Shall I cut myself a slice of cake?

We went in search of puddings. West of the ocean and east of the pudding line ( For they make no decent deserts east of the Urals or south of the tropics) this should not be a grave undertaking but the options in The Wharf proper are a little limited, Nero, Starbucks, anonymous chain coffee shops (and I omit Biera whose cakes are like the fragile metal of 50's Fiat, apt to disolve into flakes at the merest pressure). A recent arriviste on the scene is Paul a rustic french confection tucked under the rustic British escalators. But if you ignore the back drop, the faux wood and faux nicotine staines, and focus on the puddings it does look like the real deal. We were tempted by the tarts and distracted by the framboise slices. An indulgence that left us nil points short of a tenner. The cakes were good though, very good..but such pleasures are passing; I have almost forgotten the yeilding sponge, the crisp raspberries and the rich black foamy coffee. And it occurs to me that in purchasing a top slice of cake I have bought an expensive experience that is unlikely to last. I will not , for example, say to my putative grandchildren, "I remember that trip to a posh cake shop." No the true gourmet of experience shopping buys things that are not to be forgotten...like a bunch of flowers for example.

This is the Docklander Blog

Docklander has been living here for a while and seen it change from the Brazillia of the East End to the new heart of London. The spirit of the city has stepped outside the old walls and caught a cab down the Highway. We are intoxicated by this place, from the empty warehouses of Tobacco Dock, to the lunchtime crowds in Canada Place. London is the river and the river is Docklands - it's free, bold and eccentric an Engish Manhattan whose aspiration in the tops of it's steel and glass towers is rooted in the soft wharehouse brick of its past. This is our home and this is our chronicle of its daily life.

Tagged docklander : docklands.