British Anecdotes, Part 1

Today we went flat-hunting south of the Thames.

*GASP*, “south of the Thames, why would you want to live thea?!” is the usual reaction I get when I tell other Londoners of my plans. It’s always interesting to see what underlying biases run through the currents of people, no matter where they are. And despite the signs by the mayor, Ken Livingston, proudly proclaiming that “WE ARE LONDONERS,” I’m already starting to see the divides in London more clearly.

Of course, I also get “well, London is quite patchy. One street will be excellent, the next quite dodgy,” so who knows what to believe.

Coming into it, I decided that I wanted to approach London with an open mind, going to see flats in neighborhoods that others would pass on without much thought. And so, my approach has been to get on a bus pointed generally in the direction I want to go, and I just observe and try to get a feel for the area and the people.

And today, I fell in love with an eccentric Turkish bakery owner on Walworth Road just south of Elephant & Castle.

We had been off to three different viewings in the area, and finally, around 4:30PM, I decided I needed a break. I was quite tired, and the only think I had had to eat that day was a banana. And so, the second I caught wind of the bakery, my stomach thudded down hard in my gut, and I drew to a quick stop. “Mind if we go in here, then?” I asked my fellow hunters.

I was greeted by a rather rotund, mustachioed Turkish man with a boisterous voice and salt-and-pepper hair. “Seweeet orrrr salty?” were the first words out of his mouth upon our arrival.

“Salty for me,” I replied.

“Den I rec-o-mend dis pastery here. It’s filled with de aubergines [eggplant] and de courgettes [zuchinni] and it’s my favorite. You know, I’m from the Mediterranean, those are our foods.”

I pondered.

“Orrr, you could try dis one, wid spinach and cheese…we also have a spicy vegetarian pizza.”

My interest was suddenly piqued, but I couldn’t decide between them. And so, the three of us decided to each get one and share with each other.

“Ok, grrreat, you want me to heat dis up?” He turned to the microwave without waiting for a response from us.

We sat there chatting about the flats and houses we had seen previously, but he was looking for a conversation.

“You from Australia?” he directed at me.

“No, America actually.”

“Oh. You know, many countries don’t like America right now.”

“Yeah, well many Americans don’t like America right now either,” was the only response I could give him.

The conversation continued, but broke off as other customers came in.

We hadn’t all eaten our full portions and he came back to scold us. Pointing to the last remaining piece he said “aren’ta you the hungry one? It is so de-le-i-cious, you must eat it.”

“Yeah, well, I may be the hungry one, but it’s her piece. She’s not fulfilling her responsibility. Make her eat it!”

Ayesha, a fellow flathunter, obliged and it was on to dessert.

It was an amazingly difficult decision. He had delicious-looking baklava which “the Poles came all the way to London for. See.” He gestured towards a uniformed guard munching on his baklava.

But in the end I settled for a pastry filled with a semolina pudding. The filling reminded me of sweet polenta, and it was really quite excellent.

As we were leaving, he asked us our names. “Jeff,” I said. “Ayesha,” my friend said. “And I’m Alex,” the last in our group replied.

“Ayesha, this is a Muslim name, no? Where you from? Turkey?”

“No.”

“Egypt?”

“No.”

“Morocco?”

He was shooting off ideas so quickly she couldn’t tell him where she was from.

“No.”

“Ok, where you from?”

“Malaysia actually, but I’m not Muslim.”

I don’t think he’ll let her back in the store now that she’s crushed his hopes, but I’m now convinced that we have to find a place in the area so that I can make this bakery my local hang out.

Wish me luck!