Rosecroft Avenue

The End

2011-06-20T10:55:00.000+01:00

I have retired Rosecroft Avenue and am now concentrating on my blog at Blacksilverpress.com.

Cheers,

Michael

The Old Man of Sunny Field

2011-06-05T07:29:00.004+01:00

The Old Man of Sunny Field, a photo by Odin5491 on Flickr.

This stone face adorns the left gatepost of a large stone-and-iron gate embossed "Sunny Field," at the junction of West Heath Road and Platt's Lane. There is no field here now; the gate is backed by the back fence of someone's back garden. It appears there once was open land here called Sunnyfield: it is referenced in this oral memoir of the late 19th Century from the Child's Hill Baptist Church, and in this 1902 Report of the Hampstead Scientific Society. How long the Old Man has been here I do not know, nor how long he will gaze forlornly across the road toward the West Heath. He is another of those frozen moments of time that make life here so interesting.

Ferncroft Avenue (Sunset)

2011-05-28T10:52:00.002+01:00

Ferncroft Avenue (Sunset), a photo by Odin5491 on Flickr.

The trees so severely trimmed by the Borough of Camden earlier in the spring are now beginning to sprout tiny leaves, giving them an unshaven look against this late May sunset along Ferncroft Avenue.

Naked in NW3

2011-05-27T15:03:00.001+01:00

Naked in NW3, a photo by Odin5491 on Flickr.

This past spring, the Borough of Camden sent in a team of acrobats with a chain saw and wood chipper to strip naked most of the trees in The Crofts area of Hampstead. This one is on Hollycroft Avenue. (9 May 2011)

On Hampstead Heath: The West Heath, Pt. 2

2011-03-29T18:23:00.001+01:00

We’ve discussed why the West Heath is (or, more accurately, was) a “heath.” Today we’ll look at some of the West Heath’s history and major landmarks.

Location, Location

As the map shows, the West Heath is a rough triangle proceeding west from Whitestone Pond, bounded by West Heath Road to the south and North End Way to the north. Golders Hill Park is adjacent along the western boundary. To the southeast of a jog in West Heath Road is the former site of Branch Hill Pond—now a mere grass-filled depression—famously painted by Constable. The southwestern edge of the West Heath is about 300 yards from our front door; we consider the West Heath to be “our” section of the Heath.

In general, the West Heath slopes gently upward from southwest to northeast, but the terrain is relatively flat in comparison to much of the rest of the heath. (We will discuss some reasons for that at a later date.) This relatively flat terrain was one reason why the West Heath was a popular venue for horse racing in the early 18^th Century.

Sandy Road

Features Galore!

Sandy Road is a wide, unpaved track that runs along the western edge of the West Heath, from Platt’s Lane to North End Way—our route to the Old Bull & Bush, in fact. One might easily assume that Sandy Road was conceived and built as a footpath, as might be found in any large park. One would be mistaken. Sandy Road was a true road—before the Heath became a public trust in 1872 and Platt’s Farm was developed into The Crofts in the 1890s, Sandy Road was the continuation of Platt’s Lane, linking Child’s Hill to North End and Spaniard’s Road. For centuries, this was probably the main route for carrying produce from the surrounding farmland (including Wyldes Farm) to market in London, via the Roman-laid Watling Street (now Kilburn High Road and Edgware Road).

Leg o' Mutton Pond, December 2010

About 100 yards along Sandy Road from Platt’s Lane, one finds Leg o’Mutton Pond. Like the other large ponds on the Heath, Leg o’ Mutton is man made, dug in 1816 as part of a relief program for unemployed laborers during the depression that followed the Napoleonic Wars. (Sandy Road also was raised and improved as part of the same relief effort.) The pond is naturally maintained, however, filled by two spring-fed streams that flow across the West Heath and ultimately into the Brent River, and thence to the Thames. During the Nineteenth Century, the pond was popular for summer bathing and angling (though one wonders from whence came the fish).

The Pergola

Among the more interesting features on the West Heath are the Pergola and Hill Garden. These features are comprised of a manicured, formal garden with terraces arranged around a long, rectangular lily pond, and an elaborate 800 foot-long, Italian Renaissance-style pergola, complete with climbing vines. When happened upon from the south or east, these features rise quite unexpectedly from the wilds of the Heath, and are a delightful surprise. Why are they here, and why are they part of the Heath?

Public Right-of-Way, The Pergola

As one might expect, the answers to these questions make an interesting tale. In 1905, the wealthy soap magnate William Lever, Lord Leverhulme, purchased an estate on North End Way called The Hill, which commanded magnificent views to the north, over the (then, still unwooded) West Heath. Lord Leverhulme loved to throw magnificent garden parties. To that end, he purchased a neighboring property called Heath Lodge, with the intent of demolishing the house and replacing it with a garden. Unfortunately for Lord Leverhulme, there was a public right-of-way—a simple footpath, really—between The Hill and Heath Lodge. Despite Lord Leverhulme’s best efforts, he could not extinguish the right of way. This meant that anyone strolling on the Heath could stop and gawk at the Lord’s garden parties.

The Hill Garden Pond

Lord Leverhulme turned to renowned landscape architect Thomas Mawson to resolve the problem. Mawson designed the Hill Garden, and the Pergola to provide private access over the right-of-way to the Hill Garden. The design and construction of the Pergola took 20 years, including a lengthy interruption during the Great War.

The Pergola, Detail

Almost immediately after the Pergola was completed in 1925, Lord Leverhulme died. The Hill was acquired by shipping magnate Baron Inverforth and renamed Inverforth House; Baron Inverforth lived there until his own death in 1955. He willed the property to Manor House Hospital, and it was used as a convalescent home. The Pergola and Hill Gardens were purchased and added to the Heath in 1960, although by then they were in poor condition. A thorough renovation was carried out in the early 1990s, and the areas were reopened to the public in 1995. Inverforth House was subsequently sold and subdivided into flats, data from 2007 indicates that each was then valued at around £4 million.

I suppose the Gibbet Elms are no long a feature as they no longer exist, but they’re another good West Heath story. In March, 1674, a highwayman named Francis Jackson and his gang robbed two coaches in Hounslow (not far from where Heathrow Airport is now). The gang was spotted as they neared Acton (then a tiny farming village to the west of London), and they suddenly found themselves pursued by a posse of 40-to-50 men. A running battle ensued across much of Middlesex County. The gang reached Hampstead Heath hours later, exhausted and their powder and shot used up, where they were ambushed by 200 men. The gang held them off for nearly an hour before they were taken. During the resistance, Jackson killed one of the local Hampstead men. Jackson was hanged, and his corpse returned to the Heath and gibbeted from an elm tree, only a few feet from where the Hill Garden sits now. The corpse hung there for 18 years. The last of the Gibbet Elms blew down in 1907.

References:

A. Farmer, Hampstead Heath (1984)

C. Wade, Hampstead Past (1989)

D. McDowall & D. Wolton, The Walker’s Guide: Hampstead Heath (2006 ed.)

D. Wolton & D. McDowall, Hampstead Heath (2007)

http://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/NR/rdonlyres/B5F7A42F-FA5A-4087-A3A4-C3FFE907EB2D/0/OS_HH_pergola.pdf

On Hampstead Heath: The West Heath, Pt. 1

2011-03-28T13:53:00.011+01:00

We have so far discussed Golders Hill Park and the Hampstead Heath Extension, both of which were relatively late additions to the Heath, added in 1898 and 1907, respectively. In contrast, the West Heath has been a part of the Heath for all of recorded history.

Prelude: What is a ‘Heath,’ Anyway?

“Heath” is one of those peculiarly English words (like “moor” and “dale”) that most Americans have heard but never use. I always assumed that “heath” was a posh synonym for “park.” It is not, of course; indeed, the Heath was called such for centuries before it was a public open space.

Rather, a “heath” is a type of terrain: specifically, “a large open area, usually with sandy soil and scrubby vegetation, esp heather.“[1] This is precisely what the Heath was, and why it persisted as open land when all of the surrounding land was used for agriculture. The reason for this is geological. The top layer of soil on the Heath is a type of sand called Bagshot, deposited by a river flowing from the west of England approximately 40 million years ago. This sandy topsoil is acidic and infertile, and therefore unsuitable for agriculture. For this reason the Heath was not farmed, but instead was used as the village “common” of the Manor of Hampstead where, under English manorial tradition, the commoners had the right to graze animals on the scrubby flora, to cut turf for fuel and building materials, and to dig sand.

Bog, West Heath

Beneath the sand is a transitional layer called the Claygate Beds, which in turn covers a deeper layer of stiff, bluish London clay. In the lower portions of the Heath, where less sand was deposited and more has eroded away, these deeper layers have been exposed, and trees and grasses more typical of the region have sprung up.

This geology also accounts for another dominant feature of the Heath: its perpetual damp. Rainwater—of which the Heath receives copious amounts—drains easily down through the sandy layers. When the water hits the denser layers below, it moves horizontally, eventually seeping out of the ground, creating boggy conditions or collecting into streams. The Heath is thus the source of five rivers that empty into the Thames, although all are now channeled underground: the Fleet, the Holborn, the Tyburn, the Kilburn (Westbourne), and the Brent.

West Heath

The West Heath: Back to Nature

I’ve just told you that the West Heath is part of the original Heath, and that heathland is characterized by low scrubby vegetation such as heather. Why, then, do all of our photos of the West Heath look like they were taken in woodland? The answer lies in prehistory.

As explained by Wolton & McDowall,[2] heathland is rarely naturally occurring. Rather, it typically occurs when areas of well-draining, acidic sandy soil—such as that on the Heath—are cleared of trees and shrubbery and used to graze livestock. Over time, the grazing alters the flora into the scrubby heather and gorse typical of heathland. The remains of a Mesolithic-period encampment on the West Heath, near Leg o’ Mutton Pond, suggest that the West Heath was cleared of its original vegetation as early as 7,000 years ago, and the land probably was used for grazing thereafter until well into the Nineteenth Century. Indeed, John Constable’s 1821-1822 painting of the West Heath, West End Fields, Hampstead, noon, depicts a flock of sheep grazing on typically open heathland.

The grazing of livestock on the West Heath stopped, of course, when the Heath (then comprised of 220 acres of the West Heath, the Sandy Heath, and the East Heath) passed into the public trust in January 1872. In the ensuing 140 years, the West Heath has been recolonized by trees and shrubbery; birch trees, in particular, are known to thrive on open, acidic ground, and many large, mature birch trees now thrive in the West Heath.[3]

In Part 2, we look at the landmarks of the West Heath.

19th C. Jazz, West Heath

[1] heath. Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc. <http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/heath> (accessed: March 28, 2011).

[2] D. Wolton & D. McDowall, Hampstead Heath (2007), pp. 38-45.

[3] Ibid. at p. 38.http://rosecroftavenue.blogspot.com/2011/03/on-hampstead-heath-west-heath-pt-2.html

North London Pub of the Year Ballot: My Vote

2011-03-06T14:10:00.000+00:00

As I mentioned in my birthday post (mission accomplished!), voting is now open in the CAMRA North London branch for North London Pub of the Year. I visited all six of the nominees (plus a few bonus pubs) in a one-day whirlwind pub crawl, and I have decided how I am going to vote.

I fully realize that I can't possibly assess the true character of a pub in a single visit, particularly when I visited some in that sleepy period shortly after opening and others in the full swing of a busy Saturday night. I also did not eat in any of these pubs, which might disadvantage those that emphasize food. And, of course, what I want from my pub may not be the same thing you want from your pub. But life ain't fair, so save your complaints and cast your own vote!

So here they are, ranked in order. I will say that the top two were very difficult to separate, with the final ranking decided on location and my personal preferences in comfort and decor:

1. The Southampton Arms

What an absolute gem. The Southampton Arms, tucked away in a Highgate Road storefront in Kentish Town, combines an outstanding selection of English craft ales and ciders -- twelve handpumps for beer and six for cider -- with the rustic, lived-in comfort of the best English pubs. The server knew the characteristics of the beers he was pouring and was able to give an intelligent, nuanced recommendation. If this place were any closer to home, I would happily kick back in the church pew beside the open fire every day, from the minute they opened until they chucked me out at closing time. My selection for North London Pub of the Year.

The Southampton Arms gets my vote for North London Pub of the Year!

2. The Jolly Butchers

The Jolly Butchers would be perfectly at home if someone plucked it from the busy streets of Stoke Newington and plopped it back down in Santa Monica, somewhere between The Library Alehouse and Father's Office. This is more beer bar than pub -- which is not a bad thing -- with a young and vibrant crowd filling the clean, modern interior with a definite buzz. The selection of English craft brews is good, and The Jolly Butchers boasts a better selection of international beers than The Southampton Arms. The delicious Belgian Mort Subite Kriek and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, among others, were on draught, and a broad range of international beers (including Brooklyn Brewery and Flying Dog) is available in bottles. (Might there be a Stone or Russian River or Lagunitas beer pouring here in the near future? We California expats can only hope.) The servers knew their beers and seemed genuinely excited about them. The Jolly Butchers was edged out of my top spot only by The Southampton Arms's inviting, relaxed atmosphere and its Kentish Town location, but on a different day I might well have made a different decision.

The Jolly Butchers, a solid second.

3. North Nineteen

Wrapped inside a bland exterior in a charmless Upper Holloway neighborhood is North Nineteen, the sort of cosy family pub and restaurant that deserves to be the center of community life. The interior is newly refurbished and it makes no effort to simulate period charm -- it is unpretentious, clean and modern. The front bar has a large open fireplace and a flat screen TV for the friendly local Arsenal supporters, and a small dining room off to the side. The back bar (go through the gents) has darts and another fireplace. Nine handpumps, three in front and six in back, and a good selection of whiskies as well. The service was notably amiable and efficient. Were I not on a mission of my own, I would have been content to sit in the bar and watch football all afternoon.

The back bar at North Nineteen, empty on a Saturday afternoon, no doubt awaiting the punters' return from the Arsenal match at the Emirates.

4. The Charles Lamb

The Charles Lamb is exceptional in two ways: it is exceptionally charming, and it is exceptionally small. The place is all white and pale green with simple, clean lines, and it has a slightly feminine air about it. This is a pleasant change from the overtly masculine, dark-and-dingy decor of many neighborhood pubs (an aesthetic epitomized by the fading glory of the Lamb's endangered neighbor, The Wenlock Arms). But its diminutive size is an inconvenience. We were able to find seats after only a short wait at the bar on our late Saturday evening visit, but I have been to the Lamb on a Saturday afternoon and had difficulty getting through door for the crowd. The Lamb has only three handpumps (I doubt there is space for any more).

Charming, but too small.

5. The Duke of Wellington

There seems to be some sort of magical effect in operation at The Duke of Wellington: Whenever a seat is opened up, whether at a table or at the bar, it is instantly filled, and yet one never can tell from whence the people come -- the place never seems to be crowded, and no one ever seems to be waiting for a chair. It's almost as if the punters are a liquid, flowing in at the same rate as they flow out, always finding their own level.

That said, I found The Duke of Wellington to be pleasant but entirely unexceptional. The interior decor is minimalist to the point of nonexistence; the exterior is unremarkable, and there is nothing to recommend a visit to its Dalston location.

The Duke of Wellington: Not a serious contender.

6. Three Compasses

I took an instand dislike to Three Compasses, and I'm not sure why. It might have been the toothless drunk at the bar who decided for unknown reasons that I was the perfect audience for his harangue about the poor service he was receiving, or perhaps it was the surly server who promptly demonstrated that his complaints were justified. The front bar was fine but unexceptional; I did not like the cavern-like back bar, which seemed a bit of a Chucky Cheese-style game room for obnoxious groups of beer drinking teens and 20-somethings. The selection of cask ales was decent, particularly if you are a fan of Redemption Brewing, and the Redemption Pale Ale I had was fine. But I did not linger over it, and I will not return for another.

Last place: Three Compasses

Ridiculously Ambitious Birthday Plans

2011-03-05T10:04:00.001+00:00

This year my ridiculously ambitious birthday plans involve visiting all 6 pubs nominated for CAMRA North London Pub of the Year between noon (when most of them open) and 6:30 (family-suitable dinner reservations). This wouldn't be much of a task if all of these pubs were in close proximity -- say, all within Hampstead or all within Islington -- but they're not. They are spread across all of North London, from Kentish Town to Hornsey to Stoke Newington. None are in Hampstead.

To elevate the task to the ridiculous, I've added a couple of non-candidate pubs to the list as options. These are pubs of high repute that are close to the six candidate pubs, but that are located in areas that otherwise make them inconvenient for me to visit. I have also chosen a pub to end the day with dinner that is not a candidate and is not particularly reputed as a pub-qua-pub, but which is highly rated by the The Good Food Guide 2011.

So without further ado, here's where I plan to spend my 47th birthday, in this order, and here's a link to a Google map showing them all:

The Southampton Arms

Kentish Town

Time Out says, “The idea behind this terrific place is audaciously simple: take a grim old boozer and strip it back to bare floors, dark paint, a few old photos and a working fireplace. . . . Drinking here is a bit like dropping in on an old friend who lives in a slightly shabby but utterly comfortable country cottage. It's a brilliant idea perfectly executed.” The pub has 18 handpumps, pouring exclusively ale and cider from small, independent U.K. breweries.

Transport: London Overground, Finchley Road & Frognal to Gospel Oak. Walk to 139 Highgate Rd. (5 minutes/0.3 miles).

Optional Non-Candidate Stop: The Pineapple

A former local CAMRA Pub of the Year and a Real Heritage Pub. Saved by local activists in 2002 from conversion to offices and flats.

Transport: Walk from The Southampton Arms to 51 Leverton St. (11 minutes/0.5 miles).

North Nineteen

Upper Holloway

A “steak and ale” house, North Nineteen has two separate bars, with three real ales in the front bar and six in the back bar. Also known for its selection of whiskies. Time Out calls it a “gem of a makeover” in an otherwise drab neighborhood.

Transport: Tube to Archway (Northern Line, High Barnet Branch). Walk to 194-196 Sussex Way (15 minutes/0.8 miles).

Three Compasses

Hornsey

Two-time winner of CAMRA National Community Pub of the Year and Local Branch Pub of the Season. The current building dates from 1896 and was extensively refurbished in 2004.

Transport: Walk NE on Sussex Way from North Nineteen to Bavaria Rd (Stop M) (1 min/300 ft). Take Bus 91 to Hornsey Rise. From Stop K, take Bus 41 towards Tottenham Hale to Tottenham Lane/Turnpike Lane. Walk 2 blocks west to 62 High Street.

Optional Non-Candidate Stop: The Salisbury

Harringay

One of the few Grade II* listed pubs in London and a Top 10 Heritage Pub. Built in 1899 in lavish high Victorian style, the pub’s original features—both interior and exterior—have been preserved, and the building was meticulously restored in 2003.

Jolly Butchers

Stoke Newington

Jolly Butchers was reinvented and reopened last April to great acclaim from both the beer community and the wider drinking public—although the fact that its new incarnation was openly modeled on The Southampton Arms did put some noses out of joint. Jolly Butchers has ten handpumps, typically pouring seven cask ales and three ciders, all from independent craft breweries.

Transport:

· From Three Compasses: Walk east to Turnpike Lane Station. From stop Y, take Bus 67 towards Aldgate Bus Station; get off at Stoke Newington Station. Walk south to 204 Stoke Newington High St. (5 min/0.2 miles).

· From The Salisbury: Walk east on St. Ann’s Rd. to St. Ann’s Hospital bus stop (10 min./0.5 miles); take Bus 67 as above.

The Duke of Wellington

Dalston

The Duke of Wellington was established in 1842, and its most recent refurbishment in 2009 was intended to bring it into the 21^st century while respecting its tradition. CAMRA North London’s Pub of the Season for Spring 2010.

Transport: From Stoke Newington Station, Stop C, take Bus 149 or 67 to Dalston Junction Station. From station, walk west to 119 Balls Pond Rd. (5 min/0.2 miles).

Optional Non-Candidate Stop: The Wenlock Arms

Islington

Consistently rated one of the best pubs in London by Beer Advocate, is a 4-time CAMRA North London Pub of the Year, and was named a Top Ten pub by Fancyapint in February 2011. The pub was slated for demolition last October; it was saved, but as of February it remained up for sale and its future is uncertain.

Transport: From Duke of Wellington, walk west on Balls Pond Rd to Southgate Rd. Bus Stop. Take Bus 56 (St. Barts) to Angel Station; walk to 26 Wenlock Rd (15 min/0.6 miles).

The Charles Lamb

Islington

The only pub on this list I have already been to, this is an exceptionally charming little pub, unfortunately located across from atrocious blocks of modern flats. The building dates from 1839, but it has only recently been converted to use as a public house and few original features remain. The Charles Lamb Lager is brewed locally by Meantime.

Transport: See Wenlock Arms above.

For Dinner (Non-Candidate): The Albion

Islington

Joint highest rating of London gastropubs from the 2011 Good Food Guide and rated one of the U.K.’s best pubs by The Guardian. Particularly well known for its Sunday lunch menu (the main meal of the week in England).

Transport: Return to Angel Station. Cross Upper St. and head NW on Liverpool Rd to Richmond; W on Richmond; N on Thornhill to 10 Thornhill Rd. (13 min/0.6 miles from Angel).

Exploring Hampstead: Jazz's Walk, Saturday Afternoon

2011-02-20T22:03:00.002+00:00

We took Jazz for a walk through Hampstead in the rain yesterday. Here is some of what we saw. The video frame is going to spill over into the sidebar some, but don't worry about that.

The music is Erik Blood, "To Leave America," from his self-released album, The Way We Live. You can download the song, for free, here.

See if you can spot Jack and Heidi in one shot:

On Hampstead Heath: The Hampstead Heath Extension

2011-02-12T12:00:00.006+00:00

A few blocks north of Golders Hill Park, Hampstead Heath Extension juts awkwardly from the northwestern tip of Sandy Heath into the surrounding community of Golders Green. Such strange appendages in the urban landscape usually have some sort of historical explanation, and so it is here.

In the late 19^th Century, the East London area known as Whitechapel was infamous for crime and poverty, its notoriety peaking between 1888 and 1891 due the Whitechapel Murders – the brutal murders of eleven women, including those attributed to Jack the Ripper. During this time, the vicar of St. Jude’s Church in Whitechapel was Samuel August Barnett; his wife was Dame Henrietta Octavia Weston Barnett, the daughter of a wealthy businessman. Henrietta was a close friend of celebrated social reformer Octavia Hill, who, among other things, was instrumental in preserving the Parliament Hill area of Hampstead Heath as an open space “for the poor.” In 1889, Henrietta and Samuel took a house on Hampstead Heath, near The Spaniards Inn, as a weekend retreat.

Wyldes Farmhouse

From Henrietta’s house on the Heath, she had a magnificent view across Sandy Heath to the 340 acres of adjoining Wyldes Farm. Wyldes had been part of the estates of the Leper Hospital of St. James from medieval times; over the centuries, the hospital accumulated great wealth from the bequests of charitable Londoners. In 1440, however, Henry VI decided all of that wealth could go to a better use and, when he founded Eton College that year, he decreed that Eton should have “perpetual custody” of the hospital. Henry VIII later decided that the site of the hospital would be better suited to a royal manor house, so he acquired the site from Eton, demolished the hospital, and built St. James’ Palace.

Heritage Plaque for Linnell and Blake at Wyldes

Eton retained Wyldes Farm, however, letting it out to farmers and collecting rents. In the early 1800s, Wyldes was let to a dairy farmer named J. Collins, who expanded the farmhouse and, in turn, let rooms to painter John Linnell. Linnell was a great friend of and patron to poet and painter William Blake, and Blake often stayed with Linnell at Wyldes. Wyldes was also home to Charles Dickens for a brief period in 1837; he rented the farmhouse for a few weeks while mourning the death of his sister-in-law. Now a Grade II* listed building, the farmhouse still stands across Hampstead Way from the Heath Extension.

In 1903, Henrietta was horrified to hear of plans to build an underground station at North End, near Wyldes Farm. In addition to the “ruin of the sylvan restfulness” the train line would wreak, Henrietta believed the underground would inevitably result in the development of “rows of ugly villas” such as those that “disfigure[d]” nearby Willesden. Henrietta formed the Hampstead Heath Extension Council for the purpose of raising money to purchase land from Wyldes Farm and add it to the Heath. She succeeded, and in the summer of 1904 the Council purchased for £36,000 the 80 acres of Wyldes Farm adjoining the Sandy Heath.

On the Heath Extension. The Garden Suburb visible in the background.

But Henrietta did not stop there. She engineered the purchase of an additional 240 acres from Wyldes Farm, with the purpose of founding a planned, orderly “garden suburb” for residents all across the economic spectrum, where “houses will not be put in uniform lines nor in close relationship built regardless of each other, or without consideration for picturesque appearance. Great care will be taken that the houses shall not spoil each other’s outlook, while the avoidance of uniformity or of an institutional aspect will be obtained by the variety of the dwellings, always provided that the fundamental principle is complied with that the part should not spoil the whole, nor that individual rights be assumed to carry the power of working communal wrong.”[1]

Lovely terrace housing in the Garden Suburb

The result of Henrietta’s labors was the founding in 1907 of Hampstead Garden Suburb, which ultimately grew to 800 acres of meticulously planned and maintained suburbia. The extent to which Henrietta’s original vision ultimately was realized, however, is open to debate. With flats currently on the market priced from £310,000 to £750,000 (and detached houses priced from £2.75 million to £14 million)[2] it’s safe to assume the lower income brackets are not well represented among the Suburb’s inhabitants.

Although among the least interesting landscapes on the Heath, the Extension remains a lovely park. Its genesis in farmland remains apparent, as the Extension is divided by hedgerows into large, gently rolling paddocks. There is a series of small ponds near the southeastern end, among some reeds and trees, but most of the park is meadowland or, toward the northern end, playing fields for cricket, football and rugby. The Extension is enclosed at the northwest by the Great Wall (perhaps a misnomer – the Very Good Wall or Perfectly Nice Wall might be more fitting). This is a brick wall designed by architect Charles Padget Wade and built between 1909 and 1912; Raymond Unwin, the chief planner of the Garden Suburb, intended the wall to provide a dramatic boundary between the rural Heath and the center of the Garden Suburb.

Toward the Great Wall

Reference:
A. Farmer, Hampstead Heath (1984), pp. 135-137.

[1] http://www.hgstrust.org/history/index.html (accessed 11 February 2011).

[2] See, e.g., http://www.foxtons.co.uk/properties/uk-london-hampstead-garden-suburb-98/properties-for-sale-in-hampstead-garden-suburb.html (accessed 11 February 2011).

Pubs & Restaurants: The Compass (Islington N1)

2011-02-11T10:55:00.001+00:00

The Compass, 58 Penton St., Islington

We found ourselves stranded near St. Pancras of a Saturday lunchtime, and the solution seemed obvious: To Angel we will go. A perfect opportunity to try The Compass, a well-regarded gastropub at the corner of Penton Road and Chapel Market, about 6-minutes walk from Angel Underground.

Great happiness ensued. Here’s why:

First and foremost, the food was delicious. The dishes were well prepared, imaginatively constructed and gorgeously presented. More on that later.

Second, from the clean, simple pub décor to the relaxed banter of our server, we felt wholly welcome, as if we had been regulars for years rather than strangers who happened in off the street. To anthropomorphize, The Compass seems entirely comfortable in its own skin, without a hint of pretense or superciliousness.

Now the details.

The main dining room is a typical pub room, with a dozen or so typical pub tables; there is dark wood everywhere, bathed in soft natural light from the south facing windows. The only clues that this is not a simple neighborhood boozer are the open kitchen tucked in the corner behind the bar, and the fact that all of the tables are set for dining. There are two other families here with babies and prams; it seems we’re finally getting the hang of finding good places to eat at off-peak hours, which certainly makes dining out with a seven-month old and his enormous pram much easier.

Heidi and Jack peruse the menu

The bar offers three cask ales, which the website says are “regularly changing.” Two of the three pouring at our visit—the Adnams Bitter and the Whitstable East India Pale Ale—are also pictured on the website, however, so I can’t vouch for how “regular” that “changing” may be. We started off with the Bath Ales Barnstormer, a deep, reddish-brown bitter that is firmly hopped but well balanced, with hints of fruit and distant echoes of chocolate. The Whitstable IPA, in contrast, was a cloudy pale yellow, with a wonderful hop aroma and fruity late-hop flavor; in my opinion, it was inadequately bittered for the style and ran thin on the tongue. That said, both beers were served in excellent condition.

(The server gave me a wine list, but if you want to know anything about it, you’re reading the wrong review.)

Braised featherblade with beetroot and wasabi mash

The menu is modern English, and our initial reaction was that it promised much – an interesting variety of dishes, with some imaginative combinations. Would the chef’s execution fulfill that promise? We decided to try two very different mains: the braised featherblade [1] with beetroot and wasabi mash, and the whole plaice in a moules marinieres sauce. Both were wonderful.

The featherblade was as enjoyable to look at as to eat: a succulent piece of beef set atop a mound of beet-colored mashed potatoes, swimming in jus, beautifully garnished with contrasting and complementary colors. The star of the dish was the mash, the spicy wasabi playing against the rich, rounded flavors of the braised beef.

The plaice lacked the dramatic flair of the featherblade, but it was a fine dish. It was simply prepared, pan fried in a light batter, served whole, sauced with a restrained moules mariniere. The result was an airy, flavorful mouthful, the mussels in the sauce providing a texture and flavor contrast to the delicate white fish.

Whole plaice in sauce moules mariniere

We finished the meal with a cheese board, on this day including a bleu d’Auvergne, a chevre and a camembert. All three were richly flavored and delicious, each in its own way, and I could kick myself for forgetting to note the cheesemakers!

The verdict: All things considered, possibly the best gastropub experience I’ve had since coming to London. We shall return!

[1] Americans would call this cut a blade roast or chuck roast.

Restaurants: The Butcher's Hook, Fulham

2011-01-30T16:38:00.004+00:00

The Butcher's Hook, 477 Fulham Road

There are few things in life I love to hate more than Chelsea Football Club. Had I known anything about The Butcher’s Hook when I selected it, more or less randomly, from The Good Food Guide 2011, I likely would have reconsidered my choice. That would have been a shame, because this is a superior gastropub.

If you are as ignorant as I was, here’s a little background: The Butcher’s Hook sits at the corner of Fulham Road and Holmead Road in Fulham, directly across the street from the Stamford Gate (east) entrance to Chelsea FC’s Stamford Bridge[1] stadium. In 1905, the pub on this site was called The Rising Sun, and it was here on March 10 of that year that Henry Augustus Mears and Frederick Parker founded Chelsea Football Club. Indeed, The Butcher’s Hook hosted the Chelsea FC centennial celebration shortly after it opened in February 2005.

Wonderfully, none of this history is apparent in the pub. We arrived for a Saturday lunch to find the main room large, clean and inviting, with simple stripped-wood floors and furniture, white walls and natural lighting muted by sheer white curtains. The tables are well spaced, giving the room an open and relaxed ambience.

Space for the pram, and a nice cabernet, too!.

The bar was pouring two cask ales, both from Greene King; my IPA was served at the perfect cellar temperature and carbonation level. The Butcher’s Hook emphasizes its wines, however, having been named the Best Wine Pub for 2008 by The Publican. They do have a large and varied wine list, with many selections also available by the glass and 500 ml carafe. The menu suggests wine pairings with several of the starters and mains.

The Butcher’s Hook describes its menu as having a “strong British slant,” and perhaps many of the dishes have roots in traditional British cuisine, but chef Jacky Lelievre’s French roots are plain to see in the preparations.

Delicious mushroom & gorgonzola pie.

As we often do for lunch at a new restaurant, we chose to sample and share a variety of starters. We were pleased with all four; three of the four were excellent. The standout dish for me was the mushroom and gorgonzola pie; the mushrooms were musky and meaty and blended perfectly with a restrained, creamy gorgonzola; the pastry crust was flawlessly light and airy, vanishing in one’s mouth to leave a hint of texture and flavor. The confit pig cheeks were rich and tender, the crispy onions and lentils accompaniments giving it depth and range at each end of the flavor scale. The beer-battered whiting goujons[2] were light and crispy and delicious. Only the Old Spot port and sage terrine wasn’t exceptional—but it was still quite good, particularly with the caramelized onion marmalade. Even the basket of sourdough bread that preceded the meal was deliciously tart and crusty and notably superior.

The one flaw in the meal was dessert. Heidi had an own-made hokey pokey ice cream. The flavor was bland—on par with a generic supermarket vanilla—and the texture icy.

I have complained about gastropub service in the past; I have no such complaints about The Butcher’s Hook. The room was rather crowded by the end of our lunch, with one very large party occupying much of our server’s time. Nevertheless, she remained responsive and helpful throughout our meal, and the serving staff generally was quick and friendly.

Overall, we had a very positive experience and would happily return to The Butcher’s Hook—its unfortunate connections to Chelsea FC notwithstanding!!

[1] The name of the stadium has nothing to do with the famous Battle of Stamford Bridge in 1066, which occurred nowhere near here. If you are curious how the stadium got its name, the story is on the Chelsea FC website.

[2] “Goujon” is, essentially, an upscale restaurant word for “fish finger.”

On Hampstead Heath: Golders Hill Park

2011-01-26T02:00:00.005+00:00

We begin our exploration of Hampstead Heath in Golders Hill Park, 36-acres of manicured lawn and formal gardens appended to the Heath’s northwestern tip. Laid out in a rough triangle between West Heath Drive and North End Road, the Park is demarcated from the forested West Heath by a wide pedestrian path called Sandy Road. Technically, nearly all of the Park lies outside of Hampstead in the Borough of Barnet, but we don’t let that bother us too much.

History
The Park was not always part of the Heath. The Golders Hill estate was created in the 1760s by businessman Charles Dingley, an associate of William Pitt the Elder (namesake of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and father of the long-serving British Prime Minister, William Pitt the Younger). A later owner, John Coore, hired one of the great English landscape architects, Humphry Repton, to landscape the property.

Golders Hill Park in relation to Rosecroft Avenue (bottom right) and the West Heath

Golders Hill Mansion, c. 1905

The last owner of the estate was Queen Victoria’s surgeon, Sir Spencer Wells. After Wells died in 1897, the estate was put up for auction. No one bid the reserve price, however, and a second auction was held in 1898. A committee of prominent locals raised £35,000 to buy the estate to save it from development, but the bidding exceeded that price. Soap magnate Thomas Barrett (who is credited or blamed, depending on one's view, for inventing modern advertising) purchased the estate for £38,000 on his own account, and then sold it to the committee at that price. The park—with its Victorian mansion still intact—was opened to the public in December 1898.

The mansion stood until 1941, when it was destroyed by a German parachute mine.

Golders Hill Park Today

Golders Hill is an exceptional children’s park. There is, of course, plenty of space for play. There is a large sloped lawn in the Park’s center, dotted with aged oak trees and perfectly graded for safe-and-sane winter sledding. Much to Heidi's delight, there are two playgrounds, one reserved for children under 5. Hopefully, we will still be living here when Jack is old enough to use it.

View from the walled garden toward the bandstand

There is also much to explore in Golders Hill. On the West Heath Drive side of the Park, a hilly path follows a brook down to a water garden, culminating in a large pond—imaginatively called Swan Pond—that serves as home to several swans. On the North End Road side of the Park is a lovely walled garden with an arched bridge, a small pond that is home to a number of ducks and geese, and several sculptures. A café now stands on the site of the original mansion; by all accounts, it serves decent Italian food and very good own-made ice cream. There is a bandstand that, in the summertime, is a venue for live music.

Between these features are, for many, the Park’s two main attractions—a large enclosure that is home to a dozen or more deer, and a small zoo and aviary that houses a butterfly house, a huge owl and some very cute small mammals, including several coati and four lemurs.

Here are some photos from two afternoons at the Park. Push play to enjoy the show:

_____________________________

References:
A. Farmer, Hampstead Heath (1984).

Exploring Hampstead: Frognal, Pt. 3

2011-01-23T22:13:00.038+00:00

Redington Road/Templewood Avenue

This final entry on the Frognal area of Hampstead focuses on Redington Road and Templewood Avenue, both part of the Redington/Frognal Conservation Area. Redington Road is one of the longest streets in the area, curving generally westward from Frognal past Heath Drive, then turning back to the northwest to terminate at the Heath. Templewood Avenue branches off from Redington, just west of Heath Drive, then parallels Redington’s path up to the Heath.

The Frognal end of Redington Road was among the earliest developments in the area, dating from the mid-1870s. The Heath end of Redington and Templewood Avenue contain some of the grandest and most expensive homes in the Frognal area, many worth substantially more than £10 million.

1 Templewood Gardens

1 Templewood Gardens

As far as I know, there is nothing architecturally or historically significant about this home; I just like it. Unlike most of the homes in the area, this is on a large, open corner lot—two corners, in fact, one on either side. There are no walls, hedges or trees to block your view. This is now the residence of the Malaysian ambassador to the U.K., one of three ambassadorial residences that I know of in the Frognal area.

15 Templewood Avenue

15 Templewood Avenue

Looking at the photograph, you might think this a charming house built of pretty plum-colored brick with a nice tiled roof and attractive rusticated quoins, perhaps worthy of its Grade II listing. You’d be right, but you’d also be missing most of the story.

Take a look at the bird’s eye view below (from Bing.com). Yep, that enormous mansion is the same house, most of it invisible from the street because the house was built at a right angle to, rather than facing, the road. Two of the other houses featured in this post are similarly configured (St. John’s Vicarage at No. 6 and The Wabe at No. 66, Redington Road). I guess architect C.H.B. Quennell hadn’t heard the term “curb appeal” when he designed this house in 1905.

Bird's Eye View, 15 Templewood Avenue

The original house has been modified and expanded, of course—for example, I rather doubt that the massive two-level solarium running along the back wall was an original feature. A 2001 newspaper article described the house as “a four-storey, 8,200 sq ft home on a double plot, with 9/10 bedrooms . . . .” Not mentioned, and not visible in the photograph (but visible from the street, if you peek over the wall and through the hedges) is a children’s playhouse that some less fortunate might consider a fine family home.

2-4 Redington Road

2-4 Redington Road

Development of Redington Road began in 1876 at the Frognal end with, among others, this “wonderfully subtle” pair of semi-detached houses by architect Philip Webb. Both are listed Grade II*, indicating that they are considered “particularly important buildings of more than special interest.”

At present, No. 2 is covered by scaffolding, so I have not seen it. The street view to No. 4 is obscured by foliage, but you can see it angle-on from the driveway. It is a lovely Arts and Crafts-style house of yellow brick, with a vine-covered brick arch over the entry. (The photograph is another bird’s eye view from taken from Bing.com.)

6 (“St. John’s Vicarage”) and 6½ (“The Cottage”) Redington Road

6 (St. John's Vicarage) & 6 1/2 (The Cottage) Redington Road

A study in contrasts. The “unrepentantly Gothic” No. 6—to the left in the photo—was built in 1876 by T.K. Green as the vicarage of St. John-at-Hampstead Church. The ground floor used to have stained glass showing John the Baptist and a picture of the church. Although the stained glass is gone, the house still has a distinctly ecclesiastical tone, from the turret to the peaked entryway to the leaded glass.

No. 6 1/2—the modern house to the right—is called “The Cottage.” It was built in 2007 and designed by architect John McAslan. When the developer put it on the market for £6 million in 2008, the sales agent pitched it not as a primary residence, but merely as the buyer’s “place in London” that he or she could “just lock up and leave.” A newspaper article about the house is available here.

16 Redington Road (“One Oak”)

16 Redington Road (One Oak)

This lovely listed home was designed in 1889 by a founder of the Arts and Crafts Movement, A.H. Mackmurdo, and according to British Heritage, was “designed in an innovative style for its date.” The interior is “noted to retain many of Mackmurdo's stylized and richly molded doorways, skirting boards, cornices and fireplaces.” I haven’t seen the interior, obviously, but even viewed from the street, the house exudes a palpable, country tranquility.

27a Redington Road

27a Redington Road

As you walk up the hill on Chesterford Gardens toward Redington Road, this one will stop you in your tracks—it is utterly unlike any of the box-of-brick homes around it. Built in 2005, this is the signature piece of Monahan Blythen Hopkins Architects. It was built with recycled or certified sustainable timber, is insulated with sheep’s wool, and has a solar-powered water heater. I must admit, though, that the copper barrel roof with the porthole-shaped window always reminds me of the submarine ride at Disneyland. The ground-to-roof window displaying a spiral staircase also is interesting. Additional and some interior photos of the house are available here, and a newspaper article touting the house as an “Eco Home” is available here. (Although the address is on Redington Road, the house fronts around the corner on Chesterford Gardens.)

39 Redington Road

39 Redington Road

Another house with a copper-domed turret, and a pretty fancy one, too—the house was aptly described as “well-embellished” in the Redington/Frognal Conservation Area statement. The house is on a corner lot at Redington and Oak Hill Avenue, so there are good views from two sides. This is the front view, showing the plaster panels in the eaves and a large plaque bearing the house number. The Oak Hill side offers a view of a balcony to the rear of the house, a two-storey bay window and a plaque bearing the date of construction, 1903.

54 Redington Road

54 Redington Road

No. 54 and its neighbor at No. 56—both designed by Quennell and built in 1908-09—are similar in style, and both are listed. I chose No. 54 for inclusion here because the vertical lines created by the quoins, the symmetrical two-storey bay windows, and the central line from the entry to the three-light dormer, give the house a sense of grandeur disproportionate to its size. The early 18^th Century-style scallop shell hood over the entry—an original feature—also caught my eye.

66 Redington Road (“The Wabe”)

This is another house that doesn’t present its best face to the road, but is well worth a look all the same. The house was designed and built in 1910 by William Garnett, an educator and an ardent fan of Lewis Carroll, for himself. The name, “The Wabe,” is derived from Jabberwocky:

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

The design of the house strives to be similarly fanciful, consisting of an eclectic mix of styles and elements. You can get some sense of this from the street view, from the juxtaposition of the country-cottage entry, the sharply angled extension to the right ending in an six-light bay window, and what appears to be a crenellated tower rising from the middle of the house. The Google Maps view from above shows an irregular polygonal house, roughly arranged around the south-facing views. If any of the original interior features are intact, this is one house I’d love to tour.

66 Redington Road (The Wabe)

81 Redington Road

This imposing Neo-Georgian structure is described by Wade as “architecturally significant,” although it is not listed. The house was built sometime between 1920 and 1927, and was designed by architect Sir Edward Maufe, most famous as the architect of Guildford Cathedral. Although situated among houses of similar size, this one conveys a gravitas its neighbors fail to muster.

81 Redington Road

For references, see Part 1 here.

Additional reference: Anderson, Modern London Houses: Camden: Hampstead, available at http://homepage.mac.com/doive/houses/hampstead.html (accessed 22 January 2011).

Restaurants: The Old Bull & Bush

2011-01-21T12:15:00.047+00:00

Tucked away in a charming corner of North End between Golders Hill Park and Sandy Heath, The Old Bull & Bush bills itself as a “country pub and eating house.” In truth, since its renovation in 2006, The Old Bull & Bush looks and feels a lot more like an urban restaurant than a country pub—and a mediocre restaurant, at that.

The place certainly has historical pedigree. There has been a pub on the site since 1721, and the current building is Grade II listed. Artists William Hogarth (1697-1764), Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788) and Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792) all drank here. The pub was the subject of a hit song called “Down at the Old Bull & Bush” before The Great War.

Yet one gets little sense of this history from the modern interior, and on a recent Sunday visit there was nothing about the place that felt like a “pub.” The bar has some period features—an open fireplace, an exposed beam running the length of the room, a plaster arch over the bar, a few well-worn wooden tables and benches—but they are offset by such jarring modern juxtapositions as silver metal tables with gray felt-covered armchairs, insipid charcoal drawings of wine bottles covering the walls, and cow-skin rugs reminiscent of the sort of roadside souvenir stand in the American west that hawks faux Native American jewelry to hapless tourists. The staff were promoting Bloody Marys rather than cask ales; they offered a wine list, but no beer menu. Only two casks were on, both London Pride. A return visit on a weeknight proved better for the beer—they were pouring three cask ales, all in good condition—but the atmosphere still felt more like a modern restaurant bar, not a 300-year-old English pub.

A family Friday in the OB&B bar

Judged as a restaurant, The Old Bull & Bush gets mixed marks. The dining room has a pleasant ambiance: the black wooden tables are well spaced and provide a nice colour contrast to the light floor and walls. The indirect lighting provides a soft, comforting glow. We sat in a cushioned banquette built into a bay window that was spacious and comfortable.

Some of the food was good. I had a side dish of wild mushrooms sauteed in garlic, and they were fresh and meaty and delicious. Our appetizer was a well conceived dish of scallops set on a bed of cold mango and mixed vegetables; the scallops were fresh and sweet, and I enjoyed the contrasting textures and flavours of the fruit and vegetables. (I thought the dish called for a better sear on the scallops, but reasonable minds can differ.) And, unexpectedly, the espresso drinks we had to finish the meal were excellent, and proved the highlight of the meal.

Ample signage, methinks

On the other hand, our main courses were very disappointing. Heidi, ever searching for mussels to equal those we had in Ballyvaughan, got a bowl of mussels so grossly overcooked they had the texture and flavor of a soapy kitchen sponge. My pan-seared duck breast was poorly executed, and turned out tough and flavourless.

The service, too, was spotty. Our server was friendly, quick and attentive—when she remembered that we were there. Diverting her attention away from her telephone proved to be a challenge.

Overall, although there were high points, this was a disappointing dining and drinking experience at this price point.

Restaurants: The Holly Bush

2011-01-20T12:12:00.002+00:00

The Holly Bush

There is no place quite like The Holly Bush.[1] Although only meters from Hampstead tube station, the pub is tucked away on a quiet cul-de-sac at the top of Holly Mount, accessible from Hampstead High Street only by a steep stairway or an uphill climb along a narrow road. As a result, it is an urban pub with a country-pub feel.

The building is worthy of its location. The pub was built in 1643 as the stables of a house later owned by painter George Romney; shortly after Romney’s death in 1802, the stables were converted to a tavern, and pints have been pouring here since 1807. Artist John Constable gave an art lecture in these rooms in the early 19th Century; physicist Michael Faraday debated, by gas light, the utility of electricity. It is rumoured that Samuel Johnson and James Boswell drank here, and that the ghost of a long-departed waitress still takes the occasional food order.

The Holly Bush is now a Fuller’s pub, pouring a range of Fuller’s products on five casks, including the ubiquitous London Pride and the richer, more flavorful ESB. The drier Harveys Sussex Bitter also is available, on a sort of permanent guest-beer basis. I have been told that The Holly Bush pours the best pint of Sussex in London; I look forward to trying to verify that claim.

The food is generally very good gastropub fare, but it can be inconsistent. I have tried only one starter, a terrine of foie gras with chutney, that I found very pleasant for the price point.[2] My braised venison shank was excellent—served on the bone, the meat was flavorful and tender, and the sauce thick and rich. The steak-and-ale pie is superior, and it looks as good as it tastes. The fish pie is smokey and creamy, packed with fresh, firm chunks of salmon and haddock. The sides and desserts have been uniformly good—the roasted vegetables in particular were sweet and cooked to the just the right texture.

Enjoying a recent Sunday roast at The Holly Bush

On the other hand, I have had a roasted lamb breast that, although beautifully presented, was very chewy and fatty. Similarly, I found the Sunday roast sirloin tough and under seasoned—although I must disclose that both my wife and daughter disagreed, and happily gobbled up their portions.

I have been quite pleased and rather disappointed with the service, sometimes simultaneously. For example, on one crowded Friday evening during the Christmas season, we booked ahead through Toptable, but The Holly Bush never received our reservation. Nevertheless, and despite being fully booked, the staff quickly found us a table and seated us for dinner. But then, once our food orders were taken, our server seemed to disappear—I cannot imagine how much money has been lost by The Holly Bush and other gastropubs because servers infrequently (or never) return to take additional drink orders while diners are waiting for their food. If a pub is going to adopt a restaurant table-service model and charge restaurant prices, its diners have every right to expect restaurant-quality service.

And one more small complaint, while I’m at it—can someone please turn down the heat?! The place is unbearably hot, in both the front and back rooms, far too often.

That said, I have been very pleased with my experiences at The Holly Bush, and it has become our default local option for both a pint and a meal. I recommend it highly.

[1] For my impressions of The Holly Bush as a pub-crawl destination, see my post here.

[2] I qualify my evaluation of the foie gras by price point because, perhaps unfairly, I cannot help but compare this dish to the transcendent terrine of foie gras de canard served at Thomas Keller’s Bouchon Bistro in Beverly Hills, which is the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.

Exploring Hampstead: Frognal, Pt. 2

2011-01-19T00:23:00.007+00:00

Lower Lodge, Branch Hill

Lower Lodge, Branch Hill
Continuing on West Heath Road into Branch Hill, you find this gem. It sits across from Branch Hill Pond (now gone, but immortalized on canvas at least four times by John Constable). This house had me with its name, the turret and the moss; add in the balconies, roof terrace and entry, and it seems to me the perfect writer's cottage. And that it was--left-wing Hungarian poet and writer Alfred Reynolds lived here from 1980 until his death in 1993. If I had £3.25 million burning a hole in my pocket, I might be tempted to put in a bid.

Branch Hill Lodge Gatehouse

Gatehouse, Branch Hill Lodge

One of the advantages that might accrue if I bought Lower Lodge (above) is the possibility that, one day, Stefan might live nearby in this neo-gothic beauty. This was, as the name implies, the gatehouse of stately Branch Hill Lodge, a grand old mansion that dates back to the 1730s. The Lodge was sometimes called Bleak Hall and Judges Bench House, both due to its long association with lawyers of questionable repute. Lady Byron also resided in the Lodge, shortly after separating from her husband in 1816. The gatehouse was added when the Lodge was remodeled in 1868 by architect Samuel Sanders Teulon, better known locally as the designer of St. Stephen's Church in Rosslyn Hill.

Today, the Lodge itself is a rather fancy retirement home, and its lower grounds are the site of some of the most expensive public housing ever built in England. But the gatehouse survives, and we frequently pass it by on our way to the Holly Bush. Every time we do, I think it's the perfect house for Stefan: cozy, but with unquestionable character.

108 Frognal

108 Frognal
This ivy covered charmer is one of the oldest houses in Hampstead, dating from the early 1700s. Together with No. 110 (Grove Cottage), it was a pub for much of the 18th Century. More recently, it was home to prima ballerina Tamara Karsavina. Oh, and Sting used to live next door, at No. 110.

100 Frognal

100 Frognal

Built in 1891, this is a Victorian house that goes pretty much balls out. The cupola is an obvious extravagence, but hardly visible in my admittedly poor photograph (an iPhone on an overcast winter afternoon) is the ostentatious brick and tile work and the flamboyant panel bearing the date of construction. Better sunny day photos of this house are available on these interwebs, here and here.

99 Frognal (St. Dorothy's Convent) and 95 Frognal (Bay Tree Cottage)

I didn't like my photos of these two Grade II listed houses, so I've given you photographs of the house numbers and names instead. No. 99 was built around 1740; the house served as the Sailors' Orphan Girls' Home in the 1850s and 1860s. During the latter part of World War II, from 1942 to 1944, General Charles de Gaulle and his family lived here. The property was purchased by the Sisters of St. Dorothy in 1968, and it currently serves as "a boarding house [for young ladies, providing] a homely environment where guidance and advice assure the well being and comfort of the students."

Bay Tree Cottage at No. 95 probably was a gardener's cottage when built in the early 19th Century. It is a charming little cottage with prominent bay windows, set back from the street amongst copious greenery. You can see a photo of the cottage itself here.

To be continued.

For references, please see Part 1 here.

Exploring Hampstead: Frognal, Pt. 1

2011-01-16T12:16:00.007+00:00

With Heidi and Jack out today with a friend and Lucinda off doing whatever it is Lucinda does, Jazz and I had a morning to do a bit of local exploration.
The Crofts are part of a larger area on the western downslope from Hampstead known as Frognal. The area is bounded to the west and south by Platt's Lane and Finchley Road; to the north by West Heath Drive and Branch Hill; and to the east by Frognal (no lane or street or avenue -- just Frognal), which meanders down from Hampstead Village to Finchley Road, terminating near the Finchley Road & Frognal Overground Station.

The first settlement in Hampstead parish was in the Frognal area, probably where Frognal and Frognal Lane now meet. The name "Frognal" most likely was derived from the great number of frogs who dwelt here when it was marshy meadow and farmland. Substantial development in the area did not begin until the mid-1870s, after the Finchley Road & Frognal and Finchley Road rail stations opened and the toll gates on Finchley Road were taken down.

Jazz and I struck out to cover the area as best we could, recording some of our favorite bits. This is a survey, not an exhaustive catalog; it includes only things that I found interesting and that I could photograph without trespassing; and I have included only buildings that originally were intended as family homes (no churches, public buildings, or purpose-built flats). These and the many lovely homes and estates that I omitted because they were inaccessible or insufficiently distinct from their neighbors you will have to discover on your own wanderings. (Due to the size of the post and the number of photographs, I have broken it into several parts; future installments will cover properties in Branch Hill, upper Frognal, Redington Road and Templewood Avenue.)

8 Heath Dr

8 Heath Drive
The college I attended when I lived in London in 1985, Westfield College of the University of London, was just down the street from this house at the corner of Kidderpore Avenue and Heath Drive (and only a few hundred yards from our home in Rosecroft Avenue). Westfield College merged with another college in 1989, however, and relocated to East London in 1992. The site has been occupied in part by King's College; the rest has been covered with a large, dull block of overpriced flats.

There is nothing of historical or architectural interest in this house, and I didn't give it much thought when we first walked past. But the view back across Heath Drive from Bracknell Gardens caught my eye. As you will no doubt surmise from some of the later entries, I am a sucker for turrets and cupolas, so a three-storey turret topped with a cupola will always put a house in the running, even (if the cupola is in desperate need of a new coat of paint).

16 Bracknell Gardens

The Huxley House, 16 Bracknell Gardens
Blue plaques denoting that a famous or historical figure once lived in a house are common in Hampstead. Indeed, the local paper once ran a cartoon showing a quizzical tourist debating whether to photograph a plaque stating, "The only house in Hampstead where no one famous ever lived." Most of the people so honored were, of course, British cultural or political figures, many from the 19th or early 20th centuries, whose names mean nothing to me. Not so with this house--although among the least interesting houses I saw today from an architectural perspective, I made a special point to pass by, for this was the house of Leonard Huxley and his brood of geniuses.

Leonard, of course, was the son of T.H. Huxley, a biologist and contemporary of Darwin, who publicly championed Darwin's ideas (even as Darwin himself shied away from doing) and who published a paper advancing the theory that humans evolved from primates eight years before Darwin published The Descent of Man. T.H. also was a religious philosopher, most famous for coining the term "agnosticism."

T.H.'s son Leonard, who lived in this house until his death in 1933, was best known for his multi-volume biography of his father. But his children were his major legacy: his sons included the Darwin Medal-winning evolutionary biologist Sir Julian Huxley; writer Aldous Huxley, most famously author of Brave New World; and Nobel Prize-winning biophysicist, Sir Andrew Huxley. A remarkable family.

No. 2 Greenaway Gardens

No. 2 Greenaway Gardens
Heidi likes the stately, manicured mansions of Greenaway Gardens. I feel they tend to be a little too well manicured and lack character. But there are exceptions, including No. 2. The protruding wing on the right and, especially, the ivy-covered front differentiates this from most of the clean-brick, rectangular houses on the block.

No. 10-12 Frognal

Spender Residence, 10 Frognal
Another building more interesting for its former occupants than its architecture. Poet Stephen Spender grew up in No. 10 (to the right in the photograph), describing it in his autobiography as an "ugly house in the Hampstead style, as if built from a box of bricks." Spender attended school just a few yards uphill on Frognal at University College School. (Actor Dirk Bogarde was a fellow alum of the school.)

Since we are what we are, what shall we be
But what we are? We are, we have
Six feet and seventy years, to see
The light, and then resign it for the grave.

28 Arkwright Road

28 Arkwright Road
From the dragon atop the weathervane to the listed boundary walls, this is one of my favorites. It deserves a much better photo, but this was the best I could do with my iPhone.

The house was built in 1891 and was designed by Robert A. Briggs. It is a corner house on a deep lot, giving the house a substance the photo does not convey. Nor does the photo capture the Queen Anne-style features on the side of the house, or the fine detail of some of the brickwork.

Perhaps it's time to find some film for my Canon SLR.

No. 66 Frognal

66 Frognal
Not everything in Frognal was built 120 years ago or (to paraphrase Spender) from a box of bricks. There is also some excellent modern architecture to be seen here, as well.

In Frognal Close is a group of neat modern houses designed by Sigmund Freud's son, Ernst L. Freud, in the late 1930s. More famous is Sun House, tucked away at No. 9 Frognal Way, designed by Maxwell Fry in 1935. It is one of the few Grade II* listed houses in the area ("particularly important buildings of more than special interest").

The most notorious modern house in Hampstead, though, is No. 66 Frognal. It was built not in the late 50s or early 60s, as you might expect, but in 1938, only three years after and three doors down from Fry's Sun House. Designed by architects Amyas Connell, Basil Ward and Collin Lucas, the house was derided as "the greatest abortion ever perpetrated" at the time, but it is now "hailed as the best pre-war modern house in England," and is a Grade II* listed building. You can see a photo of the rear of the house here.

No. 9 West Heath Road

9 West Heath Road
Skipping geographically to stay with the modern theme, we next visit the James Gowan-designed No. 9 West Heath Road, called by some the finest modern house in Hampstead. Built between 1962 and 1964, the exterior has been described as austere and "Brutalistic." Indeed, the house does seem cold and alienating from from the street. But the child's toys visible in the middle of the central column of windows gave the house enough humanity to catch my eye.

No. 13 West Heath Road

13 West Heath Road
West Heath Road, as its name implies, directly borders the Heath, so it is no surprise that some of the largest (and gaudiest) homes are located here. In my opinion, No. 13, completed in 1895, manages to be spectacular without crossing into excess. I have already noted my fondness for turrets, and this house has a good one, with its conical roof and deorative panels. I also like the clover-leaf chimney stacks, and the heavy columned entry and balcony that anchors and centers the design.

Interestingly, only the boundary walls and gate pillars of this house have been listed. Several of the pillars bear the word "Lipa" (visible in the photo) which one would expect is the name of the house, except that another pillar on the Redington Road side bears the word "Ashmount."

Continued in Part 2 here.

References:
1, Wade, The Streets of Hampstead (3d ed. 2000).
2. Denford, The Hampstead Book: The A-Z of its history and people (2009).
3. Erlington, et al., "Hampstead: Frognal and the Central Demesne" in A History of the County of Middlesex, Vol. 9: Hampstead, Paddington (1989), pp. 33-42, available online at http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=22635 (accessed 16 January 2011).
4. British Listed Buildings Online: Hampstead, Greater London, http://www.britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/england/greater+london/hampstead (accessed 16 January 2011).

Restaurants: Bye, Hi Sushi!

2011-01-13T17:26:00.003+00:00

We realized last night that we hadn’t been out for sushi for over a year due to Heidi’s pregnancy and our move to London, and we determined immediately to put an end to that. I wish we hadn’t.

For us, finding decent sushi at reasonable prices is one of the great joys of dining out. Back when we were courting, Heidi and I often made a point of catching the happy hour special at Paradise in Hermosa Beach; I still yearn for their Rock ‘n Roll.[1] And, of course, it was at his first sushi all-you-can-eat night that John Binford famously pronounced, “How can I know if I’m full if I don’t know what the hell I’ve eaten?”

First Impressions

Hi Sushi on Hampstead High Street

So it was with a great deal of hope last night that we visited the Hampstead location of Hi Sushi, which operates seven restaurants in London, for their all-you-can-eat buffet. The space was small but inviting, with bright white lighting and walls, light natural wood floors, frosted glass or laminate tables, and brightly colored cushions. It is divided into three sections, with normal booth seating in the front and rear sections, and in-floor seating in the middle. By “in-floor seating,” I mean exactly that—the floor has been raised and holes have been cut to accommodate the tables. Patrons sit around the tables on cushions set on the floor, with their legs beneath. (See photo below.) This gives the visual impression of diners seated, Japanese style, on the floor, but is more comfortable for westerners accustomed to chairs. Getting into the seat, however, is still a bit awkward for big fat guys like me.

The Service

We were four (three adults and baby Jack) and had not booked a table (travel tip: always book ahead at a London restaurant, if possible!), but they quickly found space for us at a shared, in-floor table. Score one for the service. But while Lucinda, Jack and Heidi took their seats, I was sorting the pram outside, and when I went to join them I was brusquely challenged by a small, sphinx-like woman garbed in black—one of the staff, I later discovered—who demanded to know whether I had reserved a table. I will say only that it is possible to make this inquiry politely, and that perhaps sphinx-woman might try harder in that regard.

The "in-floor" seating at Hi Sushi

Having passed the gatekeeper, I sort of half-slid, half-rolled into my seat to have three tacky laminated food menus (and a rather sparse drinks menu) tossed onto the table in front of me. This was a persistent problem throughout the evening. Because the tables were so low to the floor, the staff is forced to bend down or squat to reach the table top. This is particularly difficult when carrying armloads of plated food, resulting in the staff pretty much dropping or tossing things onto the table rather than placing them gently down. The couple sharing our table, for example, saw their long-awaited, carefully arranged platter of sushi scattered when the server put the it down edge-on and then let it drop clattering to the table top. I swear one of the salmon rolls executed a perfect Fosbury Flop into the soy sauce.

We glanced at the menus and quickly put them down, because they said nothing about the all-you-can-eat buffet. We waited (and waited, and waited) for our server to return; when she did and we explained that we wanted the buffet, she reacted (in Lucinda’s words) as though we were second-class citizens. Which was quite odd, as everyone in the entire restaurant was having the buffet. In any event, she took our drink order and promised to return to explain the buffet, which (eventually) she did.

An aside about the English use of the word "buffet": As far as I can tell, it does not denote here that you're going to grab a plate and serve yourself from a bunch of chafing dishes. Both "buffets" we have been to in England involved traditional table service. The only difference from a regular restaurant meal was that the menu was limited and (theoretically) we could get more food if we wanted it without paying more money. But more on that below.

The many all-you-can-eat sushi nights that we’ve been to in L.A. have all had a consistent, simple structure: You pay a set fee per person, and you can order as much sushi as you want for a fixed period of time, usually 90 to 120 minutes. Drinks and a la carte items are extra, and if you order a bunch of sushi you don’t eat, you might get hit with a small surcharge.

In contrast, the buffet at Hi Sushi is governed by a complex and arcane set of rules, and by the time our server finished explaining them to me, I was glad for my legal education and 20 years of experience—particularly as our server lost patience with explaining the rules to the entire table, so she charged me to explain them to Heidi and Lucinda.

Anyway, if I understood correctly, the rules go something like this:

You pay £16 (about $25) per person, plus service charge, and you get two lists.

List #1 contains about a dozen items of hot food (tempuras, teriyakis, spring rolls, etc.). The table can order up to 7 items of hot food, but you only get one shot at it—you don’t get second portions of anything, and you can’t place a second order to get items that you missed out on the first time around. So, I was cautioned, consider carefully whether you want the chicken teriyaki or the chicken katsu, because there’s no going back once you've made your choice.

Our List #2, with the unfulfilled second sushi order

List #2 contains sashimi, nigiri sushi, and rolls. The table can only order 5 of these items at a time, but you might get a second shot at it, because you can order 10 of the items up to 3 times. The other 8 items (the "Extra Bonus" items) can only be ordered once, but unlike the hot food, they don’t have to be ordered in the first go—you can order additional previously unordered single order items in your second order or third order. (Did ya get that?)

And apparently there’s a time limit, too, but the server didn’t really explain that part.

So we place our orders and they promptly bring out some miso soup and, a bit later, some edamame (both off our hot food list), and then the server comes to tell us that because they’re so busy our sushi order is going to be delayed 30 minutes.

We look around. The place isn’t that busy.

So about 4 minutes later, they brought out the entire sushi order.

And that was pretty much the last time we saw our server. We prepared a second sushi order—Heidi calculated that the meal would only be an accetable value if we ordered at least four more items, some of which had to be sashimi—but no one came to take the order, and we were sufficiently indifferent to eating more indifferent food (see below) that flagging down a bus boy of the speeding bus boys seemed more effort than it was worth.

The Food

The food was not terrible. But at these prices, "not terrible" is not nearly good enough.

The hot items we ordered were, without exception, mediocre to poor. I have had far better food at the Mitsuwa supermarket food court for less than half the price. The miso soup lacked the rich umami flavor and mouthfeel that is the whole point of miso soup; the chicken katsu was dry and the katsu sauce unremarkable; the chicken teriyaki was bland and a bit stringy. The Japanese spring rolls were decent, with a crisp exterior and hot, crunchy vegetables inside.

The sushi was somewhat better than the hot food, but it was not good value. The fish was fresh enough and the rolls were well constructed with fresh ingredients, but neither the negiri nor the rolls were especially flavorful. The nicely textured seabass negiri was perhaps the best of a mediocre lot. Heidi thought the undisclosed use of imitation crab in the California rolls was a major negative; I cannot really complain about that, as the classic California roll has always used imitation crab.

The Beer

Finally, a note about the beer. As far as I’m concerned, the highest and best use of a Japanese light lager is to accompany sushi. Last night, I drank Asahi and Heidi drank Kirin. The beers were £3.50 for 333 ml (12 oz.). That’s pretty expensive, but I might pay £3.50 for a good Japanese beer to accompany a good meal.

Note that I said Japanese—if you have ever had a Japanese light lager from Japan, you will know that they taste different than the licensed products widely available in the United States and, it turns out, in the U.K. The Japanese versions (or so I am informed) are slightly higher gravity and higher alcohol, and to my palate taste richer and maltier than the licensed products.

The “Asahi” I had last night was brewed not by Asahi in Japan, but by Shepherd Neame in Kent. The “Kirin” Heidi had was, in fact, brewed by Heineken in Edinburgh. I can tell you unequivocally that I would not pay £3.50 in a pub for a 20 oz. pint of any Shepherd Neame or Heineken beer. I see no reason why I should pay £3.50 for a 12 oz bottle in a restaurant. Again, not good value.

So, bye, Hi Sushi. You weren’t the worst I ever had, but there’s no reason to give it another go.

[1] Don’t consider that a recommendation—Paradise has fallen far and hard over the years. Based on the visible lack of basic hygiene when last I was there, they should probably change the name from “Paradise Sushi” to “Paradise Now”.

Exploring Hampstead: The Crofts--Ferncroft Avenue

2011-01-12T16:13:00.004+00:00

Ferncroft Avenue

Ferncroft Avenue is the longest of the three ‘Croft avenues, running southeast for approximately one third of a mile from Platt’s Lane to Heath Street (incorrectly shown on Google Maps as “Redington Gardens”). West of Hollycroft Avenue, Ferncroft rises gently; to the east, it drops sharply down from Croft Way to Kidderpore Gardens, then levels out to finish its course.

Five of the houses in Ferncroft are Grade II listed. All were designed by Quennell: Nos. 6-8 (1901), 12-14 (1901-02), 26-26a (1898), 33-35 (1902), and 40-42 (1904). The first two—Nos. 6-8 and 12-14—are toward the Platt’s Lane end of the avenue, and are similar to the Quennell designs we saw in Hollycroft Avenue. No. 12-14 (below) is the more interesting of the two.

No. 12-14 Ferncroft Ave.

No. 26-26a is a bit different. No. 26 is a stately asymmetrical design, with a tile-hung first floor and a cast-iron and glass hood over the column-framed entrance bay. No. 26a (not pictured) is a former coach house, converted to a charming living space.

No. 26 Ferncroft Ave.

No. 33-35 is the most distinctive of the Ferncroft houses. Although symmetrical, Quennel used an aggressive tile pattern and gabled windows, both unusual for the area. The overall effect, as Heidi says, is that of a tall, elegant gingerbread house.

No. 35 Ferncroft Ave.

At the Heath Drive end of the avenue, No. 40-42 is only subtly asymmetrical. I particularly like the tripartite dormer window in the roof of No. 42 (to the right), which would seem to me to create a wonderful little office or studio space.

Nos. 40-42 Ferncroft Ave.

Finally, I leave you with a photo of one of my favorite houses in The Crofts, No. 1 Rosecroft Avenue. I did not include this house in my discussion of Rosecroft because it is not listed and I know almost nothing about it. I have discovered that artist Gerald Scarfe lived here in the 1960s. If you read The New Yorker or have seen the film Pink Floyd’s The Wall, you will recognize his work. I have heard unverified rumours that Ralph Miliband -- prominent Marxist and father of politicians David and Ed -- lived here in 1959-1960. I also know (from personal observation) that one of the current occupants drives a Bentley that he or she typically parks, uncovered, on the street, and that the gate of No. 1 is Jazz's favorite place to mark his territory.

No. 1 Rosecroft Ave.

For references, please see Part 1 here.

Exploring Hampstead: The Crofts--Hollycroft Avenue

2011-01-10T17:16:00.005+00:00

Fig. 1: Hollycroft Ave.

Hollycroft Avenue runs uphill and southeast from Platt’s Lane to Rosecroft Avenue, then turns downhill and sharply to the south, where it terminates at Ferncroft Avenue (Fig. 1).

Fig. 2: Woodstock House at No. 5 Hollycroft

At the Platt’s Lane end, many of the houses have retained molded panels bearing the fanciful names of the houses. These include St. Aubyn, St. Goar, Woodstock, Ravenscourt, Hollycroft Lodge, and the three denes: Dene Wood, Holly Dene and Heatherdene.[1] Interestingly, the panels on the east side of the street are more intricately decorated and placed over the door (Fig. 2), whereas on the west side of the street they are relatively plain and placed beside the door (Fig. 3).

Fig. 3: Heatherdene House at No. 14 Hollycroft

The house at No. 6 has no molded panel—instead, its owners have isntalled frosted glass in and beside the entry door that bears pithy quotations from such diverse sources as Mary Poppins, Spike Milligan, Ray Davies and Woody Allen. Most prominent are the words scribed by Christopher Robin for Owl to post on his door: “PLES RING IF AN RNSER IS REQIRD. PLEZ CNOKE IF AN RNSR IS NOT REQID.” Unfortunately, the glass is impossible to photograph unobtrusively so that the quotations are legible.

On the Ferncroft Avenue end of the street, two adjacent semi-detached houses, Nos. 43 to 49, are Grade II listed. Both were designed by Quennell and finished in 1905. Nos. 43-45 are notable for their herringbone brickwork (Fig. 4); Nos. 47-49 for their brick modillions.

Fig. 4: Nos. 43-45 Hollycroft

Fig. 5: No. 46 Hollycroft

Across the street, the unlisted house at No. 46 (Fig. 5) also is interesting. It is a fully detached home, completed in 1907 and designed by architect Sir Guy Dawber. The current owners, however—who purchased the home in 2009 for £3.38 million—found the house “under scaled and with poky rooms.” Accordingly, they are extending the house in three directions, including down.[2] The photograph shows scaffolding covering the south side of the house, where it appears the entire ground floor wall has been removed.

Next up, Ferncroft Avenue and its two gingerbread houses.

For references, see Part 1 here.

[1] A “dene” in a British place name refers to “a vale, especially the deep, narrow, wooded valley of a small river.” ["dene". Oxford Dictionaries. April 2010. Oxford University Press. 10 January 2011 <http://oxforddictionaries.com/view/entry/m_en_us1239410?rskey=vUGBjI&result=2>.]

[2] The plans for the renovation are available on the architect’s website here. Enter the site, select “Currently in Design,” and choose “Hollycroft Avenue.”

Out & About: Highgate Cemetery (East)

2011-01-10T01:46:00.004+00:00

Today was a magnificent Sunday, so we decided to spend it with some of our favorite dead:

You can access the full-sized photos by clicking here.

Exlporing Hampstead: The Crofts--Rosecroft Avenue

2011-01-09T22:52:00.100+00:00

We try to spend Saturdays and holidays out and about, exploring new parts of London. This past Christmas, however, illness kept us housebound, wondering how sick we would let ourselves become before surrendering to the evils of socialized medicine.[1] God had mercy, however; He inflicted needless suffering upon us for only a week or so. Jazz was not so kind. He insisted on going out to urinate three or four times a day, no matter how poorly we felt. So we used Jazz’s walks to explore in greater depth our immediate neighborhood, known to local estate agents as “the desirable Crofts area of Hampstead.”

Orientation

Fig. 1 - Hampstead relative to Parliament

Hampstead is six miles north-by-northwest of the Houses of Parliament (Fig. 1), and four miles directly north of Hyde Park. The village and Heath sit atop the Northern Heights of London, a group of hills left by retreating glaciers after the last ice age. At 440’ above sea level, the north end of the Heath is the highest point in London’s inner boroughs. This is why, as Lucinda frequently complains, the walk into the village is uphill both ways.

The Crofts are comprised of three streets near the western edge of the Heath: Ferncroft Avenue, Hollycroft Avenue, and our own, Rosecroft Avenue (Fig. 2). A “croft” is a small farm or field; the word is a Scottish derivation from an Old English word meaning “hill.”[2] “The Crofts” is therefore a particularly fitting moniker for this area, which lies on the western slope of Child’s Hill, on land that was part of Platt’s Farm until the mid-1890s.[3]

Fig. 2 - The Crofts relative to Hampstead Village

The three ‘Croft avenues were laid out in 1896 by a developer named George Hart; most of the homes were designed by architect C.H.B. Quennell. According to one commentator, these red-brick mansions were intended for “the lower middle class residents of Hampstead.” Today, those homes are worth £3 million to £5 million, and flats in subdivided conversions sell for more than £1 million.[4] The current global financial crisis has had almost no effect on property prices here, and based on the startling amount of residential remodeling going on, one wonders whether residents of The Crofts are even aware that the world is in financial turmoil.

Rosecroft Avenue

No. 17

Rosecroft Avenue is the smallest of the ‘Croft avenues and was the first to be laid out. It curves gently downhill and southeast-to-south, a mere 200 yards, joining Platt’s Lane where the Platt’s Farm manor house once stood and terminating at the top middle of arching Hollycroft Avenue.

Three of the houses on Rosecroft are Grade II listed buildings, Nos. 17, 18 and 20. All three were designed by Quennell. No. 17 was completed in 1899 and is notable for the unusual classical plaster reliefs of female figures on the exterior first floor (second floor, for you Americans), modeled by artist Benjamin Lloyd.

No. 18

Across the street, No. 18 was completed in 1898; the date is prominently displayed (along with some naked nymphs) in plaster reliefs in the eaves, also by Benjamin Lloyd. Next door, No. 20 is one of several houses to bear the name Croft House; completed in 1898, it lacks the sculpted reliefs of Nos. 17 and 18, but has a beautiful symmetrical design with a recessed entrance bay.

Next up, Hollycroft Avenue, wherein resides Winnie-the-Pooh’s friend, Owl.

No. 20

References:

Wade, The Streets of Hampstead (3d ed. 1999)

Wade, Hampstead Past (1989)

Denford, The Hampstead Book: A-Z of its history and people (2009)
"Hampstead: Childs Hill," A History of the County of Middlesex: Volume 9: Hampstead, Paddington (1989), pp. 73-75. URL: http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=22643 Date accessed: 8 January 2011. >

[1] Heidi refuses to accept that, under the U.K.’s barbaric healthcare system, Jack’s well-baby visits might have to be with a G.P. rather than a specialist pediatrician. The horror! Imagine the exotic strains of diaper rash a G.P. might be unable to diagnose.

[2] "croft." Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 10th Edition. HarperCollins Publishers. 08 Jan. 2011. <Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/croft>.

[3] As an interesting aside, all three ‘Croft avenues intersect with Platt’s Lane, named for the owner of Platt’s Farm. Platt’s Lane formerly was known as Devil’s Lane, a corruption of Duval’s Lane, after the notorious 17^th Century highwayman Claude Duval.

[4] For example, the ground floor flat in our building sold last September for £1.27 million.

Of Mincemeat, Chanukah Lights and Eggwhat?

2010-12-22T11:34:00.002+00:00

You know, we’re trying to fit in here in the U.K. We say “pram” instead of “stroller,” “zed” instead of “zee,” and “whilst” instead of “while.” We look right instead of left when crossing the street, and always use the plural for collective nouns. No big deal. We’re not ugly Americans.

But the Brits are not making it easy on us. Even at Christmas.

First thing, wherever you go during the Christmas season, someone is shoving a little mince pie at you. Shopping malls, grocery stores, even business meetings—they are irritatingly ubiquitous. I don’t know even how you’re supposed to eat these things. They’re actual little pies, in miniature tin pie plates. How are you supposed to eat that? I can’t even get one out of pie plate without destroying it. And if I did get it out of the pie plate, then what? Shove the whole thing in my mouth? I’d choke. Take a single bite? I’d end up with crust crumbs all over me and mincemeat on my nose. The little bastards should come with an instruction manual. Or at least a spork.

Oh, and, in case you were wondering, there’s no actual meat in them. Which, I must say, comes as a bit of a surprise when you eat one. After all, Brits eat meat pies like Americans eat hot dogs, and what we call ground beef, they call minced. So you figure a mincemeat pie is going to have some friggin’ minced meat. Instead, you bite into one and you get a mouthful sugary, spicey, fruity, squishy goop. It’s enough to make you retch.

Second thing, all the Christmas lights over here are blue. Yes, blue. When people started putting blue lights on their houses last week, we assumed we had moved into a Jewish neighborhood that was really excited about Chanukah. But no, they were Christmas lights. Whoever heard of blue Christmas lights? What is that supposed to symbolize? Christianity is about blood. Christmas lights are supposed to be red.

The worst thing, though, is the eggnog—or, lack thereof.

Immediately after we finished our belated Thanksgiving dinner, Heidi happily trotted down to Waitrose to pick up the Christmas season’s first carton of eggnog. We love eggnog. We only buy the expensive stuff, like Broguiere’s in the old-fashioned glass milk bottles from Bristol Farms. Heidi likes it in a red wine glass with a bit of Armagnac and a hint of nutmeg; I like it in an old fashioned glass with so much dark spiced rum that it begins to curdle. Stefan drinks it straight from the bottle, a quart at a time.

So there’s Heidi at Waitrose and she can’t find eggnog anywhere. No Broguiere’s. No Alta Dena. Not even that crappy Borden’s stuff that comes in a can, like it’s meant to be stored in a fallout shelter and enjoyed during a nuclear winter. Nothing.

So she asks one of the helpful Waitrose employees, Where is the eggnog?

The guy replies, Egg what?

Egg what? Egg WHAT? Are you daft, Mr. Waitrose person? Rumour has it (notice the conformist “u”) you people invented this stuff. And now you don’t even know what it is? What kind of deprived backward culture has this become? I realize you had rationing in this country for nine years after World War II while America was living a post-war economic boom, but honestly, do you all of you outside of the inbred upper classes have to live like Okie grandmothers from the Dust Bowl era?

So Heidi kindly describes for the (presumably mentally challenged) man exactly what eggnog is— Eggs. Sugar. Cream. You know, eggnog.

Oh, he says distastefully. That sounds rather indulgent.

Just like that. With the dul in audible italics.

Of course it’s indulgent, you moron! It’s eggnog!!

So, yeah. Christmas in the U.K. Mince pie. Blue lights. No friggin' eggnog. It’s just not the same.

Three Pub Update

2010-12-21T08:22:00.001+00:00

We've had the chance to revisit some of our local pubs to reconsider our initial impressions. Here are some updates:

The Old Bull & Bush: Heidi, Jack and I returned to The Old Bull & Bush for dinner tonight (Nov. 26). The results were mixed. We liked the ambiance of the dining room: the black wooden tables were well spaced and provided a nice colour contrast to the light floor and walls, and the indirect lighting provided a soft, comforting glow. We sat in a cushioned banquette built into a bay window that was particularly nice. They had three cask ales on draft: London Pride (of course), Adnam's Broadside and Sharp's Doom Bar. I had a pint each of the latter. Both were in very good condition. I had a side dish of wild mushrooms sauteed in garlic, and they were fresh and meaty and delicious. And, somewhat surprisingly, the espresso drinks we had to finish the meal were excellent.

On the other hand, the service was spotty -- the waitress seemed only sporadically to remember that we were there, and getting her attention (particularly when she was on the telephone) was a challenge. The scallops in our appetizer, set on a delicious bed of cold mango and mixed vegetables, were sweet and flavourful, but needed a better sear. The biggest disappointment, though, were the mains. Heidi's mussels were overcooked and had the texture of a kitchen sponge. My pan-seared duck breast was chewy and flavourless.

The verdict: Overall, disappointing at this price point. Given its convenient location, though, we might give The Old Bull & Bush another shot for a pizza and beer in the "bar" area.

The Spaniard’s Inn: The upside of London's inability to cope with even a moderate amount of snow is that I'm working from home this week (the week before Christmas). Yesterday, Heidi and I took Jack for a snow trek across the Heath to the Spaniards, trusting it wouldn't be too crowded on a Monday lunchtime. We were right, although a fair number of tourists and even a few locals also had braved the snow. We really liked the ramshackle, rambling charm of the place, with an open fire in the main room, dark cushioned pews and worn wooden tables. The hot mulled wine was fruity and refreshing, and the pint of Timothy Taylor Landlord was perfect. It's easy to see why this place attracts the crowds.

One caveat: We did not eat, so I can't comment on the food, but the weekday lunch menu looked overly elaborate to me, and suspiciously so -- I cannot imagine them prepping and cooking so many different and diverse dishes well or with fresh ingredients, particularly on a slow service day.

The Holly Bush: We returned to The Holly Bush for dinner again last Saturday night (Dec. 18) and we were pleased. We tend to eat early by London standards (the better to accommodate Jack), and yet the place already was buzzing with a Saturday-before-Christmas vibe. Sure enough, our dinner was pleasantly interrupted by a round of communal caroling as the village choir came to call.

Score a big one for The Holly Bush -- although they never received our reservation and despite the crowd, they found us a table promptly. (We made our reservation through Toptable; this is the second time we've had trouble with reservations made through them.) We started with a very nice terrine of foie gras and chutney dish. For her main, Heidi again had the steak-and-ale pie, which looked so appetizing that it tempted the drinkers nearby to cancel their dinner plans elsewhere to get their own. My roasted lamb breast was equally attractive, and although the cut was fatty and the texture a bit chewy, the flavor was very good.