The Pride of Spitalfields, Shoreditch

It’s funny how busy you can get doing the drinking thing. The sharp-eyed amongst you will have noticed that I’ve been moonlighting recently as an online bar reviewer for Here is the City News. This has required me to become more ‘professional’ in my approach and cut down on the character driven reviews on this site that millions of people have yet to see. I’ll let you judge how successful I have been.
Nevertheless my private drinking adventures continue, most recently at the Pride of Spitalfields where the Northerner and I were joined by Derby County and the Dane for an afternoon tipple.
The Pride is a pub that takes you back to a different time and place – jellied eels, barrow boys and a good old fashioned knees-up. This pub is Chas and Dave to the Ten Bells LCD Soundsystem or Shoreditch House’s Kasabian.
Apparently it’s a Fullers pub and this is reflected in the relatively standard offering of drinks where Corona is classified as an exotic lager, and wine is for the brave. Or those people with a less sophisticated palate. But before I climb to high on my pretentious Shoreditch bar white horse, I should add that the place is a nice little boozer. The two small front bars are cosy. The bar staff are very friendly and efficient, and the locals certainly more earthy then you normal Shoreditch drinking den. Oddly given its proximity to Brick Lane it’s not very multicultural. Nor would you mistake it in any way for being fashionable. Nevertheless if you want a cosy conversation over a pint or four, this is as good a place as any.
One final word. The first time I came here I was accosted by some old gent at the bar who took pleasure in telling me that the only people who drank there were ‘coppers or gays.’ As I eyed him wearily trying to work out what, if any category he could fit into he got to his point.
‘And you’re clearly not a copper.’ Who says London isn’t still full of characters.

Taking a Swedish break - Fika, Brick Lane

I first went to Sweden on a business trip in the late 90’s and there were two things that made a lasting impression on me. One was the snow. It was first time in my sheltered excuse of a life that I had encountered the heavy white stuff and sub-zero temperatures – the former of which was very pretty; the latter very cold.
The second was the phenomenon known as ‘Big Wednesdays’ whereby shiploads of beautiful Scandinavians (are there any other kind) for some reason choose this particular night to get drunk. Absolutely rip-roaringly drunk in fact. And not just the slurring / uneasy on your feet kind of drunk, but the stumbling, collapsing rolling around in the snow sort of stupor that you normally associate with connoisseurs of Tenants Extra. Astonishing but kind of fun.
One thing that did not leave an impression was the cuisine. I dined at some very good restaurants and even did the reindeer steak thing which was quite nice, but overall there were no dishes or meals that have stayed in the memory bank.
Stumbling across the delightful looking Fika on Brick Lane I looked forward to it changing that perception.
With its soft earth colours of brown and green, and furniture that looks like it’s taken from a very famous Swedish furniture retailer Fika is a comfortable and relaxed little place. After reviewing the Scandinavian organic take on a menu, the Northerner and I agreed to go for their speciality, the Planka – a dish served on a plank accompanied by smoked, pressed potato, gravy and a tomato. Intrigued I ordered the salmon variety and the Northerner went for the Kyckling (chicken) which were accompanied by a hollandaise and a chilli infused lemon sauce respectively. The Northerner’s chicken was well seasoned and flavoursome, while my salmon was cooked perfectly – i.e. slightly rare and in itself delicious. However the potato was a let down, lacking in flavour and with a peculiar texture. While my sauce was overpowering but a tad bland – not a good combination. I tried one of the Swedish Mariestads beer which was flavoursome and very high in alcohol content. No doubt it would work a treat on Big Wednesday. The Northerner eschewed some of the eclectic wines on offer (Elderberry or Strawberry wine anyone?) and opted for a French rose which was crisp and dry. Fika is not expensive by West End standards, but certainly not a cheap and cheerful and could probably best be described as an aspirational café rather then an out-and-out restaurant. The food was satisfactory rather then memorable and I would go again, but maybe as a drinks and nibbles night rather then the full dining experience.
'Fika' is according to our waitress, the Swedish expression for what we would call a coffee break, but really it’s a social interaction that Swedes take very seriously. Given my experience of Big Wednesday I can confirm that they definitely do take that form of social interaction very seriously, and perhaps that's the sort of approach I should take the next time I chance upon Fika.