I have two recurring dreams about this neighbourhood. In one, I am standing at the counter of Beigel Bake at two in the morning, mustard on my sleeve, watching a slab of salt beef being pulled from a ...
The queue on Boundary Street moves in one direction and it moves slowly, and if you join it on a Friday evening you will spend somewhere between thirty minutes and an hour in it. This is, by most reas...
Most of Shoreditch announces itself. That is rather the point of it. The street art is large and deliberate. The restaurants have queues that spill onto the pavement. The coffee shops have names that ...
There is a corner on Redchurch Street where I regularly lose sixty seconds of my life standing on the pavement, looking mildly deranged. Anyone who knows me would recognise the expression immediately ...
There is a particular kind of chaos that descends on Brick Lane on a Friday evening. The smell hits you first – a thick, gorgeous cloud of cumin and fenugreek and charred bread that drifts somew...