Crouch End Knowledge - Done!

On a complete spur of the moment, the Englishman and I decided to go on a pub crawl last night. He'd been going on and on about the fact that I'd not finished The Knowledge (this self-imposed task involves visiting every pub in the area) and thought last night was good as any to finally achieve my goal.

But in order to finish the task, first we needed to avoid temptation and (for once) walk past our local, the Maynard Inn (that of the famous Scotch Egg Friday). Determined, we made our way briskly even past the next temptation on Park Road, our favourite tapas bar, Bar Esteban, and carried on towards Broadway, and up Crouch Hill to The Railway Tavern, a pub we had yet to visit. 

The Englishman had a pint of UBU and I a pint of Staropramen. On this sunny evening we even managed to get a table in the little garden at the back. (The whole of Crouch End has been quiet since the start of the school holidays  - the area's not called 'Nappy Valley' for nothing). 

The garden at the back was minuscule, it's true, but full of flowers and very pleasing to the eye. However, it didn't satisfy The Englishman, because when we were walking out, he announced, 'This is a Winter Pub.' I have no idea where he gets these categorisations from. There's 'The Perfect Boozer'; there are pubs that are, 'A bit too poncy for my liking' (I suspect my favourite The Maynard comes under this description), or those that are just 'OK'.

The next unvisited pub on our list was the local Wetherspoon's, but I wasn't ready for that yet, so we nipped in for a quick half at the King's Head. We'd been here before, and if it wasn't for the difficulty in walking past The Maynard, we'd come here a lot more often. The pub is a traditional one, with swirly pattered carpet and dark wooden interior, but the cellar hosts some of the sharpest comedy acts in North London. There's always something going on, which I really like. The beer wasn't bad either, I had Camden Hells and the Englishman a pint of Summer Lightning (he doesn't believe in halves).

After we'd finished the delicious beers (I do like the Camden Brewery lager), still I tried to wriggle out of going into the Weatherspoon's opposite. 'Don't be such a snob,' the Englishman said and pushed me across the road. I'm not sure if it's snobbery, but I dislike pubs that belong to large chains. This one, called Devonshire House, is extremely popular, I grant you. Even at breakfast time when I pass the place on a bus, I often see their regular patrons having the first pint of the day in there. (See why I wasn't so keen?) But tonight I was on a mission, so off we went. To play it safe, I asked for a bottle of Sol.

Leaving the Englishman at the bar, I found a table in the back. Compared to the other two pubs we'd been to, the place was heaving with almost every table taken. I noticed there were couples eating, or groups of girls having drinks. There was a TV in the corner and some plastic plants around. (Not so good). But glancing at the menu, I noticed they had my current obsession, frozen yoghurt on there. I've been wondering why there's no Froyo place in Crouch End. Idly I considered, that if in dire need, I might venture in here for a hit. 

The Englishman arrived at the table carrying three bottles. 'Somebody joining us?' I asked. 'It's a fiver for three bottles!' he said. It was then that I saw the reason behind the popularity of this place. (I know, I'm a bit green sometimes). With his infinite wisdom, the Englishman had asked the barman to leave the top on the extra bottle, so we didn't need to drink all three. Just as well, because I was getting quite tipsy. 

Next (and luckily last) on the list of unvisited pubs in Crouch End was a place, which I'd not even spotted before, on Topsfield Parade. (Just shows you!?). At the Henry Reader there was a pleasant surprise waiting for us. In the mostly empty pub, there were two large screens showing a friendly match between Tottenham (the Englishman's soccer team for my US & Scandi readers) and a Spanish side, Espanyol. I don't usually like TVs in pubs (who does!?) but this was different. Two other Spurs suppporters began having an (almost) intelligent conversation with us about the match, about the forthcoming football season, and about whether our best ever (although possibly not - what do I know?) striker, Gareth Bale, would be sold off. 

'It's a Spurs pub,' the Englishman rejoiced (I think he'd had quite enough beer by this stage too) on our way out. I then remembered that the worst categorisation he could give a drinking establishment is a 'Gooner's pub'. I knew he wouldn't even consider stepping into a pub populated by Arsenal fans. With not only officially completing The Knowledge, but also finding a pub which would show away matches, and friendly towards Spurs, on our doorstep, the evening had just about become complete. 

So there you have it - The Knowledge of Crouch End Pubs is now officially complete. Needless to say, there was a bit of a headache hovering around my temples this morning….

Best Fish & Chips ever in North London

Last night, after the Six Nations Rugby, we couldn't be bothered to cook and decided to sample the fish and chips we'd heard a lot about in Muswell Hill. Toffs, on The Broadway is supposed to serve North London's best fish supper, so that's where we headed.

Doing our usual 'fly-past' check, the place looked just as a good chippy should. The fish at the counter was freshly cooked, and at just after six it was already filling up with both take-away business and those who wanted to eat in.

We booked a table for 7.30 and went in search of a pub called The Famous Royal Oak, which the Englishman had seen on Fancy a Pint was the only 'decent pub' in Muswell Hill. The pub is tucked away at the other side of the viaduct, in a very residential area, but once inside you realise this is a local spelled with a large L. You could see some of the punters had been there all afternoon watching the rugby, still there were a few families, all enjoying the friendly, convivial atmosphere of this 'proper boozer'. I can see another visit will be imminent…

Back at Toffs just before 7.30 we had to fight to get inside. After a while we were shown to a table upstairs (the restaurant seems to go on and on, up into the attic of the house), and although I'd much rather have eaten in the bustling dining room downstairs, at this stage I was happy just to be seated.

The menu does have other things on it apart from the traditional fish and chips, but I wasn't going to go away without sampling the real thing. The Englishman ordered cod and I opted for haddock. We also wanted some mushy peas, something which in my view you cannot eat fish and chips without.

Whether it was the pint we'd had in the quirky old-fashioned Royal Oak, or whether it was the half an hour wait for our meal (the menu stated that all food is cooked to order and asks for your patience - fine by me), but when the food arrived and I took a first taste, I just couldn't believe how good the fish was. The batter was thin and delicious, with a definite beer taste to it, and the fish was cooked to perfection. I normally eat but a fraction of the batter, but this time I could not get enough of it. The chips too were crisp and uneven, only the way chips cut from real potatoes are. The only thing missing was sliced white bread - but thank goodness they didn't offer it. I was full to bursting afterwards and still couldn't finish my dish.

I really believe this was the best fish and chips I've ever had in England - and I've been both to Bryans in Headingley, West Yorkshire, and Harry Ramsdens (before they went all commercial and franchised).

The staff at this Muswell Hill institution were very friendly too - they were literally rushed off their feet, but all had a smile on their faces and couldn't do enough for you.

We're already planning our next visit to Toffs - that's how good the meal was.

Toffs of Muswell Hill
38 Muswell Hill Broadway
London N10 3RT
Open Mon-Sat 11.30 am to 11 pm
Closed Sunday
Phone 0208 883 8656

The Crouch End Knowledge: The Queens

From the outside this pub looks far too large to be any good, and it took some emotional blackmail type of comment from the Englishman to even get me through the door, 'But we said, we'd to try all the pubs!'

The thing was that as soon as I'd written the first post about The Maynard Arms, promising you all a thorough review of all the pubs in N8, I'd regretted the whole thing. With the emotional displacement the move caused me (as usual), and having - with an immense stroke of luck - found such a great drinking and eating establishment as the Maynard right on our doorstep, I just didn't want to risk trying out some dive or other, with a smelly carpet, that served badly kept beer. But, this reluctance to try out new places just isn't in the spirit of the Knowledge game at all.

Needs must, and promises kept, so yesterday we decided that The Queens on Broadway Parade, N8, had to be the next pub on our Knowledge tour. It's only a little further from the Maynard, about five minutes' walk away from our new abode.

And what a little (large) gem this place turned out to be! The Queens has two largish bars and a dining room as well as a garden. According to their website the pub was originally built as a hotel, which explains the grand entrance, the high ceilings, the chandeliers and the large dining room. As we walked in, about half past six on a Thursday night, both the bars were semi-full, although the dining room looked empty.

We had a pint each of a bitter called, Pure. (This Knowledge lark is going to give me a beer belly the way I've suddenly started drinking pints again). We sat down on a cozily worn-out, high-backed leather sofa to enjoy the jovial, and not at all stuffy, atmosphere of the place - as well as the beer.

There were jars with paper napkins and cutlery on the tables and I grabbed one of the menus. It looked fairly standard gastropub fair, with Carrot and Coriander Soup, Aberdeen Angus Burgers and Roast Butternut Squash Risotto, to name but a few dishes. I wouldn't mind eating there one evening, but last night we both fancied noodles and left The Queens with a promise to ourselves to definitely be back.

The noodle hunger was satisfied by a nearby Vietnamese restaurant, Khoai, which was another new experience, but more about that later.

So, Pub No Two of Crouch End Knowledge is done!

Sick bed update

Yesterday I had a small operation under local anaesthetic which means that I have to rest for a few days, not operate heavy machinery, or sign legal documents (!) for 24 hours. (So I've resisted the urge to drive a digger.) I'm also not allowed to do any heavy lifting, or exercise for four to six weeks. I'm on painkillers which make me feel tired and woozy.

After the op I was so relieved that it went well that against all good sense, I decided to keep a previously arranged date to meet up with some great friends. We'd planned to go to our 'regular', the Duke of Hamilton in Hampstead. This has become our favourite pub; it serves good beer, the wine list is OK and they have tables outside both in the front and at the back. It's proper boozer rather than a restaurant, something which is very rare in Northwest London. (And they're on Twitter).

We hadn't seen our friends for weeks, and they were going to be in town for just a few days. When I asked Mr Consultant he said it would be OK, as long as I didn't do too much walking. A brilliant excuse for once to take a cab the short distance! (I immediately considered wearing high heels to the pub). My friend said, 'You won't have to do any lifting either, I'll hold the glass up and you sip.' So, you see, I couldn't refuse.

In the event I don't think I made very good company; I started to droop after the first bottle of beer. For once I was the one who wanted to leave first...and resisted the call of The Holly Bush, another favourite pub on our way home when we walk. Instead we hailed a cab and I had an early night. But I'm glad we went - it was great to see everybody.

In the same spirit of 'rallying around', today the Englishman and Daughter cooked a picnic lunch of onion pie, honey and mustard chicken and salad, which we shared with Son and Girlfriend in the garden. A lovely family lunch for which I didn't have to lift a finger.

Now I'm lounging in front of the TV watching Athletics (of all things) while the Englishman is tidying up in the kitchen.

I could get used to this....

London Life: a pub crawl and Jin Kichi in Hampstead

I've been meaning to write about this fantastic Japanese restaurant in Hampstead for a long time, but somehow just haven't got round to it. It's very popular and it's almost impossible to get a table there these days, so I guess I didn't think it needed any more pr either.

But then last Saturday, when emotionally drained from flat hunting, and after an Ocado grocery delivery failed to arrive (it was a difficult day), the Englishman and I left the empty cupboards of our little kitchen behind and headed off to our latest favourite local, The Duke of Hamilton. By six o'clock we were already starving (we're complete light-weights these days) and decided to walk down to the High Street to see if we could find an eating place in Hampstead which served chips with burgers (explanation here). As we passed Jin Kichi, we thought we'd try our luck. 'No chance,' said the always cheerful Englishman. But luck did seem to be on our side and we got two seats at the bar.

Spurred on by our drink-fuelled hunger we ordered mixed Sashimi, mixed Nigiri, Udon noodles with fishcake and prawns, black cod, Yakotori chicken and deep-fried squid. We washed it all down with Sapporo beer and slowly happiness and a sense of well-being enveloped us.

We joked and laughed with the chef working the hot skewers in front of us and after paying the bill we decided to have just one more drink in the Holly Bush which just happens to be on our way home.    

The next morning I wondered how, since a few years ago visiting two pubs could hardly even be called a pub crawl, I now had a severe head ache and something that could only be called a hangover.

Light weight doesn't begin to describe my drinking ability these days. I wonder if I even can call myself a Finn anymore...