Dear Readers,
Welcome back to Capital Letter. We continue to remain dedicated to untangling the here and now of London, to make living in this city – whose BSL sign is revealing – that much more enthralling.
We also remain keen to hear from you about your own tip-offs, recommendations or slices of London life you might be willing to share; mass surveillance is the heartbeat of our century, and we are but a small team of surveyors. Send your most captivating spots to editorial@the-fence.com.
A final reminder that we have a dedicated Google map for all our suggestions, as well as a paywall for our previous editions, which remain miraculously evergreen. We won’t link the map here – pay first, then rummage – but once you find it, save it. It’s only getting larger.
This week we’ve got a roundup of recent theatre, advice on where to get your autumn wardrobe and the best brutalist building in London. We start, however, with the much-anticipated return of our one and only Secret Chef, our famous anonymous critic. They’ve put down the pans and taken up the pen, once more.
A Pair of Tarts
As we all scroll away observing the lives of others, it’s important to remember that no one asked any of us to do any of this. Nobody asked normies to post their entire boring lives – and no one asked the latest generation of chefs to do it either. In the olden days, there was no need to have a personal brand in which your every move was carefully crafted and documented. The food would do the talking, and if it wasn’t loud enough, maybe you’d do a bit of TV; although pre-Boiling Point (Gordon’s one, not Stephen Graham’s), people wanted to see their chefs at home, not at the pass.
Not so much anymore. Blame Heston, Bourdain, Prue Leith, whoever you want – the modern chef welcomes the whole world into their kitchen, flaunting their Thermomixes and gurning over their gastronorm pans. Instagram turned restaurants into galleries and chefs into artists, then over time, into influencers. Even the pop-up merchants – the rollie-smoking skinny lads without dining rooms of their own – have tens of thousands of followers these days, and like influencers, they’ve figured out how to con brands out of far more than a meal’s worth. And we haven’t even got onto the starfucking. Not yet, anyway.
Now, why go after my fellow chefs, you may ask? Well, it’s all for a good cause – amusement – and seeing as earnest reviews mean nothing anymore (thank you, Will & Jesse), it’s high time to poke a bit of fun at a pair whose skills I respect enormously.
First up is an easy one…
Jackson Boxer
Followers - 106k
Cooking chops - 8/10
Boat race - 9/10
Arse-licking - 6/10
Is Jackson the best-looking chef in London? He probably is. Either way, it took him a while to work out whether he was a chef or an outrageously camp maître d’. Thankfully for all our eardrums, he decided to remain behind the pass. Jackson has the loudest voice in the industry, you can literally hear his conversations from Notting Hill. Initially, his channel was all brand collabs – a perfect life presentation of his beautiful partner and their ever-growing family. Since then, it’s become much more sophisticated – the cooking has obviously improved greatly, as have the pictures of it, and now, only every page or so, there’s a very sophisticated fashion shoot with a niche Japanese denim brand like Blue Blue, in which he talks about not doing brand collabs anymore. He takes a good picture, I’ll give him that. I would like him to take his top off though, just once – a bit more flesh never hurt anyone.
He’s also very eloquent, and an annoyingly great writer. You can imagine him switching from running restaurants to writing about them at the drop of a hat, and we’d all lap it up. Like most of my peers, he loves a little hobnobbing (his 40th was full of cool, low-key celebrities like James Norton) but it’s more of a humblebrag, less desperate than Tomos Parry tagging any celebrity he’s been in the same postcode as. Boxer has obviously grown up surrounded by celebrities, to the point that it just doesn’t faze him, so there’s less need to cosy up and leverage some starpower. That’s why he scores fairly low on the arse-licking front, because let’s face it – he’s cool, and damn him, he knows it.
Next up…
Santiago Lastra
Followers – 61k
Cooking chops – 9/10
Boat race – 7/10
Arse-licking – 10/10
The first thing that is immediately obvious about Santi’s channel is the orange: everything is orange. I know the guy is from Mexico, and Mexican orange is a thing, but his channel and his restaurant have every overused shade from the last decade: from terracotta to burnt sienna; your ochres, your paprikas, your ambers. ‘Hey Siri, what colour should I make my restaurant?’
I was quite excited when Santi and Kol came to town. A fancy Mexican restaurant in London was just what we needed. Santi is a nice guy. Really nice. Too nice? He is from the cult of Noma and it shows. So many people from that kitchen switch into a sycophancy overdrive like you’ve never seen, it’s jaw-dropping – like a face-hugger from Alien trying to penetrate your throat, injecting you with their mad food and fake hospitality. Santi strikes me as a kid who, before he became a cook, was lost; a nice guy, maybe not particularly artistic, not particularly popular, the type of boy who was just ‘ok’ at high school basketball – and then he ‘found food’.
I’m sure there’s a really romantic origin story he’s wanged on about in an interview. Everyone’s got to have a story these days, haven’t they? I saw him post some clipped-up podcast drivel, being interviewed in a soft plush chair about his difficult journey to the UK and how – sob – he had to – sob – sleep on a – sob – mattress on the floor – sob. MGMK found £3m for your new Mayfair restaurant, could they not help you out with a decent flat? If you’ve got a story, you can get anywhere – even pal up with Tom Cruise! WOW. Imagine being sent a birthday cake from Tom Cruise. Santi has not only imagined it but manifested it, as well as all the other celebrities that come and get papped at his restaurant. Dua Lipa: SNAP! Guillermo del Toro, say CHEESE! Salma Hayek – sausages!
So there you have it. Be warned, my fellow cooks: whatever you put out into the world is fair game, and can be judged by your friends, family and peers. Watch this space for two more chefs to go under the knife…
You cannot find Secret Chef on Instagram.
What are You, Ghost or Gull?
Our pick for the most interesting thing to see is Seagull: True Story, a new version of the Chekhov classic at the Marylebone Theatre, which is a striking meta-staging designed as an exploration of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. It’s created and directed by Alexander Molochnikov and based on his own experiences of having to flee the country while rehearsing a production of The Seagull for the Moscow Arts Theatre in 2022. Perhaps most exciting, he is speaking about the process and challenges of creating it in an event at Pushkin House alongside actor Ingeborga Dapkūnaitė. It won’t be a barrel of laughs, but it will be worth the trip.
Elsewhere, the Arcola has brought back Phillip Ridley’s intense one-person shows to their studio space, which we recommend as an interesting venue to keep an eye on; it’s an excellent, intimate space. Currently, they’re playing Ridley’s The Poltergeist,a tense monologue about a child art prodigy, a good watch for those who are fans of intensity and fast pacing, less so if you like a big fancy set.
Finally, a warning. If you see any adverts for an immersive theatre experience called ‘The Storehouse’ promising an invigorating exploration of fake news and an archive of media from the 1980s – avoid it. Everything about the show seems to be a nightmare. A source close to The Fence who is behind the scenes on a regular basis tells of hefty, boring monologue upon hefty, boring monologue and groups of sad-looking customers wandering slowly through a warehouse in Dalston.
Even its initial trumpeted claims that the show stars Kathryn Hunter and Toby Jones are depressingly thin sales tactics – the two appear very minorly as recorded voice actors and have become a notably smaller part of more recent advertising drives (fake news, eh?) You probably weren’t thinking of going, but just in case you were: please, please don’t.
Parallel Parking
London is a city made of hundreds of smaller, distinctive areas – towns and hamlets in their own right. We want to provide some guidance to each of their landscapes. If you feel you know one such location exceptionally well, do get in touch. It’s editorial@the-fence.com.
Finsbury Park is an odd sort of area. Its character has best been summed up by the late playwright Stephen Jeffreys, who described it in the 1950s as ‘a heads-down kind of world, a transit camp, a twilight zone where people dwelt in their own inner space, reading one of the three evening papers (the Standard, the News and the Star) while waiting for one of the three buses (the 233, the 212 and the 210.)’
Recent years have changed some of this character, and certainly Finsbury Park is becoming slightly hotter as a place to move to; still with just enough cut and edge to make it a ‘cool’ place to live, while having enough of that grit removed to make it a place of sellable real estate. But it still retains this slightly transient nature which can make it somewhat tricky to navigate. That said, there are a lot of good things to be had around the park, as this excellent 1979 disco track would suggest.
So, to the (non-exhaustive) recommendations. We start with the most obvious: The Faltering Fullback is (or was)good, but it is also much too busy. If you’re looking for a place where you can get both a drink and a seat, we might recommend the Robin, the Bank of Friendship – which is pushing the Finsbury Park/Highbury boundary – or the WB Yeats, a pub with that perfect balance of a warm but gentle atmosphere on a weeknight with a good buzz across the weekend. It
If you’re hungry, avoid Tollington’s – a tapas bar run by the folks in charge of The Plimsoll, which has taken over an old-fashioned fish bar. It is deeply overrated and while there can be some very tasty morsels there, they are only morsels, and expensive at that. Its ‘seasonal’ offerings in the winter months reveal why preservatives and international food shipping have become such a popular blight.
We have some other eateries to visit. Cats is a heavily themed Thai restaurant with some of the best interiors in London, excelling in pure strangeness. There are ornate fans, large golden Buddhas, pictures of the Thai Royal family, and bank notes from all over the world sandwiched between the panes of glass that make up many of the tables. Bizarrely enough, this is a restaurant that labels itself as a Cafe des Artistes, though we do not know why.
For your late-night eats, E.Mono is the spot. It deals in kebabery of all kinds directly behind the bus stations for ease of access when your legs are not at their most cooperative. This is one to trust, although the live timetable at the nearby bus stop is not. Many a time has a poor punter seen it display 20 odd minutes until the next bus, sloped off to get a snack to pass the time, only to see their bus sail past while they’re being dished their döner.
For entertainment, one spot looms large, with a reputation that precedes it: Rowan’s Tenpin. It’s known throughout London as a slightly ridiculous place, and it is. The decor is tacky, the music is bad and it’s a bizarre melange of a pool room, arcade and karaoke rooms. So why do we still recommend it? Well, there is something inexplicably brilliant about getting stuck in at a bowling lane well past midnight, afrobeats blaring out behind you. It’s a place where completely incongruous groups of people happily gather to revel in Lebowski-like glory, the kind that doesn’t really stand up to sober scrutiny – but exists all the same.
Uncommon Architecture in Bow
There are plenty of churches in the capital which are very interesting, not because of medieval monks or Victorian monuments, but because they provide snapshots into the more recent past. St Paul’s, Bow Common is one such church.
Doubtless, you will have been bored by the Carhartt beanie boy in your life droning on about the Barbican or Trellick Tower. Next time they try this, simply ask them what they know about London’s actual most important brutalist building – St Paul’s, Bow Common. St Paul’s is an incredible building, marrying brick, glass and harsh angles into a perfect example of religious brutalist architecture. Over the door stands, in a font reminiscent of the Book of Kells, the sign ‘This is the Gate of Heaven.’ The interior is just as extraordinary – with the highlight being a series of stark, modernist mosaic works by Charles Lutyens, the distinctly non-conformist artist nephew of the architect of Empire.
It wasn’t always thus. Prior to the 1940s, St Paul’s was a rather run-of-the-mill Victorian Gothic number. After substantial redecoration by the Luftwaffe, the ruined building stood until the early 1950s. It was in 1951 that a young priest was appointed vicar there, Gresham Kirkby. Kirkby was a self described ‘anarcho-communist’. He was determined that he wouldn’t be the vicar to preside over mere ruins but instead would build a church fit for the 20th century. The-then Bishop of London visited his deathbed two days before he conked it and, trying to speak to Kirkby about the eternal, instead got a proclamation of ‘his undying faith in anarchy.’ Promotion was not forthcoming, and so Kirkby stayed as vicar of the church he had built for 43 years. Nowadays the church remains true to the anarchic vision of its builder, a mix of jumble sales (make sure to bring 50p for entry), liturgical celebrations and community action.
This year marks a decade since the church’s structure-saving restoration. There is no better time to visit. It’s a nice wander from Mile End station, if you’re taking the Tube, and takes you past the Wentworth Arms, a rare surviving East End wet pub where the main entertainment is an old school pub piano. It has a wonderfully anarchic air. Gresham Kirkby would be proud.
Wrapping Up
Summer has ended and autumn is here. It is time to update the wardrobe, but it is, of course, imperative to do so stylishly.
Perhaps the best place for this is London’s sample sales, where you can get some very nice designer pieces at prices that are worth considering. There are many online portals that keep a track of these limited-time events – The Box London is a useful one – but many of these big-name, high-profile sales can be regrettably oversubscribed. Instead, why don’t you head down to the Hackney Sample Sale, a much smaller, much more enjoyable affair that is just as likely to throw you your new favourite item. They are going to be running from 2 - 4 October, at Unit 4 of Tanners Yard, E2 6QB.
For more committed bargain hunters, we also strongly recommend the car boot sale operating out of the Princess May School in Stoke Newington. They are open every weekend and tend to have a much better selection than most of their ilk. We recommend going early for the good stuff, stopping in the late morning for a slap-up breakfast (offered on site) and then catching the final hour, where sellers will start slashing prices like crazy.
That’s all for the fortnight, we hope you enjoyed it. Do try our recommendations out and let us know your thoughts – we have firm faith in our good taste, but as John Donne reminds us, no mag is an island. If you enjoyed this mail-out, do drop us a like below, or even better, tell your friends.
All the best,
TF