Thursday, 11 October 2012

Review - Allpresso

As I write this, I feel nauseous and thirsty on a train that smells of piss. London is a treat. No, really, it is. There's so much to do and see and there's no whiff of suburbia anywhere. Only piss. Jokes about piss aside, I am enjoying it. Or rather, I'm enjoying it more than I've enjoyed anywhere else. There's a price (aside from the smell) to be paid for all the London wonders and independence. Everything is very busy and tiring and hectic. I don't feel very at peace or settled yet. On occasion, this manifests itself as a brief feeling of wanting to crawl back into the womb where there's no lack of Internet or bill paying or tutoring or cleaning to think about. Only placenta. Mm, placenta. On the other hand, there are no Shoreditch roasteries in the womb either. The first delicious Shoreditch coffee I tried was at Nude Espresso after Cafe 1001. Back then I was worried our flat would be hideous on the inside. QUITE THE OPPOSITE. It's big and lovely and (usually) clean. And still barely a ten minute walk from the flower markets and bustle of Colombia Street and various markets. We went out to soak up the atmosphere on Sunday and stopped at Allpresso.

The coffee was phenomenal, strong and heady but without any trace of bitterness. As smooth as Bond. I can't say the same for the sandwich. It looked delicious, pork falling apart enveloped by bright sweet potato purée and spinach in a focaccia bin. Punchy sweet with iron let down only by the pork. The pork was cold and had a rather stale, off putting aroma to it. So much so that I couldn't bring myself to finish it, not even for the delicious vegetables. I almost blame it for the second wave of horrifia which befell me and Housemate. That or residual illness from Friday's nightmare. London life is very unhealthy.

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