Why Middle Eastern food is the new Italian

Baklava at Babaji, Shaftesbury Avenue (Photo: Emily Rosselli)

Now I'm not sure if this is just a London thing, or if I'm guilty of assuming London is representative of the whole world... But Middle Eastern food is, like, so hot right now.

I'm not referring to 2am kebabs or the beige hues of houmous, pitta and falafel. These days, a Middle Eastern menu is more likely to showcase a rainbow of sunny, colourful, aromatic and exotic flavour combinations and sharing plates, evoking images of sun-drenched lands and lively bazaars.

And it seems this new way to eat has struck a chord with Brits - Middle Eastern food is booming. Could our love affair with Middle Eastern food be the real deal, or just a quick fling?

Middle Eastern flavours have become as ubiquitous as salted caramel or pulled pork, only this time we're talking about the eclectic and ancient cuisines of an entire subcontinent, so it's a lot less easy to get bored of.

Vibrant, sociable,  cheap, healthy and above all delicious, a Middle Eastern feast is perfect for a hot date, a girly midweek catch up or a comforting family lunch alike.

In its rapid bid to overtake Italian, Indian and Tapas as the go-to dinner of choice, the inevitable queues have started to snake down London streets for Ottelenghi-inspired restaurants like Yalla Yalla, Palomar, Arabica and Honey & Co.

Dips at Ceru, Rathbone Place (Photo: Emily Rosselli)

But it's not just about dining out - Middle Eastern food is remarkably easy to knock together at home. Thanks to the 'Ottelenghi effect', my day-to-day shopping habits have totally changed.

For most of my twenties, tomato, basil and mozzarella have been the core elements of any supermarket stop-off, if I wanted a fail-safe dinner with no thought required. If I was feeling fancy, I might even throw in an avocado.

But these days, I find myself subconsciously gravitating towards the new class of trolley staples - pomegranate, halloumi, mint, roasted red peppers, chilli, harissa, lamb and Morrocan topped houmous. With these bad boys in your basket, you are all set.

But, just like KFC jumping on the pulled pork bandwagon by releasing the Pulled Chicken Burger (which, I have on good authority from a certain KFC fan in my life, is just plain wrong), as soon as a food trend is booming, the variation of what's on offer widens.

Case in point - Tesco now has over 20 varieties of own brand houmous, some of which might make Yotam Ottelenghi weep into his za'atar roast chicken (although personally I have no problem with piri piri houmous).  But how long before we get our first McMoroccan Burger? And will suggesting a mezze feast for a special occasion soon become as uninspired as bringing a date to Pizza Express? I hope not.

To describe Middle Eastern food as a current trend feels flippant - after all, we're talking about the age-old national cuisines of Israel, Turkey, Lebanon, Morocco and Iran. These flavours have been here long before Londoners discovered them, and will remain long after we've moved onto the next big thing, whether that's Thai barbecues or Peruvian ceviche.

But while my favourite food is en vogue, I plan to make the most of the amazing stuff on offer. Here's what I've discovered so far:

Ceru, Fitzrovia

Baklava ice cream at Ceru, Fitzrovia (Photo: Emily Rosselli)

Lamb, aubergine, pomegranate, mint, pistachio and chilli - these are like buzz words that I instinctively pick up on  in a menu without even thinking.

So I was in heaven at Ceru, which is a tiny Fitzrovia pop-up restaurant where you can experience the sunny Mediterranean flavours of the Levant (Lebanon, Israel, Jordan, Palestine, Syria, Turkey and Cyprus) under one roof.

Well, until the end of April that is. The cute little restaurant is only here for a few more weeks and then Ceru will be touring the major music festivals with its street food stall.

The waitress told us they're looking for a permanent home to return to after the summer, but for now, you need to hotfoot it down to Ceru's current residence in Rathbone Place.

When you get there, be sure to order the lamb shoulder, their ridiculously tasty signature dish (a steal at only £9); juicy and succulent slow-cooked lamb with fresh pomegranate and pistachio dressing and shawarma spices. OMG. The deconstructed baklava ice cream is also a must, with its crunchy, creamy textures and the enticing flavours of honey and almonds.

www.cerurestaurants.com

Babaji, Soho

The ceremoniously presented bill, at Babaji (Photo: Emily Rosselli)

I love Turkish food. And well, pizza is the goddamn love of my life. So imagine my excitement when I read about a new Turkish pizza joint opening up on Shaftesbury Avenue, the latest venture from Alan Yau, the man who brought us Hakkasan, Wagamama and Busaba Eathai.

The branding and decor at Babaji is second to none, with vivid cobalt blue walls, ornate brass embellishment, an open woodfire pide oven and beautiful little Turkish style water glasses. I adore the concept.

But don't be mistaken, this isn't a destination dining spot. The actual experience is no more and no less than a quick, tasty and informal dinner in Theatreland. We were in and out within an hour or so.

The crisp, oven-baked flatbread topped with chargrilled courgette, goats cheese and walnut was quite lovely, and the baklava was beautiful to look at, but that was where it ended - I even left one of them on my plate, unheard of for me. I'd go back to Babaji, sure, but not in a huge hurry, and not in a million years if I had to queue down the street.

www.babaji.com.tr 

Gallipoli Bistro, Islington

Lanterns at Gallipoli Bistro (Photo: Emily Rosselli)

I've been to this unpretentious Upper Street restaurant a few times and every time I've booked, there's been no record of my reservation when I arrived. (And no, I hadn't accidentally booked a table at the other Gallipoli restaurant which is next door).  But despite never managing a successful booking without having a moment of panic at the door, I forgive Gallipoli Bistro as it's just so reliably good. 

Gallipoli is not a hipster hangout or a place to be 'seen'. But it is charming and atmospheric. Lanterns adorn every inch of the ceiling, and the menu is a classic and affordable mixture of chargrills and mezze. There's no gimmick - Gallipoli is cheap, traditional and tasty. When you can't be bothered to battle the crowds for a table at an 'it' restaurant, and you just want good Middle Eastern food in pretty surroundings, go here.

www.gallipolicafe.co.uk

Persiana, your home

Persiana, Sabrina Ghayour (Photo: Emily Rosselli)

Finally, one of the joys of Middle Eastern food is that it's surprisingly easy to replicate at home. Especially now I have 'Persiana' by Sabrina Ghayour, a collection of food-porn photography and refreshingly non-scary recipes.

Inspired by my beautiful new book, I took a little walk up to my local Persian supermarket to buy some pomegranate molasses and sumac to prepare a feast for my boyfriend.

Sadly I dropped the bottle of the molasses as I got to my front door, which smashed to pieces and left my doorstep looking like a particularly gruesome stabbing scene.

But the end result was worth it - we cooked-up a feast of lamb and pistachio burgers, served with a simple tomato, walnut and pomegranate salad. The hardest bit of the whole thing was clearing up the red sticky syrup and shards of glass from my doorstep (and explaining the enormous blood-red stain to my slightly alarmed neighbour).

If, like me, you're still in the throes of your love affair with Middle Eastern flavours, here's a selection of recipes from Persiana to whet your appetite.

Roasted aubergine with saffron yoghurt, from Persiana by Sabrina Ghayour (Image: TheGuardian.com)

If You Can't Relate to a Taylor Swift Song, You're Dead Inside.

A couple of years ago, I shared a theory to help boys and girls of all ages make good life choices - simply ask yourself 'What would Katy Perry do'? Usually the answer was to go out dancing, take shots and throw on some fancy dress - this, according to Katy, is how we do. And I stand by it.

But since then, a few things have changed. Most importantly, I've discovered Taylor Swift (Katy's arch-enemy, if gossip magazines are to be believed). And what would Taylor do, I hear you cry?

Well, depending on the situation, she'd probably write a killer song about it, make a self-deprecating joke, call her best friend and basically just SHAKE IT OFF.

Unlike the cartoonishly sexy persona of Katy, Taylor seems like a girl who would fit right in watching the Great British Bake Off, who would send you links to funny cat videos on YouTube and help you analyse a text from a guy you're dating.

An antidote to the mythical hipster 'Cool Girl' (a term coined in Gone Girl, referring to that Hollywood mirage of the quirky chick who never gets angry), Taylor is all real, a girl with a lot of feelings who is not afraid to share them. "It's in style to be edgy and blase and unaffected but I'm none of those things," she's admitted, making it OK for the rest of us too.

Taylor is so uncool she's cool. She dances endearingly awkwardly at Awards shows with her girlfriends, while bored celebrities stay in their seats.

She fully embraces her cat-lady reputation, and isn't one to peddle low self-esteem to her fanbase, regularly commenting on her fans' Instagram pages to tell them they're gorgeous.

She she even shared a chatty recipe for chai sugar cookies in inimitable Taylor style, finishing on one of her best lyrical moments yet: 'Cos the bakers gonna bake bake bake bake bake.'

Instagram @taylorswift

But more importantly than all of this? She is responsible for 'Red', a sprawling epic of an album. Taylor had never been on my radar until the bitter anthem 'We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together'. Before then, like most Brits I'd just had a vague awareness of her as a Nashville teen star frolicking in a princess dress in the 'Love Story' video.

But like most others, I had vastly underestimated the power of Swift. Red is now up there with my most addictive albums of all time - combining the grandiose storytelling of her country roots with experimental pop hooks and even a couple of dubstep drops, not to mention lyrics that are quite obviously straight from the heart.

I imagine that, for Taylor, listening back to her old albums must feel like re-reading her teenage diary, slightly embarrassing and sometimes a little overdramatic ("You stare at the phone, he still hasn't called, and you feel so low you can't feel nothing at all"), but nevertheless a totally honest, unguarded and emotionally raw picture of how she was feeling at the time. And isn't that exactly what a love song should be?

But Taylor's no lovesick fool. She has become knowingly jaded and self-aware in her songs, rolling her eyes at the guy who finds his peace of mind with his indie records which are "much cooler than mine",  at the "long list of ex lovers who'll tell you I'm insane", and at those who cruelly say "I go on too many dates, that I can't make them stay."

And this romantic body-count only consists of about four or five men in a decade-long career. One of whom - John Mayer - has incidentally dated and sung about more A-list women than I've had hot dinners, and yet escaped the vitriol that Taylor receives for doing the same.

To me, the lazy media criticism of Taylor's dating life and songwriting smacks slightly of single-bashing and slut-shaming. Why can't we celebrate that a 24 year old girl has written five albums' worth of songs based on authentic experiences?

But, aware of the criticism she gets every time she writes a love song, Taylor remains unapologetic and hasn't let the haters stop her doing her job. She's continued to write relentlessly catchy songs which will have her competitors quivering in their heels and desperately wheeling out the usual dial-a-hit DJs.  The latest of her offerings is 'Out of the Woods' which is currently killing it in the US charts, and sounds like nothing anyone else is releasing right now.

As a life-long defender of (good) pop music, I've said it before and I'll say it again - there's brilliant pop, there's terrible pop, there's brilliantly terrible pop, and there's terribly brilliant pop. And then there's Taylor Swift, sitting comfortably in a league of her own.

Us Swifties have known this for a while, of course. But something changed this week. With the release of her new album '1989' and the rave reviews from NME, Rolling Stone and the Guardian, the rest of the world finally seems to have cottoned on too.  Grown men are unwittingly humming 'Shake it Off' to themselves at work, and it's finally becoming acceptable to say out loud: "Taylor speaks to me". Vindication at last!

Why now? It may be partially because Taylor has gradually evolved her sound into supercatchy synth-pop, with influences from the Human League, the Drive soundtrack and Charli XCX, without compromising what makes her unique. The sound on 1989 may be fresh, but it's unpretentious and lyrically is still totally Taylor.

And that is the secret of her success - far from only catering to the realms of dumped  teens, much as we'd all hate to admit it, Taylor's themes of love, escapism and disillusionment are universal.

So why do some people still hate on her? Probably because she's young, fun, a bit uncool and she writes uncomfortably honest, hyper catchy pop songs about boys. And why do I love her? Because she's young, fun, a bit uncool and she writes uncomfortably honest, hyper catchy pop songs about boys.

Instagram @taylorswift

And if - after reading this far into the mad ramblings of a fangirl - you're still a doubter, if not a full-on hater, I will leave you with this. Remember when Kanye stormed the MTV Awards stage during her acceptance speech for Best Female Video? Well, apparently she now has a photo of the incident framed on the wall of her home. Beneath it she has written: “Life is full of little interruptions”. That's right, she responded to the most humiliating moment in her teenage life by calling super-ego Kanye a "little interruption."

Never change Taylor, never ever change. Like ever.

'Ten Thousand Memories': The Larders That Time Forgot

The Museum of Brands, Packaging and Advertising may sound like a somewhat niche excursion for marketing geeks (myself included).

But this curious little museum in Notting Hill has something for everyone. With over 10,000 products from bygone eras, it is an unashamedly nostalgic, cluttered and garish celebration of British eccentricity and culture - from Victorian royalist tat and wartime humour, to the brash jingles and supermarkets of the 1950s. It even charts the controversial evolution of Opal Fruits to Starburst, and Marathon to Snickers, from which the nation is still reeling.

The museum is the brainchild and personal collection of a self-confessed hoarder, Robert Opie. I'm told that the compulsive collector was eating a packet of Munchies on a train platform, and rather than throw the packet away, he decided to keep it as a souvenir of the time. The rest is, quite literally, history.

Tucked away in the cobbled Colville Mews next to the Temperley boutique (aptly painted as a Union Jack), the collection is built around a time tunnel; a vivid kaleidoscope of toys, groceries, posters, and fashion through the twentieth century and up to present day.

Each display is a time capsule, a window into the minutiae of life in a different decade. Walking through it, in chronological order, is to witness the gradual, relentless passage of time. Don't be fooled by the day-to-day subject matter: the packaging of our household favourites tells the story of two world wars, new discoveries, the Industrial Revolution, mass consumerism and the gradual emancipation of women.

In one hour, as you peer into the larders that time forgot, you will experience the journey our grandparents went on during the course of their lives - told through the changing contents of their cupboards.

After the austerity of World War I, for example, you begin to see the frivolity and prosperity return in the products that were being consumed. Shorter skirts, jazz records, miniature bottles of spirits, cars. As everyone tried to forget the horrors that had passed and the millions of boys who never returned, England had just got back onto its feet and was enjoying life once more - only - unthinkably - to be thrown back into War again in 1939. Suddenly, the larders once more look austere and rationed. You can imagine the disbelief that it could all be happening again.

With all this unrest, it is hardly surprising that the wartime generations looked back with rose-tinted glasses on the stable, patriotic naivety of Victorian era. The same generations might also be baffled to know why on earth we, in the 21st century, delight so much in Blitz Parties and wartime-themed speakeasies.

I begin to realise that nostalgia is all relative. It's funny to think that everything here, so quaint and vintage looking under our gaze, was once modern and cutting edge. I experience the sudden bolt of recognition as I enter the 1990s room, 'my' decade, and locate my place in history - and the depressing fact that my childhood memories are now retro.

My time capsule is characterised by Space Raiders crisps, dinosaur-shaped turkey nuggets, Spice Girls Easter Eggs and Captain Planet doughnuts (childhood obesity was clearly not a concern in those days...). These *ahem* super-healthy groceries all felt completely unremarkable at the time,  and we'd have laughed at the idea they'd end up in a museum. But here they are, tugging on my heartstrings, and I'm immediately catapulted back to 1996, when I'd beg my mum to put these in the trolley and spend all my pocket money on Spice Girls singles. I can't help but wonder whether people will one day look back on our iPhones, Instagram profiles, Starbucks cups and Miley Cyrus videos and think, 'Ah, how quaint - the good old days'.

Some items in the museum take on new meaning or uncomfortable irony, with the advantage of hindsight - for example a poignant 'Mork and Mindy' book featuring a young Robin Williams, the chilling 'Jim'll Fix It' merchandise from the 1970s, and a wartime board game entitled 'Listen In'. Ah, phone-hacking fun for the whole family! How lovely.

At other times during our trip down memory lane, it feels as though history is repeating itself. The patriotic souvenirs from the London 1948 Olympics and the Royal Wedding of Princess Elizabeth are remarkably similar to what was on sale during the summer of 2012, when we reveled in the optimism of the Olympics and the Jubilee. We LOVED all the tat, precisely because it harked back to what we imagine to be a simpler, happier time.

The visit must have been a baffling experience for my Californian companion, who hadn't grown up with these brands - but what better cultural induction to Britain than through the changing faces of Dairy Milk, Corn Flakes, Oxo Cubes and even the Queen? Seeing these ubiquitous items in their former lives is like seeing photos of your grandparents as teenagers. The outside wrappers of these national treasures may have evolved along with our rapidly changing society, but the products inside span generations and are omnipresent, constant reminders of our national identity.  Kind of like the Queen herself.

The Museum of Brands, Packaging and Advertising: 2 Colville Mews, Notting Hill, www.museumofbrands.com, entry £6.50 for adults

How to Dance Like Nobody's Watching

If ever there was an event that The London Escapist was born to attend, it must be an impromptu silent disco on a sunny Monday lunch-time on Hampstead Heath.

It began with an all-staff email from a colleague in a completely different department, who, brilliantly, had taken it upon herself to arrange a half-hour headphone disco a couple of minutes from our office (I'd never met her, but on reading her email, I knew we'd get on).

It ended in reluctantly dragging myself back to my desk at 1:45pm, with my endorphins pumping and Spice Up Your Life still ringing in my ears.

How did eight sober women rock up to Hampstead Heath and switch from professional charity workers to mad dancing hippies, in a matter of seconds? All you need, it turns out, is an open mind and a pair of headphones.

After dumping our handbags in the middle of the circle (some things never change), and cranking out a few bars of Salt 'n' Pepa's Push It, I was shocked by how unselfconscious I actually felt bopping away in public, even as bemused pensioners and their dogs looked on curiously, while colleagues ate their sandwiches on the grass.

There is something wildly liberating about behaving like a madman in the middle of the working day; throwing your inhibitions to the wind and reclaiming your Monday from the constraints of routine.

And, wonderfully, our little party brought together people from all over our organisation - girls from labs, operations and comms who may never otherwise have hung out. (For some reason, the boys of the office were less keen). Once you've seen each other's moves in the cold light of day, there's really no going back to polite nods over the kettle.

I pretty much just forgot where I was. The mid-March sun was warm on our faces, a dewy breeze in the air, and if you closed your eyes and cranked your music up, you could almost imagine yourself to be at a beach party or a festival.

The spell was occasionally broken when I realised I was being filmed on someone's iPhone. I froze in the middle of my twerking, suddenly aware my moves may be less Beyonce and more akin to interpretative dance in the unforgiving glare of the video phone. And worse, it's easy to forget that those around you can hear you mumble-singing the last word of every line ('annwennanightfalls, myonelyeart CAAALLS').

But the fun factor was worth the stares, and it was far more difficult to stop dancing than to start. Our fleeting moment of free-spirited escapism ended as abruptly as it began, and soon it was time to head back to our desks.

This wasn't the first time I've spent a surreal lunchtime dancing with colleagues; some of you may remember my well-documented visit to the Lunchtime Disco at Drink Shop Do, an event which has since paved the way for the 'Morning Glory' breakfast rave (which I'm yet to try out). And of course, silent discos and flash mobs are ten-a-penny in London these days.

But unlike these examples, our own effort was no slick operation.  It was something altogether more spontaneous, grassroots and unofficial. There were only eight of us, for starters, and we each just listened to our own music from our phones, everyone dancing to their own beats (although with a bit of pre-planning, you could sync up your Spotify playlists). Literally anyone could arrange something similar, if they had the will or the inclination.

And I hope they do. Londoners, take note. The park is your dancefloor, and it's free! How about we make this the summer of the pop-up daytime disco?

(No? Just me? Ah...)

Sex & the Other City

  

As I prepare to visit a fabulous friend who has recently packed up her laptop and moved to New York's Upper East Side, I've been watching an awful lot of Sex & the City (for conditioning purposes, you understand).

And in a realisation that is both alarming and amazing in equal amounts, I've noticed that I’ve started relating to it a lot more than I did ten years ago. The gossipy lunches, the dating anecdotes, the single bashing, the ex drama and the addictive buzz of the city all ring true for my generation of girls in London.

Even Carrie's relentless musings about the world of dating have started to make a lot of sense, despite the fact that 90% of them can be answered with a simple 'NO'.

From Buzzfeed.com

So, as I've relived the good, the bad and the ugly days of turn-of-the-millenium Manhattan, I couldn't help but wonder; if Carrie Bradshaw was dating in London during 2014, what inane, profound and downright random questions would she ask?

(Note: to be read aloud in Sarah Jessica Parker's thoughtful voice, while tapping your keyboard and gazing pensively out of the window)

1. In London relationships, is zone 4 a deal breaker?

2. In the great Tube Map of Love, was our relationship doomed to go round and round like the Circle Line? Were we the Northern Line: long, confusing and really hot? Or was it just short and pointless, like the Waterloo & City Line? Or - in the end - would it be quicker just to get off and walk?

3. In the world of men, is it possible to break down the walls and reach the magical Platform 9 ¾? Or are you really just banging your head against a brick wall?

Image: Getty Images

4. If he never calls you on the dog-and-bone, is your relationship heading into Barney Rubble?

5. When it comes to the 'it' guys, is it worth waiting in line? Or are we all just queuing in the rain for cold pulled pork and an overrated Negroni?

6. I couldn't help but wonder; is the urban fox on my street getting more sex than me? (It certainly sounds like it...)

Image: from telegraph.co.uk

7. Were 90’s boybands giving us false expectations, or can you REALLY find love on the Northern Line?

8. Guys who buy you Jagerbombs at the Clapham Grand: friend... or foe?

9. I couldn’t help but wonder; if we’re tired of Tinder, are we tired of life?

10. Is a pretentious beard the new designer drug?



Image: relevantmagazine.com

11. Can a relationship really be made in Chelsea, or is the only way Essex? Or are out of town guys like Boris bikes - great in theory but more of a novelty than a long term solution?

12. If London is the single gal's Oyster card, why are there no fish in the sea?



Image: Copyright Jon Cartwright, column10.com

13. Was I dating the Kensington Olympia of guys, destined to only be available at weekends and selected events? Was he playing hard to get, or was it just signal failure?

14. When a relationship is faulty, how many times should you seek assistance before you trade in your Oyster card?

15. When it comes to being picked up, should you summon someone reliable on your smartphone? Or do you jump in the first black cab that passes you by?

16. The Hipster: How can you be 'shore' you want to 'ditch' him?

17. And finally, is it ever OK to date a guy who stands on the left? (NO.)

Image: online.thatsmags.com

And there you have it. Enough philosophical musings on the world of London dating to keep Carrie in Manolos for a good few months at least. Now hand me a Cosmo.

Thank you to Katy and Romy for their help with this one. I can't help but wonder if we've all watched too much Sex & the City...?!

The Prodigal Escapist Returns

OK, I dropped the ball. Apparently, I needed escapism from my blog about escapism.

I'd love to say that the absence of blog posts has, in fact, been the ultimate tribute to my subject matter... an ironic and postmodern exploration of escapism, if you will. But while that does me more justice than I deserve, it's not too far off the mark (however unintentional). Quite simply, I've been busy escaping!

January is often maligned as a dreary, long month of scrimping, saving, dieting and generally dealing with the fairly horrifying return of the full working week. But in retrospect, mine was OK. Largely thanks to friends, food, prosecco and my Christmas presents of box sets and an electric heater, I'd even go as far as to say I rather enjoyed it.

Fig and goat's cheese tart at the Imperial, King's Road

With the exception of the 5:2 diet, which only requires willpower for around a third of the week, I haven't really stuck to many of my half-hearted new year's resolutions (which included 'blog more'). And you know what? I'm not even sorry!

Here's what I've been doing instead so far this year, thus evading the January blues:

1. Blasting away the last of the food-induced lethargy with a walk on Holkham beach in Norfolk

 

2. Discovering the joys of Game of Thrones, Girls and, um, What Happens in Sunny Beach

3. Revelling after work at the new Piano Smithfield bar - then (regrettably) pestering the pianist for not taking my requests. 'Hey Mr Pianist, I've asked you three times....'

4. Playing endless rounds of Would You Rather... with my housemate (marrying the delightful 'Nips' from Sunny Beach features in rather a lot of these unthinkable dilemmas)

5. Discovering QuizUp, a highly addictive app that allows you to challenge your friends in any subject under the sun: so far I'm faring particularly well at Harry Potter, internet slang and, surprisingly, general knowledge. I am performing less well in the fields of botany and flags of the world. Challenge me if you dare!

6. Gazing awestruck at the incredible images at the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition at the Natural History Museum.

Image: Essence of Elephants, Greg du Toit, Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2014

7. Learning a lot about how to - and how not to - casually interrupt celebrities' conversations at the National Television Awards. Bridget Jones' classic 'Do you know.... where the toilets are?' is a fail-safe.

8. Listening to my friend's rather lovely Spotify playlist, What Love Feels Like, including John Legend, The Wannadies, Audrey Hepburn and lots more.

9. Beating my terrible habit of avoiding life admin:  Proud moment #1, we finally took down the Christmas tree on 26th January, and even prouder moment #2, put up curtains in my bedroom after eight months without them (sorry, neighbours - show's over).

10. Reading Philomena for Book Club. It's the heartbreaking true story of a troubled Irish boy whose mother was forced to give him up, and the eye-opening future that awaited him in his new life in America. So, so good. And not at all like an episode of Long Lost Family.

11. Using my new Taste Card to get 50% off at all manner of random restaurants. Then thinking, screw it, and blowing the budget with fabulous (and very much full-price) dinners at Foxlow and the Modern Pantry - both in Clerkenwell and come highly recommended!

12. And while we're on food, I must mention a recent Saturday brunch of sourdough, grilled halloumi and crushed avocado, and the most refreshing orange juice ever squeezed, at the Imperial in Chelsea  followed by an epic riverside walk past the fairy lit Albert Bridge. Let's just ignore the sore feet and thunderstorm that followed.

13. Catching up on awards-season movies. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty in particular is perfect for the 'new year, new me' mentality, although beware - it may make you want to sack it all in and go on an adventure.

14. Speaking of which, much of the month has been spent planning imaginary visits to friends in New York, Africa, Dubai, New Zealand, Spain and Paris (chances of me affording to go on all of these said holidays? Zero).

15.  Wearing my friends down until they join the Anthony Nolan bone marrow register - and joining it myself of course. Genuinely, this is the most worthwhile thing I've done so far - if you're 16-30, go for it! Simple way to do your bit and, maybe one day, save a life.

16. Saying 'I feel like 2014 is going to be a good year!' A lot. And meaning it.

Image: Pinterest.com

So that's one month filled, eleven to go. Not all very inspirational or virtuous I'm afraid, but we've survived it - January is DONE.

 

But wait, what? It isn't spring yet? (Sorry, the premature blossom in Holland Park isn't fooling anyone). We've still got months of no-man's land, that void between seasons, before the daffodils, chicks and Easter Eggs arrive to make everything better again.

But on the plus side, we've got a brand new calendar to populate and endless possibilities of how to do it. And fortunately, we have the best city in the world to keep us entertained.

 

Christmas coffees are coming to town

How can I tell the Christmas season is nearly upon us? Well, the first clue is my Instagram news feed - almost overnight, it has filled up with rosy-tinted photos of people's little red cups from Starbucks (and by people's, I mean mine).

I know, I know - it's not even December. But there is a silver lining to the season starting so early in London; all the more time to plough through the Christmas drinks of 2013.

Inspired by the seasonal aromas of cinammon, hazelnut, orange, toffee, ginger and... um, forest fruits, Christmas coffees are right up there with the John Lewis ad and scented candles for all-round festive feel-good factor. The season has turned, and the coffee gets us excited by setting the mood for the upcoming festivities.

The big three - Starbucks, Costa and Nero - have been peddling their Christmas offerings for several weeks now and, in that time, Starbucks' red cups have somehow taken on a celebrity cult status of their own. They even have their own hashtag (#redcups... obvs).

Heads literally turn as people strut past with their red cups, lapping up the coffee envy that is inevitably thrown their way by passers-by. 'I gotta get me one of those', I think, and before you can say Gingerbread Latte, I've made a quick detour and turned left into Starbucks.

But once I get the the counter, I hit a problem. Which to order?

Choosing your Christmas coffee is something of a Russian Roulette situation. With risky flavours in the mix like eggnog, orange and forest fruits (why?), you really don't want to get it wrong.

So, being the season of goodwill and all, I've roped in some help and between my friends and I, we've tried most of the coffees on offer...

STARBUCKS

Starbucks.co.uk

Last Sunday, I received a text message from my housemate Katy, who seems to be taking this very seriously: "OK. So I had a Toffee Nut Latte yesterday and I really liked it! Clem didn't. And he had the Chocolate Orange Mocha and neither of us really liked that - faaaar too orangey I thought."

So there you go.

I've also had the Eggnog Latte which I suspect might be a bit of a grower. Topped with nutmeg, it was sweet, thick and creamy but, dare I say it, a bit eggy. Which isn't really what I look for in a coffee.

My advice is go for the classic sweet and spicy Gingerbread Latte and you can't go far wrong - especially if you ask them to use their Christmas Espresso blend, a smooth and subtly caramelly addition to even the blandest Americano. Delightful.

COSTA

Costa,co.uk

Faced with the task of competing with their rival's near iconic red cups, Costa have retaliated brilliantly by introducing their Santa Cups, which make you look like you've got a white beard. In your face, Starbucks!

What goes inside the cups is equally extravagant. The super-sweet flavours will probably make a true coffee-lover wince, but there are some interesting non-coffee options such as the glitter-topped White Hot Chocolate and a Hot Spiced Apple drink (complete with star anise and a cinammon stick).

Sadly my favourite from last year, the Peppermint Mocha, is nowhere to be seen at Costa (it seems to have hot-footed it over to the Starbucks menu, however). But fear not, the Salted Caramel & Cream Latte is quite excellent, and definitely my 3pm festive drink of choice at Costa, preferably with a mini stollen or a festive yule log on the side.

CAFFE NERO

caffenero.com

If Caffe Nero was a person, he'd be a suave Italian guy who is far too cool to be seen with a Santa-beard cup or a sparkly White Hot Chocolate.

The Nero Christmas experience is altogether much more tasteful than its brasher rivals. Even the gingerbread men are classy (Ginger Giovanni, anyone?).

There are only three Christmas coffees on offer at Nero and they are predictably grown-up - Roasted Chestnut Latte, Praline Latte and Amaretto Latte.

I ordered the latter and was a bit disappointed by the comparatively ordinary blue cup that I was presented with. But then, to my utter delight, a little gold foil-wrapped praline was placed on the counter next to my coffee - and Nero are so back in the game.

Oh and the coffee itself was, of course, delicious, with a distinctive marzipan flavour. But that is almost beside the point - it was never really about the coffee. It's about the experience.

A well-timed Christmas coffee just seems to make everything better, from cold Tuesday morning commutes to manic Oxford Street shopping excursions. It's hard not to feel comforted by the cosy refuge from the chilly city streets, and the feeling of warming your cold hands around that little red cup.

In a (toffee) nutshell? This craze is simply about the countdown to Christmas. Yes it's still November, but resistance is futile. Accept your fate and embrace the Christmas coffees.

A piece of Bombay heritage in Covent Garden

The old Persian-run cafés of nineteenth century Bombay were hubs of the sprawling Indian city, where rich lawyers and brooding writers could find themselves sipping chai next to rickshaw wallahs and noisy families.

There were around four hundred of these cafés in Bombay at their peak. Now, sadly, less than thirty remain. Café Coffee Day (the Indian equivalent of Starbucks) is the ubiquitous meeting place of choice, with identical modern air-conditioned outlets on every street corner.

Dishoom have captured this fading moment of Indian heritage and have shared it with Londoners, firstly in Covent Garden and now also in Shoreditch. In a nostalgic homage to the original Bombay institutions, no detail has been overlooked. Creaky ceiling fans waft the scent of sandalwood and cardamom around the room. Sepia photographs and ageing mirrors adorn the walls, and scratchy jazz plays in the background.

So how better to bid farewell to our own fleeting Indian summer than visiting Dishoom for an al-fresco dinner? We head there straight from work, arriving at 6:45pm on a Thursday in late September, to be greeted by a sizable queue (bookings for under six people aren't accepted after 6pm). However, somehow we are sat down almost straight away as we're happy to dine at the tables outside.

The skies are darkening and a cool autumn breeze blows through the streets surrounding Covent Garden. Dishoom looks warm and cosy inside the lit windows, I think enviously as I warm my hands on my masala chai, served in an authentic Indian glass. Then I look at the snaking queue making its way down St Martin's Lane - that doesn't look cosy. We made the right choice.

I start the evening with a Dishoom cocktail named the Bollybellini - an unashamedly girly concoction of raspberries, lychees, rose and cardamom sparkling with first-class Prosecco. At £7.50, it's roughly the same price as most of the main dishes on the menu (which are almost shockingly good value), but I've paid far more in London for bog-standard cocktails so I'm pleasantly surprised.

For snacks, we order what appear to the naked eye to be multi-coloured Wotsits, but in fact are named 'Far Far' (£2.20) served with a range of Indian chutneys - they're unusual, halfway between a crisp and a cracker, but curiously tasty.

The menu itself is refreshingly creative and affordable, about as far removed from a typical Indian restaurant as you can get but with roughly similar prices. Our waiter explains that chefs from Mumbai are sponsored to come and work in the Dishoom family, and the result is a menu packed with all the authenticity and flavour you could hope for, but modernised and refreshed to capture the imagination of even the most jaded London diner.

Choosing just a handful of items from the menu was torture, as I eyed up dishes like paneer and mango salad, gunpowder potatoes, chilli cheese toast and pistachio kulfi. But somehow we manage to make a shortlist and opt to share a range of dishes. Lucky we did, because the portions aren't massive like typical takeway fare - these are satisfying but fairly small plates, designed to be shared and swapped around the table so you can get stuck into a bit of everything.

I'm delighted to see paneer tikka on the menu (£6.90) - when I was working at a newspaper in Bangalore a few years ago, I became a little bit obsessed with this Indian cheese. Many of the cafés were entirely vegetarian but if paneer was on the menu (and it always was), it was hard to notice, let alone care, that there was no meat on offer.

But these days I'm very much back on the meat, so we order the lamb boti kebab (£8.50), tender pieces of lamb marinated in ginger, chilli and garlic, and the chicken ruby curry (£7.90) - oh my. Packed with flavour, this classic curry envelopes perfectly cooked chicken in a rich silky and ruby-red makhani sauce, which we mop up with thin, crispy garlic naan straight out of the tandoor oven.

Lamb Boti Kebab, Dishoom, from LondonTastin.com

I forego dessert in favour of the best cup of masala chai I've had since the roadside shacks in the foothills of the Himalayas or from the chai wallahs on the train to Delhi. Dishoom's chai is creamy, warming and spicy, with a hearty kick that prevents it from tasting too sickly sweet for our British palates. My friend orders the chocolate chai - which is everything you could hope for on a chilly Autumn night.

Helen's swearing at me...

After all that, we ask for the bill and are amazed to find it only comes to £25 each - including service charge. I now want to tell everyone and anyone about Dishoom, but it seems I am a bit late to the party - it's already built a loyal following in the city for bringing the best of Bombay to London's food scene. Like India itself, Dishoom is full of contrasts - rich and bold food at unpretentious prices, a nostalgic heritage with a fresh, modern attitude.

But again, like India, you need to go more than once to fully experience Dishoom in its many forms. I want to go to the Shoreditch outpost for a Bombay breakfast on the indoor-outdoor veranda, swing by in the afternoon for a chai and a snack, or come back late at night for a few more Bollybellinis and rainbow Wotsits. But now the weather's turning, I'm not sure I fancy sitting outside again - I'll just have to rally 6+ friends and book a table. Who's in?

www.dishoom.com