Brickston

It’s been a long time since I used to be a regular visitor to SW9 (around 1999, when a friend had a flat just off the high street and we spent the Saturday night under the arches at Heaven and Sunday wishing we hadn't) but there’s still nothing quite like Brixton on a Friday summer’s afternoon. Walking onto Electric Avenue you feel a palpable jolt; the muggy atmosphere and smells of meat grilling over charcoal, overripe mangoes and dried fish feels a little like a Spike Lee film.

Of course now I’m older and a (little) wiser; and, as if to confirm that fact, my most recent visit to Brixton - or 'Brickston' on this occasion, to chalk up a couple more #brutaltour stops - didn’t coincide with a visit to Plan B (RIP) or a gig at the Academy, but a work meeting of information and record managers in Westminster. Which made rather a staid contrast to the bustle of Brixton, where I was confronted by a riotous steel band and a baying mob, upset that KFC was unexpectedly closed, within minutes of emerging from the tube.

First up was Brixton Recreation Centre - architect George Finch for Lambeth Borough Council 1973-1985. With its red brick frontage and iconic concrete pillars, the Rec remains a well-used hub of the community despite murmurings that the amount needed for its upkeep mean it will eventually be razed to the ground for housing and a new centre built on the site of Brixton Pop, a shipping container food court next-door.  If it’s open and your passing, it’s also worth a look inside at the twisting brick staircases and glass atrium.

Southwyck House - architect Magda Borwiecka, 1972-81, for Lambeth Borough council - is an imposing building on Coldharbour Lane that’s part of the Somerleyton Estate. Known locally as the ‘barrier block’, its original purpose was, indeed, to protect Brixton from the proposed South Cross Route motorway proposed to run through the centre of town. With the road unbuilt the building was squatted in before it was even open and the unwelcoming façade soon proved a hotspot for crime and drugs.

A grimly fascinating building that doesn’t appear to have received the same adoration of other estates in South London, although it is now safer and cleaner - helped by one block now being split into three, with new lifts installed between. But the main building still casts an imposing shadow and the new entrances and external stairways somewhat resemble Stasi watchtowers, albeit with jaunty flashes of red on the roofs and railings.

After a bit of aimless and happy wandering about around the market followed by an animated conversation with an interesting character on Coldharbour Lane about the merits of, well I'm still not really sure quite what of, I walked up the road for an early solo dinner at Nanban.  

If you're a fan of Masterchef you may remember an experimental chef from a few years back who came from the American midwest via Tokyo who won with a menu that included cheddar cheesecake with whiskey jelly. That man was Tim Anderson who, after marrying an English woman and settling in the Big Smoke, has finally opened his own restaurant.

Inspired by 'Japanese soul food', Nanban is housed in an old eel and pie house, hence the electric eel dish (also a nod to Brixton's famous Ave), served deep fried with ginger vinegar and found on the small plates menu. Also expect to see other east/west mashups such as burgers topped with pork belly and korean gochujang paste and spaghetti with mentaiko (spicy cured cod's roe), pancetta and a poached egg.

Beer is bespoke, with the restaurant collaborating with Pressure Drop to produce Nanban Kampai – a wheat and citrus infused IPA. Served a touch too warm, this was a juicy and citrussy beer that  really benefited from the creamy/banana notes bought by the wheat (not normally one of my favourite styles). Complex, and a bigger hitter at 6.5% ABV, it stood up well to the spice, although you might have trouble yourself if you drank a few.

The KFJ (karaage fried jackfruit) was one of the most interesting dishes I’ve had for a while. The under ripe fruit, when coated in seasoned flour and deep fried, has a taste and texture that is confusingly close to chicken. When I Googled it afterwards it has already been (predictably) touted as a new ‘superfood’, and I even found a bbq’d ‘pulled jackfruit’ recipe on the Guardian for massive eco hipster points. The yuzu mayo alongside was also rather lovely, the smooth richness cut though by the hybrid citrus tang.

When I was in Tokyo, I was fortunate enough to get to Fuungi– which, even though it was only ten minutes’ walk from our hotel, took an intent amount of studying Google maps to find, not helped by also walking there in the tail of a hurricane. There the tsukune, or dipping, noodle is king. Bowls of rich and creamy anchovy and pork broth, adorned with nothing but half a boiled egg, are served alongside separate bowls of plain steamed ramen noodles for dunking and slurping.

Nanban offers two versions; the Leopard, a deep piggy broth whose surface is ‘spotted’ with garlic oil  and served with noodles topped with garlic chips, crispy shallots and parmesan cheese; and a Brixton inspired version with curry goat, scotch bonnet and pickled bamboo shoots. Being in SW9, I chose the latter and was rewarded with a bowl of rich and spicy meat curry, with half a gooey ‘onsen’ egg (untried, but with a beguilingly bright yolk) and a dish of springy ramen topped with crispy shallots and aforementioned shoots.

If I was being fussy, I preferred the bigger and bouncier boiled Japanese noodles to the tightly oiled curls of Nanban’s ramen, although the pickled shoots were inspired and the goat curry, while not being G.O.A.T, had a punchy (boom) depth that I’m sure even Ali would have appreciated.

The biggest issue is that it’s an enormously inelegant dish to eat. My chopstick skills are fairly decent (I even received compliments from an elderly couple in Kyoto, who obviously had very low expectations of my table manners) but, despite having the Poirot-esque napkin down the front of my shirt and head bowed I still ended up looking rather like a leopard myself at the end of dinner.

Nanban does offer ice cream – the surprisingly ‘vanilla’, vanilla flavour, served with grilled bananas and crispy fried noodles – but, in an ongoing bid to end all my blog posts this summer with an iced dessert, I headed to the market to sample some of the much lauded gelato from Lab G in Granville Arcade.

From the outside it may look a little faded and nondescript, and inside there’s only a modest selection of traditional flavours, but my scoop of pistachio may have been the finest I have ever eaten. I could reel off all the clichéd superlatives –smooth, sweet, creamy, nutty – but just know it was as good as anything I’ve eaten in Italy, and the same price as a Whippy.

It isn't all different down in SW9 since my halcyon days of hanging around South London; walking back home after dinner I saw this magnificent mk3 Ford Fiesta, which, in red, was also my very first car. And, just like back the 90s, I still drive a red Ford now - this one is named Archie after Steve Archibald the red-haired Spurs winger - proving most things never really change (and yeah, I'm still a terrible driver, too...).

Bites: Cask and Bricks

The fourth stop on the brutal tour manages to mix two of my favourite things; Modernist architecture and the pub. Quite literally in this case, as the pub has actually been built into the Lillington Gardens Estate in Pimlico.

The corner spot is currently occupied by craft beer champions the Cask Pub Co, although previously it was an old school boozer called the Pimlico Tram. While some may be sad that the old guard are being replaced by the new wave with their big hops and bigger beards, judging that we recently walked for a good half an hour from Primrose Hill to the Alexandra and Ainwsorth Estate in Camden and didn't pass a single pub on the way, they may feel lucky to still have a licenced establishment at all.

But before we get down to the drinking, first a bit about the architecture. What is immediately apparent, in stark opposition to the previous buildings on the tour, is the lack of concrete. The estate, built in three stages between 1964-1972, is dominated by neat rows of red brick quite unlike the stark swathes of grey that I have seen before. In fact, I'm not quite sure what categorises this as Brutalist rather than Modernist, but you can read some more informed stuff about the estate here.

Seen here in the distance and matching the brick found across the estate is St James the Less, an Anglican church built in 1858–61 by George Edmund Street in the Gothic Revival style. While Lillington Gardens is Grade II listed, this goes one better being Grade I and described by Pevsner as "one of the finest Gothic Revival churches anywhere".

 

While St James is worth a nose around, my beliefs are firmly beer-based and Cask Beer and Kitchen is a fine place for an afternoon's worship. There's a daily changing menu of cask and keg beers, a large selection of bottle and cans - including many Trans-Atlantic and hard to get hold of, a wet dream for a hop head like me - and a decent selection of wine and spirits for the non believers. Truly an all-inclusive church.

They also offer a tempting third off beers to takeaway - even if my last take out purchase, a bottle of Evil Twin's Ashtray Heart, ended up smashed on the pavements of Stockwell in the early hours of the morning. But that's another story....

Beers I've enjoyed recently here include the failsafe Thornbridge 'Chiron' American pale ale; Siren's 'Dippy and The Equinox' douple IPA, and a lovely half of Pressure Drop 'Street Porter' London porter. I also managed to grab their last can of Beavertown's Skull King last summer; which gave me a frisson of excitement that only a beer bore geek will understand - the cask Bone King I tried at their sister pub, Craft Beer and Co, may be one of the best beers I've ever drunk. Like Um Bongo on steroids.

Although I stuck to peanuts on my most recent visit, they also offer food from Forty Burgers and back in the summer I visited for dinner with Stealth. Then I tried the Heat Burger - a beef patty, topped with blue cheese and iceberg lettuce and double dipped in buffalo hot sauce. While they proudly advertise their meat as being 'a rare and unique blend of 67%, forty day aged rib and 33%, thirty day aged rump', the magma like flow of sauce cascading everywhere meant the predominate taste was vinegar and chilli.

Stealth also had the Heat burger, this time with a chicken patty replacing the beef, and thoroughly enjoyed it. But she's also destroyed her palate with a diet of scalding black coffee and Menthol Vogues, so make of that what you will (Stealth has no palate to destroy). We both agreed the chips were great, though.

Overall, surfeit of chilli sauce excepted, I think this might be one of my favourite London pubs. Inside may lack the charm of the exterior, but the beer's good, the staff are friendly and it's especially nice on a weekday afternoon, when you get the whole place to yourself and you can sit drinking bitter (cask fans, as the name suggests, are not forgotten) and reading Orwell. 

If you want a fag, as George would have done, you'll of course have to go outside now - but at least there's some nice buildings to look at while you're out there, and their hanging baskets look great all year round.

Beer, burgers, bricks and my love for alliteration. Cask is giving it with both barrels.

A Brutalist birthday and some brunch

So, the blog is five. In previous years this auspicious date has slipped by rather quietly - apart from the first anniversary, when there was some jazzy birthday cake ice cream, stuck with a solitary candle - but this year I wanted to mark the passing of time with a new challenge. It had to be cheap (more on that in a later blog), involve adventure, and, most importantly, keep my interest piqued while not driving the Ewing insane for a whole twelve months (that would be good - TE).

So I thought of some combinations of my favourite things, ruled most of them out for being highly impractical (and possibly illegal) and finally settled upon my love of brutalism, The Big Smoke and maps; three things that have been cunningly combined together by Blue Crow Media in their brutalsit map of London.

 Fifty-two weeks to see the fifty-four  landmarks listed (plus possibly a few bonus balls found outside the Big Smoke) to learn a few new things, see some hitherto unexplored corners of the capital and shake a few foundations. Of course not literally, given the construction of some of these behemoths.

Brutalism, deriving from the French for 'raw concrete', is an architectural movement that rose from the ruins, literally, of post-war Europe. Renowned for its uncompromising ruggedness that often puts form above function, it's characterised by the austere expanses of concrete its name suggests, with a focus on practicality that will divide a dinner party at its mere mention. 

Needless to say, it floats my boat, although clearly, like all things, it has it's flaws, and not all to do with buildings themselves. Although I'm sure there will be time to pontificate on the finer points during the coming months. I didn't study art and architecture at uni for nothing (err, well I did, but that's another story).

I started the challenge gently with the rather modest Hendon Hall Court. Designed by Owen Luder - whose partnership was behind the iconic Trinity Car Park in Gateshead and Portmouth's Tricorn Centre; both now both sadly (or happily, depending on your stance) reduced to rubble - this small block of private flats is a rather more modest proposition.

Built between 1961 - 1966, its repetitive and angular geometry, most striking at either end of the block, marks it out as a brutalist build, albeit one that blends nicely into this leafy suburb. White paint softens the bleakness of the concrete - although an old photo I found on Flickr (in black and white making it hard to tell) seems to show bare concrete and roughcast, suggesting this wasn't always the case.

Although we didn't go inside, The Ewing had a quick swizz  around the entrance and through the front doors, where plinths of concrete impressively rise up from the outside staircase and seamlessly pass through panes of glass into the hallway.

Google also throws up a nice bit of property porn, showing some deceptively spacious, if slightly oddly configured flats. If you're interested, a three bedroom penthouse is currently going for £690,000 smackers, although it does boast a 30ft reception room that leads on to a large roof terrace. Two beds start at £400,000, which considering the careering London property market doesn't seem all that unreasonable.

Tramping around outside Barnet in the freezing depths of winter, all while attempting to look surreptitious, is hungry work. As it was Sunday, we decided dim sum was in order and Wing Tai, part of the pagoda-like complex that includes the Wing Yip supermarket and is impossible to miss from the Edgware Road, was just a few minutes drive away.

It's a big space but there was already a waiting list a little after twelve. and plenty of Chinese families, which is always a good thing. Or maybe not when they gave us the the dim sum menu to fill in, along with the little Argos biro, and the only discernible thing to a non-chinese speaker was the cost...

Thankfully they also have a laminated pictorial menu and we had soon made our choice of seven dishes; I had pointed out that eight was an auspicious number, but the Ewing had also pointed out most of our choices were deep fried in some form and if we were going to spend the next year traipsing around the city, we could probably do without the extra ballast. 

Food was decent, if lacking the finesse of some of the better joints; likely as some of it comes frozen from the supermarket next door. There are some unusual choices, though, including prawn, beef and crunchy water chestnut dumplings that we tried, and a pork and peanut number, that we didn't.

Doughnut cheung fun were, as always, fun; with a good contrast between the slimy rice dough outside and the puffy fried dough within. While the fried beancurd rolls, despite having the unfortunate appearance of a roadside casualty, were perfectly tasty.

We also had pork buns, The Ewing's favourite, that were small but perfectly fomed; good spicy thai-style baby octopus; and glutinous rice, wrapped in lotus leaves and studded with dried mushrooms, shrimp and sausage. To finish were deep fried custard buns, which for my money beat most doughnuts with a much better filling to dough ratio and a lovely crisp caramel carapace. 

At fifteen pounds a head, all in and including chinese tea and tip (although be aware they ask for a separate gratuity if you pay by card) it's a decent shout if you don't want to schlep into central London, and there's always the advantage of visiting the adjacent supermarket after to stock up on chili sauce and strange snacks.

All in all it ended up being a day of discovering new things; not only did I start my architectural tour and find about the Luder school - at least beyond Get Carter and the Catford shopping centre - I also found out what the plural of uterus was. Luckily for the Ewing, this was one experience I wasn't keen to explore further.