Dear London
I’m writing to tell you to stop it. Please. I don’t think I can take it any more and I just need to move on. You know we broke up. A while ago in fact. I packed my bags and said goodbye and went to Hong Kong and we were both happy. You didn’t have my gloomy fucking attitude dragging you down and I was ready for something new.
I blocked you on WhatsApp when you started messaging me, but I feel like you’re still in my life. There you are on my Instagram in your hot summer dresses and eating your reasonably priced small plates. And on my fucking Facebook (I thought I UNFRIENDED you!) in your cute little winter jacket, gloves and bobble hat sipping hot wine by a roaring fire and laughing with your friends. I thought you didn’t even like fucking socialising with people in winter. So stop contacting me. Please stop. It’s not good for either of us and we just need to have a clean break and move on.
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Dear London
I know it has been a while since we last spoke, but I appreciate your message the other day letting me know how things are going. I am sorry I was so angry when I wrote before, but I wanted us both to have space to move on. I’m in a much better place now, so was thinking maybe we could write from time to time as friends, just to see how we’re both getting on.
I was actually in your neck of the woods the other day and I went to this wonderful little hipster Indian place called Kricket in Soho. We managed to book a table - at 9.30pm because apparently you aren’t allowed to book and eat dinner at a normal time any more unless you’re willing to queue on the street at 6pm - but no matter. I think I enjoyed it more because I had time for four large gin and tonics and a bottle of Spanish beer before dinner, and because I was seeing old friends. To be honest I was so pissed by the time we sat down that I would probably have eaten them and thought it was delicious. I usually hate Indian restaurants because, as my Mum says, “I can do it better at home”. Remember that time at Gymkhana in Mayfair? But I definitely couldn’t have done this better at home, especially after four large gin and tonics and a bottle of Spanish beer. The Keralan fried chicken tasted even better than KFC, which, as you know, is the highest honour I can bestow on food. The date and pistachio-studded bread did a good job of soaking up those drinks, as did the salty, crunchy, mineral-y samphire pakoras, with all their oily salty fried-y goodness. I even liked the fish curry (which I definitely would normally rather have at home), which was soft, delicate and just the right amount of sweet. To be honest, I loved it all and it made me miss you. I hope you miss me too.
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Dear London
I haven’t heard from you in a while. Did I scare you? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open up old wounds. I was just excited because it reminded me of all the good times we used to have.
I saw you on Facebook the other day frolicking about in the sun. It seems like it has been sunny over there SINCE FOREVER. I saw everyone getting a bit overexcited about the football World Cup and throwing their drinks on each other. Did that really happen? It looked awful but quite fun.
I wanted to tell you that I went to this place last night called Taco El Pastor next to Borough Market. Remember when we used to stroll round there arm in arm and buy all those yummy overpriced goodies from the market to scoff down on the park bench next to the little church at the back? I never understood why so many stalls sell that cheese called comté. London Bridge isn’t the bloody French Alps is it?!
Anyway, the tacos at this place were to die for. Luckily my friend got there early to get a table as it was that usual no reservations wankery you know I hate so much. Small sharing plates “with some bigger options as well” – what a surprise! I did blush slightly when I arrived and announced myself to a total stranger (who I thought was my friend) by grabbing her waist from behind. Oops.
They had dinky little handmade soft tortilla tacos, filled with the usual tasty pork/prawn/chicken kind of things. I liked those a lot. There was some smoky bean and pork dish in a little bowl which made me very happy and a wonderful soft, zingy guacamole with homemade chips that I ended up eating with a spoon as it was so good. The quesadilla was a lot like a cheese sandwich, which was fine, but I would probably have preferred an actual cheese sandwich from one of those comté stalls. My non-alcoholic “spiced pineapple” water drink tasted like gummy bears, but I like gummy bears so I was pretty happy. They made us pay separately for chilli sauce, which was a bit odd. Nandos doesn’t charge extra and I use way more there anyway.
I found out at the end that the place is run by the same people who run that brilliant little tapas bar called Barrafina, which probably explained why I love it so much. I reckon if they opened up a restaurant inside a mouldy cardboard box I’d probably enjoy it.
Anyway, I thought I’d write as I know you like trying new places, and I really liked this one. You should try it if you have time. Have you been anywhere new recently? Let me know how things are when you have time.
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Dear London
Why haven’t you written? I guess you think it is best that we move on and don’t talk any more. I get it.
I know you might not be reading my letters, but I just have to tell you about this place I went last night near you called Kiln. They weren’t lying with the name, because it was bloody hot. Me and my friend were sat at the bar and they had charcoal barbeques about 3 feet away going full pelt the whole time. Honestly, if the food hadn’t been so good I would have probably complained and left.
It was a Thai grill type place, so really big flavours, which you know I like. The grilled meat, especially the lamb skewers, were beautifully done. All smoke and fire and cumin and sweetness. The veggies were in that salty yellow bean sauce I love and I can’t tell you enough how much I liked the grilled chicken. They also had this super flavourful claypot dish of glass noodles, pork fat and a thick-ish, unidentifiable, but totally delicious, gloop. I ate it all. It was a bit like Chachawan in Hong Kong with more BOOM. I seem to be going to the same type of hipster-bar-stool-only-no-reservations places recently, but the food is so good and its actually quite cheap, so I guess it’s ok. Hong Kong definitely isn’t that cheap, but they do serve proper portions there and you can normally make reservations, so every cloud and all that.
Anyway, I was thinking maybe I should stop writing to you for a while. I think we can be friends, but I don’t want to get dragged back in to what we had before. I have to remind myself that I never liked the winters, when I used to eat macaroni and cheese in the bath while wearing all my clothes to stave off the cold. I won’t say I miss you, but I do feel a sense of longing when I write. Do you miss me? Maybe we can see each other again properly someday.