roam New York’s streets relatively unnoticed. He’s mysterious, nomadic, frugal. But his photos – and his subjects – are vivacious and eccentric. Forget the bi-annual fashion shows. For Bill, the best catwalk is the street itself. 

And now the tables have turned. Bill Cunningham New York, which finally hit UK screens last Friday, is a fascinating documentary exploring the genius behind the lens – and the man and myth himself. This is not just a film for the fashion-obsessed. Yes, a large chunk features heart-warming commentary from those who know him well - intimate interviews that paint a picture of a humble but extraordinary man. There’s an analytical, almost anthropological depth here, too - a searing examination of how popular culture influences and interacts with the media. Cunningham is not just a photographer. No, he deserves far more credit. For over half a century, he has snapped generations of New Yorkers – from uptown high society like the Astors and the Rockefellers to anonymous downtown characters that channel their individual flair through fashion. Think Harlem girls alongside Fifth Avenue ladies. Cunningham is the middle man between street-level culture and the high rise Manhattan offices of lofty newspaper publications. He’s unassuming and quiet but keenly observant – his vast body of work a eulogy to the Big Apple’s ever-changing trends. Even his paper, the New Yorker, has compared his two columns, “Evening Hours” and “On the Street”, as Manhattan’s high school yearbook – a nostalgic chronicle of the city’s style trends over the years. If he points his lens at you, it’s a metaphorical stamp of approval. The rather attention-seeking Anna Wintour even claims that Bill ignoring you is “death” (these fashion types really do have a tendency to over exaggerate). Consider his camera his pen: an instrument that allows him to capture and record the look and feel of an era with precision and flair.

Even those average Joes down at the pub, with their underdeveloped taste for fashion, will find something strangely alluring about this documentary. It’s clear to see why everyone “gets dressed for Bill”: for someone who has spent the past 50 years snapping sidewalk trends and high society soirées, he’s a captivating figure. You can’t help but warm to him. His home is a modest studio apartment, his bedroom an office filled with filing cabinets and a sparse camp bed. Money is clearly not the driving factor in his career. He’s a perfectionist, a visionary, an artist rich in humanity and cultural understanding. In short, this is a wonderful little film that will open your eyes to New York’s street style. As Bill himself says (somewhat theatrically, what else could we expect?), “You have to get out there, and let the street speak to you. You can’t report to the public until you’ve seen it all.”

http://billcunninghamnewyork.co.uk/press

Sleep Walk, Sleep Talk

Call me biased, but London really is the greatest city on earth. Bursting with culture, quirky individuality, and unapologetic charm, it’s magnificent: a vast, chaotic metropolis constantly in flux. But beneath the city’s buzzing exterior lies everyday uniformity – Londoners trapped by behavioural patterns, society’s norms condemning them to dreary daily routine. It’s written all over the place – from exhausted commuters asleep on the Tube to crowded streets that are teeming yet tragically anonymous. When was the last time you spoke to a stranger on the train, or even smiled at a passer by? We see the same people each day and never exchange a word – characters from all walks of life always in too much of a hurry to stop and talk. Eyes forward, marching on. And it is precisely this paradox of urban life that forms the subject of artist Suki Chan’s film Sleep Walk, Sleep Talk – an exploration of what freedom means to contemporary society. Of what it means to be a teeny weeny cog in the great London machine.

Previously showing as a twin installation at 198 Gallery in Dulwich and currently on show at the Museum of London, Sleep Walk Sleep Talk is powerful stuff. The first featured work in a 2009 initiative called FREE TO AIR by Film & Video Umbrella for London Councils, it takes Roosevelt’s famous four freedoms – freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from want and freedom from fear – and asks four Londoners to create a piece that explores their interpretation of freedom in modern society. And Chan’s work is psychological and punchy – a hypnotising piece of art that is fascinating to watch, and disturbingly easy to understand.

Weaving together rapidly moving images shot with soporific time-lapse effect, Chan’s film maps London as it is from afar and as it should be known up close. The trailing comet tails of transport lights in flux are almost balletic, revealing the city’s repetitive heartbeat. It’s clinically observed stuff: the electric veins of city lights both visually arresting and scientifically symmetrical as they whiz past defiant high-rise architecture. You feel like a fly-not-so-much-on-the-wall but more high-up-in-the-sky, watching London rush by from afar. Interspersed with these tranquilising shots are the individual tales – the personal stories that exist on our everyday periphery. Chan features artists and writers, city slickers, security guards: all remarking on their own freedoms and their experience of London. She’s intuitive, this lady – the intimate close-ups, nuanced gestures, and fleeting facial expressions exposing the charisma of an anonymous London. Haunting narratives overlay the film: vague echoes that seem to stem from the city’s subconscious itself. Channelling a hazy sleepwalker’s robotic trudge through daily life, the unconscious blurted mutterings of a sleeptalker’s dream, it’s subliminal and sublime. Watch this excerpt now. I challenge you not to be mesmerised.

http://vimeo.com/6499826

http://www.sukichan.co.uk/sleepwalk.htm

The Jungle VIP

Of late, fashion has gone ape for cult Swedish labels. It seems the land that brought us Abba, Ikea and meatballs (alright so I shamelessly stereotype, but can you really beat these exports for sheer novelty value? I think not) is also home to sassy yet affordable designers such as H&M, Acne and Cheap Monday – three labels that currently dominate the ever-changing fashion scene. It’s become a Swedish jungle out there: fashion mavens regularly strutting their stuff in Acne’s cool denim and, when their funds have been blown out the water, sneaking into H&M and Cheap Monday to stock up on the good stuff. Think unwashed denim, on-trend design and sharp style insight – all at a gleefully affordable price. After all, Sweden is a country big on equality – you need only assemble one of Ikea’s identikit flatpack houses to understand their weird thing for uniformity. But where fashion is concerned, it’s just the prices that target an equal society. The rest is pure high-end design- aimed at savvy women who know how to create a look.

Well, now it’s time for Monki, Cheap Monday’s cool little sister, to steal the limelight. At last, the brand has opened the doors to its first UK standalone store on Carnaby Street – and this is one shop that gets up to monkey mischief. Fabulous, eye-popping clothes at delightfully affordable prices crown Monki the new king of the fashion swingers – all on sale in a two-floor store stuffed to the nines with crazy toys and bonkers décor. It’s a bit like walking into a Japanese themed cartoon, or swimming along the ocean floor. Two totally incongruous images I know, but that pretty much sums up the Monki experience. I’ve been a fan of the label since discovering their Selfridges concession last Christmas (perfect timing for me; not so perfect if you ask the poor souls who bore the brunt of my present wish list) and I’m not ashamed to say my wardrobe is now a riot of neon and clashing prints, perhaps even more so than it was before. I’m talking bright neon pink shorts and a burnt orange skirt; colours so bright I am forced to consider sunglasses when I glance in the mirror. And it’s not just me who has fallen for this Monki charm. Women in the office, too, are often decked out in the brand’s bright, brash pieces – furtively trying to cover a flash of neon yellow with their boring black cardies. Injecting some much-needed, if a little offensive, colour into their dreary winter wardrobes. So move over, Acne. With the Monki store swinging into town, I predict a lot more monkeying around.

www.monki.com

House

At first glance, it looks like an eerie still from a Tim Burton film. A gothic sprawling house with precarious, pokey turrets perches uneasily on a desolate dock. Jagged rocks loom in the foreground beside a ragged highway, as a flock of black crows suspiciously hovers in the air. They might even dive bomb at any given minute. There’s a burning pier in the distance – clouded by thick black smog. It’s all a bit disturbing and disorientating, yet somehow magnificent and awesome. A wonderfully atmospheric, but horribly haunting, landscape. You wonder where this place is, who set the pier alight, and how the house hasn’t crumbled into the sea. In short, you’re scratching your head in utter confusion (well, this was my immediate reaction anyway) wondering what the hell is going on. Or, to be more precise, what hell is going on.

But then you peer closer and it all becomes clear. Well, sort of clear. Despite appearances, this photo (simply entitled “House”) cannot be a photo at all. For starters, you realise that the fairytale house is an impossibly layered mansion of chimneys, windows and porches that structurally defies reality. This is not reality, nor is it a Tim Burton-esque still. No, this is just one of artist Jim Kazanjian’s many surreal, swindling landscapes. Designed to fool you. And you were fooled by the tricky thing. To label his work as photography would be misleading. You see, Jim’s a bit of a meanie (and a magpie… let’s call him a meanie magpie) – chopping and changing photos from his huge archive and digitally reassembling them into deliberately realistic landscape prints. His mission? “To defamiliarise the familiar” in photography. I genuinely shudder at these words (anyone who studied English Literature will understand my pain) – so to translate from Pretentious to Nutshell, he basically asks us to question today’s mass digital photography by confusing us with something that seems authentic. And he definitely succeeds. His work is a series of fascinating collages, both impossible and impossibly real. It’s all a bit apocalyptic in Jim’s imaginary world: houses regularly seem to implode upon themselves and he’s a big fan of monochrome graphics and sci-fi elements. It’s intriguing. In a world of endless digital photos, where even the most ridiculous can be made to seem real, this is brilliantly conceived art that makes you peer that little bit closer. Jim, you meanie magpie, just two words. Mission accomplished.

http://www.kazanjian.net/

Beautiful Chaos

Sometimes names can be deceptive. Dover Street Market sounds like it should be a bustling seafood bazaar, perhaps located somewhere in the East end – all wet streets, loud street hawks, and a whiff of fish so strong it makes your eyes water. But it’s not. Instead, the only fish that come anywhere near this super stylish, upmarket department store that is the real Dover Street Market are mercilessly taxidermied and triumphantly on display in one of the many fascinating (if admittedly pretentious) wooden cabinets dotted around the shop. There’s certainly a smell in the air- but it’s not fish, it’s the whiff of fashion snobbery sniffing their noses at anything priced at less than four digits. For here, cutting-edge haute couture meets derelict art gallery. Designed with the concept of “beautiful chaos” in mind, it’s the brainchild of Comme des Garçons’ visionary founder Rei Kawakubo- a 6-floor palatial market just off Bond Street retailing only the most influential designers in fashion. From Hussein Chalayan to the ever-covetable Alaia, this is the shop where fashion dreams are made and destroyed (by lack of cashflow). Perhaps one day in a gazillion years’ time I might just be able to afford an Alaia dress. Or, to be more precise, the belt of an Alaia dress. Hell, who am I kidding: the buckle of the belt of an Alaia dress.

But for all the expense and exclusivity, Dover Street Market is undoubtedly London fashion’s first port of call for sartorial elegance and incredible design. Everything here is thoughtfully contemplated - from the designers’ individual spaces to the main window display (this year crafted by irreverent wind-up artists Jake and Dinos Chapman, featuring smiley faces on flags and dinosaurs- wacky, yes, but also a little underwhelming given their rich imaginations). Each year, the marketplace undergoes a biannual Tachiagari (Japanese for beginning) – a transformative period when the marketplace retreats into its chrysalis for 3 days, only to emerge with reworked spaces and new collaborative concepts. 2012’s first Tachiagari has recently been unveiled- and with its scaffolding remnants, untreated white floors, and exposed electrics, the entire feel is one of scrubbed down chic. Rebooted spaces from the likes of Alexander Wang, Ann Demeulemeester, and the hotly-anticipated introduction of Sarah Burton for Alexander McQueen (visionary creator of that royal wedding dress) continue to put DSM firmly on the map, proving it is still the destination for cherry-picked, to-die-for style. Even if you’re only here to window shop. My secret tip? The market is now newly-opened on Sundays , and with the delicious Rose bakery on the 4th floor serving up a mouthwatering brunch menu that includes smoked salmon (oh look, they do sell fish after all) and scrambled eggs, pancakes with banana and maple syrup, muesli with fresh berries and more, now you have yet another excuse to visit. After all, at reasonable prices, this brunch is probably the one thing in the entire 6 floors which normal people can realistically afford. All diehard Sunday shoppers, just make sure you shop first and eat later: brunch this good means you’re sure to be one little piggie rolling out of the market.

http://www.doverstreetmarket.com/

Hare and Tortoise

You could forgive me for thinking, nay hoping, that this restaurant would be some sort of country pub serving proper helpings of traditional British fare. In my head, Hare and Tortoise sounded like one of those rural pubs you drive past in a sleepy little village in the backend of nowhere, run by a sweet but ancient couple who were probably around when Aesop first wrote his fable. You know the type: pubs so old they’re practically inns. Or to put it allegorically: pubs more tortoise than they are hare. So you can imagine my surprise, if not slight disappointment, when we arrived at said restaurant – only to be handed Oriental menus. Confused, yes I was. Now, don’t get me wrong: I will always be partial to a little bit of noodle. It’s in my blood, after all. But I had spent the entire day in the office happily imagining, and I mean properly crafting, the dream burger I would be utterly devouring come dinner time. With fries on the side, of course. Those who know me will testify that really is no exaggeration. (I often wonder how I am still slim. One day, my metabolism will revolt in disgust against my rudely healthy appetite, and I will wake up positively obese. Until then, please keep feeding me).

But although my initial reaction to the Oriental menu (handed to me by an Oriental waiter, the clue was there from the start, wasn’t it?) was one of outrage – as my dream burger disappeared in a cartoon puff of smoke- I can now happily report that this restaurant is great. Yes, its name is cruelly misleading, and you often have to queue if you haven’t got a reservation (luckily I swanned straight in with my super-organised friend) – but the food is delicious and best of all, it’s cheap. The menu is one massive Oriental umbrella, covering everything from noodles and Thai curries to sushi and Malaysian rice dishes. The ingredients are fresh and despite the Western name, the food genuinely tastes authentic. Think Wagamama’s but this time cooked properly. And with comfier seating. Best of all, if you order a green tea, you are eligible for endless free top-ups all evening. Perfect if you back your epic conversational skills (as we most definitely did…peeling ourselves out of our seats many, many hours later). With various branches around London, this Asian restaurant chain is well worth a visit for tasty yet affordable food. And whilst the service can sometimes be a bit slow, if anything it just proves that, like the tortoise, slow and steady always wins the race. http://www.hareandtortoise.co.uk/

All at Sea