Right in the pivotal centre of Soho, there is a time machine. Walk along Bateman Street until you see a café painted as the Italian Tricolore. You really can't miss it. It looks like it's closed, doesn't it? It probably isn't. Try the door. Is it open? Yes? Well, step right into 1955. Welcome to the Lorelei – one of the last survivors of 'real' Soho. The first thing you'll notice is that the decor is a curious mix of village hall and alpine hut. The second thing is the mural of the naked mermaid that takes up an entire wall. I've never seen the odd-looking light fittings switched on to illuminate it.

From the Formica tables, the lino floor, to the faux-leather banquettes round the walls, almost everything is as it was the day it opened. In the little kitchen area, the elderly proprietor quietly produces the best pizza in London – the genuine Italian flour for these is stacked up by the front door. Watching the vintage grey-green Cimbali coffee machine operated is akin to seeing Handel himself playing the organ. That's the sound of real coffee being made. Chips come cooked to order, always on an ancient glass plate. A little mound of hot golden matchsticks, sweet and crunchy.

How a place so comically un-modern still exists in the centre of this ever-changing city is a mystery. Need the loo? It's in an outhouse down the yard – primly segregated into 'gents' (hand written in gloss paint on a brick) and 'ladies'. Even the plumbing is original. There's never any piped music on – although the dusty old speaker still on the wall no doubt once pumped out Tommy Steele. You bring your own atmosphere. It's the eye in Soho's storm.

There's no need to book a table. The staff always seem a bit surprised when anybody walks in. At night, when the window is streaked with condensation you can watch people stop to scrutinise the menu, their faces yellow from its sodium light. They rarely come in, perhaps preferring the bright lights and familiarity of better-known restaurants. They don't know what they're missing. The world needs character as much as it needs wipe-clean convenience.

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Posted by Gareth on March 25, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Tunnock’s dominate the town of Uddingston, 7 miles south-east of Glasgow. For over 100 years the family firm has been pumping out their trademark Tea Cakes, Caramel Wafers and other delights for the pleasure of Scotland’s rotten-toothed populace. Tunnock’s products are such a part of Scottish heritage that they’ve followed ex-patriots round the world, winning them the sort of global following that most brands would kill for.

Established in 1890 by Thomas Tunnock, their products haven't changed much over the years, with their distinctive sunburst packaging and slightly wonky lettering. In a world that's constantly changing, there's something very reassuring about that. Traditionally, they’re a bit of an old-person’s snack, but that association with a trip to your granny's means that from an early age each bite of Tunnock’s is imbued with more than just sugary satisfaction. Thanks to this they have a loyal, almost cult following.

In Uddingston, their “Daylight” bakeries loom large on one side of the main street, while the Tunnock’s Tea Rooms nestle among a row of shops on the other. The Tea Rooms are a delight for any Tunnock’s lover, or indeed anyone with a sweet tooth. As well as a range of rare Tunnock’s biscuits (Wafer Crème, Coconut Meringue, Florida Wafer – all delicious) there are spectacular cakes, pies and loaves. At the back there is a café, not the most attractive of places, but still a cheap and cheerful place to refuel.

While you eat/shop, there are constant reminders of the glory of Tunnock’s. The staff have a caramel wafer shaped patch sewn onto their aprons, the counter is covered in miniature Tunnock’s vans, the walls lined with old adverts and then there are the window displays – oh boy, the window displays. Inhabiting the windows is a family of anthropomorphic creatures with bodies made from Caramel Logs, Tea Cakes and other Tunnock's paraphernalia. They are fantastically bizarre - a sign of genius, or madness. It's hard to tell which.

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Posted by Anne on January 22, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Even if you have never crossed the threshold of Katz’s in person, there is still a good chance you will be familiar with the slightly beaten décor of this fantastic old deli. The simple furniture, or rather one table and two chairs in particular, is famous for co-starring in probably the most famous ‘non-sex’ scene in cinematic history. Today a cardboard sign dangles from the ceiling pointing to the spot where Meg Ryan faced Billy Crystal and writhed in faux sexual ecstasy to confound his character’s scepticism that she could successfully simulate an orgasm. The scene became an instant classic and helped catapult ‘When Harry met Sally’ into movie folklore. Sadly during my visit nobody was 'having what she was having’ so the room remained frustratingly moan free. Indeed visitors seemed particularly keen not to occupy the infamous seats, perhaps fearful they would be obliged to provide an impersonation, and circled around the spot like it was the site of a car wreck. When a couple did finally sit at the table they were soon in the glare of camera flashes as tourists spotted a chance to snap the location complete with stand-ins.

Despite the allure of the Hollywood connection, Katz’s remains a staunchly old school deli. Aside from a nice sideline in t-shirts the sole purpose of this cavernous eating emporium is to fill the bellies of hungry New Yorkers to breaking point. For overseas visitors there is always a strong suspicion that non-American notions of what constitutes large are deemed to be only worthy of diminutive status Stateside. At Katz’s the portion sizes try to squeeze another ‘ex’ in excessive and the main ingredient is meat; lots and lots and lots of meat. I should perhaps warn any faint hearted vegetarians to discontinue reading now because Katz’s is a temple where people pay homage to salad dodging. Its menu is a lentil free list, a bible for beef, a catalogue of carbohydrates, where the only concession to greenery is a side order of pickles and coleslaw. However if you like the sound of a Reuben sandwich (toasted sandwich made with corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Russian dressing) or a Philly Cheesesteak (thinly sliced pieces of steak and melted cheese on a long roll), then please read on.

For those seeking an archetypal New York experience a lunchtime visit to Katz’s will be highly rewarding. Here, everything the movies have ever told you comes true. Upon entry the deli crackles with energy and attitude. As banter fires off in all directions so the room is filled with a symphony of American accents which range from first generation Hispanic to full on ‘Tony Soprano’. The temptation to say ‘eh, alrightalready’ with a theatrical shoulder shrug is hard to resist and the conversation seems to have only one volume setting - loud. As orders are barked out, a legion of workers zip around, making their own ballet out of what appears to be chaos. At the door you are given a blank ticket and pointed in the direction of a long counter which runs nearly the entire length of the shop. Behind it an army of white capped men await your order with dangerous looking knives in hand. The list of coronary clogging culinary delights is daunting, and while seasoned regulars issue their requests with practiced confidence, the patience of the cutters seems easily tested by hesitant virgins. Indeed, getting served in Katz’s is half the fun as the servers seem to take a disinterest in customers which would please even the surliest of Parisian waiters. Fortunately there is a row of inviting beer taps situated at the one end of the counter so it’s not a bad idea to partake of a brew and take your time deciding. In fairness the bark of the employees is worse than their bite and they are actually quite happy to explain the dishes or provide a sample of the meat. Whatever you order is marked on your ticket for payment upon departure. Given the size of the portions your exit could be somewhat delayed by the demands of your digestion.

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Posted by Maurice on September 26, 2007 | Permalink

Of all the seaside towns in all the world, the biggest rock shop has to be in one of them, and it’s Great Yarmouth. It’s only fitting that a resort so unashamed of its dedication to traditional leisure and pleasure throws healthy eating to the wind and gets down to the serious business of getting rock right.

It’s not completely clear what kind of competition Docwras Rock Factory has for the “Biggest rock shop” title, although a couple of other establishments in Regent Road look like they’re thinking of having a go. Although the shopfront is relatively modest they’re not exactly hiding their light under a bushel with the enormous neon sign saying “The World’s Largest Rock Shop” running right down one side of the interior.

And indeed, it’s big. One side is taken up with lots and lots of rock. All shapes. All sizes. All flavours. There’s everything – banana, raspberry, coffee, strawberries and cream, aniseed, different types of mint, and they come with almost anything stamped through the middle. Towards the back, beside the novelty shapes like baby’s dummies and fried breakfasts made of rock there’s even a “naughty section” with some genuinely eye watering things to put in your mouth.

Docwras is a family run business that has been making rock and other sweets for over 100 years. They’re quite happy to share the expertise of their “rock and rollers”. At the other side of the shop, beside a huge pipe painted rock pink another huge sign says “See Yarmouth Rock Made Here” with a sign showing the time of the next demo. Sadly, I missed it. Seeing as they make 80,000 sticks of rock every week it shouldn’t be long before another one comes along.

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Posted by Anne on July 16, 2007 | Permalink

Reading Terminal Market is the hotspot for local and tourist foodies alike. Eighty vendors of every kind of edible goodie imaginable is housed at 12th & Arch Streets, adjacent to Chinatown and downtown corporate Philly in Center City.

Reading Terminal is 114 years old and is a Philly institution for locals and a must-see stop for tourists. Pick up produce from Iovine’s, local honeys and beeswax candles, fresh eggs, Pennsylvania wine (ok, not the wine…trust me.). The freshest meat, chicken and fish are available at excellent prices. Or if you’re in the mood for a quick lunch, check out any of the twenty-plus take out joints. Your food wish can come true at Reading Terminal, from Thai, Chinese, Mexican, Italian, and of course Cheesesteak.

The Philly Cheesesteak is an absolute necessity when visiting Philly. Locals have their favorites, but personally, I have to say that Rick’s Cheesesteaks in the Market has the absolute tastiest cheesesteak on the planet. And the bread is fluffy, but has some tooth. But you’ve got to have it “Wit Wiz”, that is with Cheez Wiz, a salty, orange, fake cheese concoction that is simply divine. Bon Appetit!

One of the big draws of Reading Terminal is the Amish vendors. These old school Christians of German descent who still wear turn-of-the-19th century garb (Seen Witness?) can make you one mean hot pretzel, smothered in butter of course. Butter that’s as close to the cow as you can pretty much get these days. If you want to check them out, however, you need to come to the Market Wednesday through Saturday.

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Posted by Rebecca on June 14, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (5)