St John, the Tart with the Heart of Custard
As usual, I went into St John Bread and Wine in Commercial Street at the weekend to buy my loaf of bread. Out of the blue, I discovered that Mr Gellatly has been making Custard Tarts.
When I was a child, my mother used to buy me custard tarts at the bakers, but in recent years I’ve switched over to the squishy Portuguese variety that I discovered in Lisbon and which you can now find all over London. In my childhood, custard tarts came in tinfoil cases with stiff pastry, the consistency of damp cardboard, that contained sweet livid yellow egg custard topped with nutmeg – I loved them.
So it was with huge expectation, that I bit into my first St John custard tart, and I was not disappointed. No tinfoil case here, but soft, melting buttery pastry containing the palest creamy egg custard betraying only a hint of vanilla sweetness and leaving a tangy exotic aftertaste of nutmeg.
On Saturday afternoon, I settled down in the garden to enjoy my tart with a cup of tea in the sun. Then I found myself doing it again on Sunday, because although I always thought I knew custard tarts, I never knew them at all, until now.
Burly pearlies in Brick Lane
This fine gentleman is the Pearly king of Upminster and the chap behind is the king of Highgate. On the first Sunday of every month, the Pearly monarchy gather at the corner of Cheshire Street and Brick Lane, between the oriental slipper stall and the men chanting “Cigarettes, tobacco” under their breaths.
Carole Jolly, Pearly queen of Crystal Palace, told me how it began in the nineteenth century with one Henry Croft (pictured below on the right) who was brought up in an orphanage. Adopting the style of the Costermongers who sewed pearl buttons on their bellbottomed trousers, jackets, waistcoats and caps, Henry made himself an entire suit covered in pearl buttons as a means to collect money for charity.
Over time, others joined Henry’s enterprise and many Costermongers (who already had a charitable code of looking after their own) became Pearlies, until there was one family for each London borough. Thus began the dynasty of Pearly kings and queens still in existence today and still collecting money for charity. The big event of the Pearly year is the gathering of all the London Pearlies for the Harvest Festival at St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, coming up next week on 12th October.
27 Fournier St, all reasonable offers considered
One of the neighbours is moving on, and consequently 27 Fournier Street is now for sale. Built by Peter Bourdon in 1725, this is one of the few double-fronted houses in the street, with a side entrance leading formerly to a carriage house. In 1724, Mr Bourdon had been elected “Headborough” and by 1744 was included in a list of “eminent merchants and traders” in London – this elegant house suited his status. His initials PBM remain to this day, just visible on the rainwater head (see below). But by 1759, Mr Bourdon was gone from his beautiful house and it was occupied by Obadiah Agace, trading as Agace and Sons, weavers of silk mixed with worsted.
From 1829 until 1946 and the passing of the National Health Act, it was used as the London Dispensary for the charitable provision of free medical attention and medicines to all. This institution provided a vital service and in November 1866 they raised £1,600 to buy the freehold. Until 1955 there was a large panel in stucco across the front, proclaiming its function as “LONDON DISPENSARY” and you can distinguish the mark of this above the first floor windows.
In spite of changes of use over the years, the house has retained many of its features, including the original irregularly shaped staircase, panelled rooms, fireplaces, curved-top sash windows, shutters and weavers’ garret. Fifty years ago, it might have been condemned as a slum, but thanks to the Spitalfields Historic Buildings Trust it was saved. Now described by our namesake Country Life as “probably the most important house in Spitalfields”, offers within the region of three million pounds will be considered by Jackson Stops and Staff. As a shrewd business man, Peter Bourdon would be delighted to see how his investment has gone up and equally curious to discover, given the current market conditions, what price the old house will fetch.
Columbia Road Market 6
Sometimes, at this time of year, my father would return from work with a mysterious parcel wrapped in newspaper and, to this day, I feel the allure of anything wrapped in newspaper, whether fish and chips, old china from a car boot sale, or wallflowers. It was Wallflowers that my father bought wrapped in newspaper each autumn and today I bought a bunch to plant in my garden from Columbia Road for just £1.50. These are the most egalitarian of plants because they are so cheap yet come in such rich colours and have one of the most attractive scents.
Thinking back, I remember walking through an old passageway into a tiny medieval stone courtyard at Merton College, Oxford, one spring, and the soft breeze blowing through the passage carried the scent of the wallflowers that grew in the yard beyond and it stopped me in my path with its beauty. I like to think it was the contradiction of that austere yard paved with its ancient stones and the ephemeral moment of the lush wallflowers in bloom that overwhelmed me, but maybe it was simply the pure sensuous thrall of their scent.
What more could you ask for a mere £1.50?
Rob Ryan, the art of the knife
Robert Ryan is a paper-cutter of genius who has single-handedly reinvented an art that lapsed in Western Europe somewhere in the nineteenth century. In common with my other favourite paper-cutter Hans Christian Andersen, he invests the idiosyncratic visual vocabulary of folk art with his own personal sensibility.
Unlike Andersen, Rob Ryan has a wide range of modern technology at his disposal to reproduce his designs on tiles, mugs, plates, vases, glasses, skirts, bags, rainwear, cushions and tape, not to mention innumerable book jackets, illustrations, posters, calendars and cards – and also famously the cover of Japanese Vogue.
If you know Rob Ryan’s work through reproductions, it is easy to forget the immense skill and painstaking work that goes into the making of it, which becomes vividly apparent when you see the actual papercuts. Take the opportunity to go along to Ryantown (Ryan’s shop in Columbia Road) where, until 15th November, he has returned to the purist roots of paper-cutting with an entire show of works in black and white. And if you fancy a trip to Denmark, Hans Christian Andersen’s papercuts (including the one below) are on permanent display at the City Museum in Odense.
Autumn Crocus
Walking through Lincoln’s Inn Fields this week on my way to Covent Garden, I was pleased to see this fine annual display of Autumn Crocus in the autumn sunshine and then, taking a different route home to Spitalfields, I came upon some more in St Paul’s Churchyard (below).
In 1996, I walked the whole length of the Pyrenees from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean and, in the eastern Pyrenees at this time of year, I came upon Autumn Crocus growing wild in the mountain valleys. Although I saw some growing among grass, I was most impressed that they forced their way up stubbornly through the hard crust of the beaten-earth path to pave my way with flowers.
There’s something magical, and perverse too, about these Crocus that come out of season and stick up straight out of out of the ground without leaves – as if someone had stuck plastic flowers into the earth. They are nature’s genuine late bloomers and all the more welcome for it.
Early days for Spitalfields Life
Over a month has passed since I started writing my posts back in August, and from now on I shall be changing the banner monthly. Above is the full iphone picture of the squirrel sitting outside a house in Buxton Street, that I used as my first banner.
Let me confide, it has become a great passion for me to write to you each day. There’s never been any problem finding subjects, more difficult have been the choices of which subjects to write of, because the possibilities are almost infinite. Truly, all of human life is here in Spitalfields.
To this end, I must now disclose to you my ambition to write ten thousand posts about Spitalfields life. At the rate of one a day, this will take approximately twenty seven years and four months. Who knows what kind of life we shall be living in 2037 when I write my ten thousandth post?
No longer your new acquaintance, from henceforth you will know me as the gentle author.
Like Good Deeds and Everyman in the old play, let us travel together. I promise to keep writing to you every day and it will be an eventful journey we shall have together.
The story is only just beginning.
