Brick Lane Beigel Bake: A Proper Bagel in Crumpet Territory

I know what you're thinking. A proper Jewish bakery in London? What? Quizzical faces all around, right? Believe it, folks. Enter Brick Lane Beigel Bake. Turns out, Shoreditch, where the spot is located, used to be a Jewish outpost in London. Who knew? Odd spelling aside (must be a Yiddish UK thing), I had to check it out.

Brick Lane Beigel Bake (don't pretend that isn't really fun to say) is situated in the middle of one of the most vibrant markets in the city, on Sundays at least. That's the day when Petticoat Market, both Old and New Spitalfields, Brick Lane and several other unnamed markets all spring to live within walking distance of each other, featuring plenty of good bargains, unusual finds, copious ethnic street food, and crowds of both artsy tourists and funky locals alike. And yet, in the middle of all this hustle and bustle, the unassuming Bake still has a queue out the door most of the time. It doesn't look like much from the outside, or the inside either for that matter, but something good must be going on to draw that kind of a crowd.

Bagel enthusiast with a healthy appetite and sense of curiosity that I am, I had to taste it for myself. Imagine my delight when I discovered not only is the Bake delicious, but reasonably priced and open 24 hours. Their salt beef is apparently the stuff of legend. I wouldn't know, not being a salt beef fan, but their smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel? To die for, at a bank-breaking pound sixty-five. Lunch for under two quid? Sign me up, mate.

Even after my taste treat rode around in my bag for an hour as I carted it home, this baby was delectable. Everything a bagel should be, in fact: eggshell-hard on the outside, chewy on the inside, with a thick schmear of real, rich cream cheese (none of that low-fat stuff for Brick Lane), and three, count 'em, three long slices of smoked salmon topping it all off. The verdict? This is one sandwich I'm more than happy to queue up for. Especially if I find some loose change in my pocket.

Like a Kid in a Sweet Shop

Holy shoe heaven, batman! Yesterday, I took myself shopping in Central London (strictly a reconnaissance mission) and happened to stumble into Selfridge's on Oxford Street which just opened the world's largest shoe gallery. The gallery boasts over 4,000 pairs of shoes in a twisting, turning labyrinth of a shoe-lover's paradise.

The website boasts a map of the gallery, which includes side "apartments" for all our favorite designers: Gucci, Dior, Christian Louboutin, Prada, Fendi, Jimmy Choo, etc. Each designer was given total creative control over their gallery, which gives each nook it's own unique atmosphere. Those lowly "lower end" designers who just made it to the center gallery are labeled unassumingly with a little placard bearing their name, just in case the iconic designs of Marc by Marc Jacobs (cute flats this season) or Stella McCartney (oh, those over-the-knee boots!) aren't enough. Oh yeah, the gang's all here, and I can barely afford to look at any of them.

As a dedicated shoe afficionado, I could have easily spent a few weeks (and my entire life savings, projected about 50 years and allowing for inflation) in this shoe department. Fortunately for my wallet, unfortunately for my closet, my budget (and lack of credit card) managed to restrain me. Still, for anyone who's interested in a bit of fashionable sight-seeing, or just wants to hold those luscious leopard print Jimmy Choo pumps in their sweaty little hands, Selfridge's is definitely good for a gander.

Shakespeare at Home: A Visit to Stratford-Upon-Avon

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be."
"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
"To be or not to be, that is the question."


That's right, folks. William Shakespeare. The man penned a great many phrases which influence our speech even today and his plays have entertained the masses since he caught the acting bug in his hometown of Stratford-Upon-Avon all those years ago. As a self-proclaimed Bardophile, I couldn't pass up the chance to visit the home of Anne Hathaway, his wife, the birthplace of ol' Billy himself, and his gravesite at Holy Trinity Church.

Anne Hathaway's cottage is situated just a few miles outside of Stratford-Upon-Avon on a charming little farm one can easily imagine dating back centuries. The little cottage with its thatched roofs and tudor architecture squats cheerfully amidst bounteous gardens and winding pathways, with orchards and outbuildings cozying up to the perimeter.

This photo, probably taken in the Autumn, does not do the gardens justice. The house itself is quaint inside, furnished as it would have been when Anne and her famous husband were alive (although he never lived there). Fun fact of the day: in Anne's day, farmers would clean their chimneys by typing the legs of two chickens together and lowering them down the chimney. The chickens would flap around to get free, knocking the soot down the chimney where it belongs. Nifty little idea, eh?

After Anne's cottage, we headed into Stratford-Upon-Avon itself, where we glimpsed the outside of Shakespeare's birthplace and the location of his father's glovemaking business. I had been inside on previous trips, and it's also worth a visit, although we didn't have time this go-round. 

 Shakespeare factoid: he left his wife his second-best bed upon his demise. Many people take this as a slight, but it would actually have been a sign of love and devotion. The best bed would have been reserved for guests and company, and the married couple would not have slept in that one. The second-best bed was the intimate, familiar one where the couple would have spent their nights (assuming they were wealthy enough to have more than one bed in the first place). Therefore, Shakespeare leaving his wife the second-best was more familiar, more loving than pushing her off into the best one, like a guest in her own house.

Moving on. We hopped back on the bus after a quick photo-op for Holy Trinity Church, a charming English place of worship dating back to 713. The building itself only (only!) dates to 1210, so it's in its infancy as far as European churches are concerned. Here, Shakespeare was buried in the church because he had bought a share in the property, making him what was known as a "lay rector." That earned him the right to be buried there, not his famous stature. 

The inscription on the plaque reads: 

Good friend for Jesus sake forbear

To dig the dust enclosed here

Blest be the man that spares these stones

And curst be he that moves my bones

In those days, a high mortality rate meant lots of bodies, which led to very full churchyards. When the churchyard got too full, they would dig up the bodies already interred there and burn them to make room for new ones. This poem was a request by Shakespeare to leave his alone. As you can see, they did. 

And thus my now-yearly pilgrimage to Shakespeare's gravesite is complete. I came, I saw, I paid homage to the great man whose work I've read, seen and admired since I can remember. Not a bad way to finish off the last weekend before classes begin: a little inspiration from the Bard, and hopefully, a little luck to go along with it. 

Sohoho and a Bottle of Rum

I just have to make three things clear before we begin.

Thing one: Susan Boyle is not appropriate pub music. I don't care how fantastic her voice is, she makes people cry into their pints and that's never a good thing.

Thing two: X Factor might be a fabulous show and all, but you're at a club. Why must we all stop and watch the TVs strategically positioned around the bar for that purpose? Dance, brother, dance!

Thing three: Chicken feet are edible. Yeah, I know, I hadn't considered the little talons an edible part of the bird either, but they are. Wonders never cease.

A group of us went on a tour of Soho-meets pub crawl on Saturday to great success, encompassing all of the above factors. Actually, the Susan Boyle and X Factor were more entertaining anecdotes than successes, but that's a bit beside the point.

This, for the uninitiated, is Soho:

Actually, that could really be anywhere. Ever notice how pictures of streets at night always looks the same? I swear, one of electricity's greatest uses is to make big, otherwise-lackluster buildings look fantastic at night. Anyway. 

We wandered around Soho for a bit, sampling some of the local bar scene before we got hungry. One of our number suggested dim sum in nearby Chinatown, so we toddled off that direction. Immediately upon opening the menu (Chicken feet? Duck tongue? Cow intestine?) at least half of our group fled, leaving the remaining eight or so to enjoy a scrumptious feast of traditional Chinese delicacies. Don't ask me what they were, for the most part. We left all the ordering up to the man who spoke Chinese and knew the dishes, mostly to great success.

After Dim Sum, the pub crawl continued. Something interesting about British bars: it's totally acceptable to fill up a darkened club before 8pm. Granted, the lines out the door didn't start until around 9, but there was definitely a respectable number there when we started our adventure. 

Susan Boyle made an appearance. So did X Factor. So did Abba, Lady Gaga, and the general popular American music repertoire. Cheap drinks all around at one bar, really expensive drinks for some at another, and a plethora of entertaining people-watching all around. This may have been our first foray into Soho, but I strongly suspect it won't be our last. 

Welcome to A Buffalonian Abroad

Why hello there! Having been in merry ol' England for just over a week now, I thought it might be time to drag myself out of jet lag-induced stupor and start blogging already. So here we are: my travel log and daily (or weekly, or twice-weekly, depending on how exciting things get over here) journal for all things Lizz in East London. This blog is still a work in progress, as I'm trying to decide which layout, background image, font, etc. are best, so bear with me as we travel through what may be several incarnations before I decide which I prefer. Anyway, enough of that, on to the topic at hand. Where shall we start?

Like all good artists, I appear to have been a bit absent-minded in my packing, and so forgot (of all things) my camera USB cord to upload photos. So you're going to have to wait for my stunning photos of the campus and surrounding area. For now, a little old stock photo will have to do. So here we are:




I live in Clare House (the round blue one) on the ground floor, with a lovely view (and earful) of the airport just a stone's-throw away. Literally. The City Airport is located on the shore of the Thames in Docklands and the planes land right smack in front of campus. My room (photos to follow, see USB issue above) is, shall we say, cozy. It's wedge-shaped, about six feet wide at its widest and tapers down to the door. My bed is tucked into the wall with shelves above, and my bathroom (shower included) may be the size of the average Winnebago. But hey, it's all mine, so I can't complain. I live in a flat with two other girls, Mags from Ireland and Antonia from Nigeria. Antonia (a second-year undergrad in Business Management, I believe) isn't around much, but Mags (a primary education postgrad) and I get along well. Sharing the kitchen with just two others is a treat, since most people share between five. More on my cooking adventures to come, I'm sure, as I'm still getting used to stocking my own kitchen, using UK appliances (a switch to turn on the stove? what?) and the like. Anyway, living accomodations are humble, but vastly cheaper than living in Central and easier than real-estate hunting, so I really can't complain.

As for the surrounding area, the University is situated right on top of the Cyprus DLR stop, an above-ground railway which connects to the Tube into Central London. I haven't timed it out yet myself, but the journey into Central is approximately 45 minutes on the train. All-told, not terribly awful. I'm within walking distance of an ASDA supermarket (which is owned by Wal-Mart) and supposed walking distance from a shopping center called Gallion's Reach, which has all the usual chain stores, a cell phone place, a Mickey D's and a Tesco, which is the other large supermarket chain. I learned quickly to bring my own bags to each of these, since hoofing it with a plastic bag full of canned goods and glass bottles is just asking for trouble. I already saw one girl lose her groceries to an unfortunate rippage event and it wasn't pretty.

Instead of staying on campus all the time, I'll be traveling to a venue called Stratford Circus in the nearby town (city? I can never tell the difference) of Stratford for class. No, not Shakespeare's Stratford. That's Stratford-Upon-Avon, which I will be visiting on Sunday. I couldn't tell you the difference just yet, but I'll be sure to report back once I find out. This Stratford is (as far as I can tell) a bit more populated than the area I'm living directly in, and will be a nice change from campus at least twice a week. Stratford Circus is near (but not on) the other campus UEL operates. It's a performance space for artists, since the MA Writing students are invited and encouraged to collaborate with the dance, performance and mixed media students to create our projects. For example, if I were to write a play, I could ask theatre students to perform it in class for me. Not bad, eh? Here's a photo of Stratford Circus:




My classes will take place two evenings a week, Tuesdays and Wednesdays this semester, for three hours each. They will consist of a lecture and/or seminar and workshopping of each other's work. We had our induction (which is like an orientation) on Tuesday, and I have to say the module leaders (what we Yanks would call professors) are really enthusiastic, fascinating people. I think I can really learn a lot from them and my fellow students. It's a small program: there are only about ten of us altogether, which will be nice for workshopping. It's always better (in my humble opinion) to share your work and have it torn limb from limb by a small group of people you can grow to know and trust than by a large symposium of strangers. We range in age from 20s to 60s and come from all different places and backgrounds, which is sure to provide some diverse material. I'm pretty pumped to see how it all plays out.

There's really not a whole lot more to tell, although expect more exciting developments in the weeks to come. There's a card called an oyster card which I need to use public transportation without buying single trips, which I've ordered and am anxiously awaiting in the mail. Once I have that, I'll have greater mobility and (I hope) better stories for all of my loyal readers.

I've also applied for a bank letter to get a bank account, which is a letter the school must supply stating that I'm a resident at their campus to satisfy UK bank residency requirements. I've chosen Lloyd's as my bank here because they're large, offer free banking, overdraft protection (not that I'll use it, but just in case) and their debit cards can be used widely throughout the UK. A UK bank account is vital for two reasons: first, I need somewhere to deposit my student loan check which I expect at the end of this week and it makes my money more accessible for everyday expenses. Drawing large amounts from my US account at the ATM is not only inconvenient but expensive, and I'd (obviously) like to stop doing that as soon as possible.

Communication with the outside world relies solely on the interwebs and skype at the moment, as I haven't got a cell phone yet, but I think I'm going with T mobile for the same reason: cheap, easy to use, and their store is conveniently located to me. There is still a myriad of things I have yet to buy, find or figure out (London tube system, grocery shopping at the local market, Stratford, etc.) but I'm confident all of that will come with time. In the meantime, stay tuned! I promise more interesting stories to come.