The London cake crawl

What do you do on a grey autumn afternoon in London?

You can spend the day fighting through the hoards on Regent Street, Oxford Street, or one of the shopping malls, getting more and more frazzled and dispirited. Or you could visit one of the free museums, and soak up some culture with your crowds.

(Let's face it, London is crowded.)

Or, you could say "Sod it!" and go on a cake crawl. Which is like a pub crawl, only with a lot less beer, and a lot more sugar.

(Sounds like a winning idea to me!)

The plan? Hit up 5 bakeries and desert places in a cross-London odyssey, accompanied by my partner-in-face-stuffing Katie.

The rules? Drink lots of tea, and pace yourself. This amount of sugar will separate the women from the girls.

Stop 1: Lola's cupcakes, Lansdowne Row, Mayfair. 13:30

All dressed up for Hallowe'en (with a white picket fence adding just a touch of twee)

Pretty as a picture, the cupcakes in this tiny cafe / shop come in a wide range of girly flavours. Passion fruit, blueberry, rosewater and pistachio, chocolate mint. Plenty of the flavours are also available in mini sizes, useful for when you'd planned to share, but your companion is disinclined towards your choice of flavours.

Rose water and pistachio, passion fruit, blueberry - I'm sure these count towards my five a day....

I should say here that I've never understood the current fascination with cupcakes. Too often, cupcakes are nothing but dry rounds of plain cake, covered in enough overly-sweet buttercream swirls to give a bunny diabetes. What's wrong with a full-sized cake, where a larger baking volume reduces the odds of drying out, and then slicing and icing layers delivers an optimal cake-to-frosting ratio? Why mess with a classic?

But at Lola's, like at many other bakeries these days, cupcakes dominate the menu, so cupcakes are what we ordered. I had the mini version of the rosewater and pistachio cupcakes, accompanied by a pot of tea. The cake was pleasant enough although slightly dry, with a strong flavour of rosewater emanating from the so-sweet icing, but not any discernible taste of pistachios (apart from a few pieces scattered on top as decoration). Overall, a nice enough place to stop for a sweet, but not setting the world on fire.

How do I feel after eating?: My stomach is primed, I'm ready for stop 2.

Stop 2: Crumbs and Doilies, Kingsly Court, Carnaby Street, 14:30

Mmm... everything's better with bacon

Now this is impressive. This popular, small shop offers a range of trendy and innovative flavours - salted caramel pretzel, maple and bacon, key lime pie.

Just look at them - they're beautiful....

Not a boring red velvet or coffee and walnut in sight....

Making a decision here was hard - I wanted them all.

Finally, my partner-in-face-stuffing and I settled on sharing a large slab of fudgy chocolate cake, topped with salted pretzels. The icing was quite thin on the ground but sweet and had a nice, creamy texture. But the standout was the cake itself - so moist that the icing was barely necessary. This could have been a masterclass in how to avoid dryness.

Moist and fudgy cake, creamy and sweet icing, salty pretzels. Honey, I'm home!

How do I feel after eating?: I really hate to admit this, but after one mini cupcake and half a big slice, I'm starting to feel sugared out already. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to fail. I'm weak. I'm pathetic.

Stop 3: Yauatcha, 15-17 Broadwick St, Soho. 15:15

Yauatcha came on the London trendy dining scene a few years back, making a big splash with their Michelin starred dim-sum and their weirdly French patisserie menu (matcha yuzu macarons anyone?).

Feeling we desperately needed a break from the sugar, we stopped into Yauatcha for some dim sum, with the plan to follow with a few macarons, once we'd recovered from our sugar OD.

I don't think I've ever eaten in a Michelin starred restaurant before, so wasn't certain what to expect - what makes a place star worthy? What does a star mean? As far as I can tell, it means a random and redundant fish tank running the length of the bar, a downstairs interior so dark you could pretend you were in a cave, and no mirrors in toilets (as we're now above such shallow concerns). Many of the staff were also surprisingly badly trained for a restaurant of this caliber. I suspect some of the quite pretty young waiters were hired more for ambiance than ability.

Dark wood, gilt and mirrored bar, redundant fish tank.... I guess that's what impresses "the book"

We'd only planned to share a pot of green tea and one or two dishes of dim sum (this was supposed to be a snack, not a full meal), but I got over-excited at their extensive menu, and ordered a bit more than intended.

Wild mushroom dumplings (£5.20), from their steamed selection, featured a well-textured thin green skin, wrapped around a forgettable filling. These supposedly contain three different types of mushrooms, but to be honest I found them disappointingly a bit bland.

Char sui buns (£4.80), however, do this classic staple proud. This isn't a dish I normally order, as I find char sui buns can be a little boring, but the friend I was eating with was practically a dim sum virgin, and wanted to try them. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed these.

I know I should be spending time on these photos, ensuring each is focused and well lit, but I'm salivating too much to bother....

And what about their famous venison puffs? (£5.30)

Imagine crisp pastry that dissolves on your tongue like spun sugar. Imagine a decadently rich, sweet and unami-filled meaty inside, one that will make your ears jealous that your mouth is having all the fun. Imagine dim sum, but made by Jesus.

I'll eat these again. As soon as possible.

In fact, can I have some more now?

Too full to order desert (although they did look mighty-purdy), and thoroughly stuffed with tea, dim sum and cake. we decide to walk to our next destination and see if we can face more sugar by then.

Stop 4: Laduree, Covent Garden. 16:45

This tiny and touristy shop was too busy to even get in the door, five people deep. We beat a hasty retreat.

Stop 5: Primrose Bakery, Covent Garden, 17:00

There's still some of plucky blitz spirit left in me, the unwillingness to admit defeat. So I drag Katie (by now becoming a bit of a reluctant participant in this sugar-driven forced march) to the final stop on my planned odyssey.

Primrose Bakery is another one of the "new breed" of bakeries, offering mostly cupcakes. If I'm honest, the cupcakes look a bit ordinary after Crumbs and Doilies - flavours are your standard classics: red velvet, vanilla, choc, salted caramel, carrot. It goes against my very nature to admit this, but I'm just not tempted.

Katie looks at me. I look at her. The acceptance is clear on both our faces.

We can't do it. We're sugared out. We're officially too full to eat cake.

(Silent screaming in my head... the eight year old me is bitterly disappointed in the grown up me.)

We admit defeat, and trundle off towards our respective homes after agreeing that we should do this again soon.

I feel a failure.

A stuffed, waddling, sugar-laden and oh, so very happy, failure.

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London has seen a trendiness of walking cake tours in recent times. There's even a bus cake tour, for those determined to not burn off ANY of the excess calories. These are certainly one way to experience a range of London bakeries, and usually stop at places that offer mini cakes or taster-sized portions, to help avoid the dreaded sugar overload. These tours are not cheap, however - expect to pay £40+ pp.

But with a good map and a little will, it's easy (and considerably cheaper) to organise your own cake crawl.

Your sugar-rush awaits!

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A final note: please forgive the low quality pictures in this post. I neglected to take my main camera with me, so these photos were all taken on my cheap(ish) phone. Plus I feel like such a doofus taking faffing about taking pictures of my food in public that I tend to rush through it (especially when the food might be getting cold, and I'm really eager to start eating).

A Glutton's Guide to Berlin's Christmas Markets

Polite but clearly bored with the crowds and noise of the market, the Frau hands me a novelty mug filled with steaming wine.

The florid red cup is shaped like a Christmas stocking. A thick sprig of ceramic mistletoe forms the chunky handle. It's hideous. But the hot wine inside is warming (in more ways than one – it's stronger than I expect) and the snow flakes are continuing to fall: I need all the help I can get to stay warm this afternoon.

Charlottenburg Palace's Christmas market is one of the best known in Berlin. Set in the front of the summer palace of Sophia Charlotte of Hanover, the market features an eclectic mix of fancy gifts and rustic snacks.  Shining pop-up shops selling luxury leather bags or hand-crafted silver jewellery sit side by side with the simple wooden stalls of the sausage sellers. The air is infused with garlic and onion, coffee and sugar.

The market is not a place for dieters. There's a man selling hot candied nuts; you can smell his tempting wares long before you see him. Then follow your nose to a steaming vat of garlic-drenched mushrooms, slippery and glossy with melted butter. Of course I have to try some: vegetables are supposed to be good for you, aren't they? Nearby, every imaginable fruit is available skewered and covered in chocolate or a bright crimson candy coating: apples, cherries, apricots... a glutton's version of your five a day.

I hold out as long as I can (a feat of Herculean will power), but I'm finally seduced by a stall devoted to roast pork.

My flat-bread comes stuffed with hot and dripping slices of roast meat, piles of tangy sauerkraut, and smothered in thick sour cream. Bigger than my head, I need both hands to hold it. A Chinese tourist, camera slung round his neck, gazes longingly at my sandwich. I grin, and point him in the direction of the right stall. We don't speak. We don't need to. Greed is a universal language.

So full I'm not so much walking as waddling, I wander through the crowds of the market, sipping my hot wine, brushing snowflakes off my lashes, and stamping my frozen feet to keep the circulation going. You can tell the Berliners from the tourists. The locals are the ones with thick gloves and waterproof boots. The tourists are the ones in inadequate shoes, fluttering about trying to stay warm. Loudspeakers play old-fashioned carols and cheery jingles; later a choir will sing. Behind all this activity, the baroque dome of the palace is lit by a succession of coloured lights: pink, green, blue.

I long to linger and listen to the music, but I'm far too cold to stop moving. Heading back on foot towards the department stores and restaurants of City West, I pass a series of Christmas installations. A twelve foot high Santa Claus figurine, covered in red mini lights, stands on a traffic island in the middle of Kurfurstendamm, the busy shopping street better known as Kudamm. A series of sparkling snowmen nestle between a chain clothing shop and a boutique hotel. The snowmen wear blue taps hats and pink noses. Groups of teenagers with mobile phones snap photos of each other posing in front of the lights.

Finally, near the crowded temple to consumerism that is the KaDeWe department store, I give in and buy a pair of fleece-lined winter boots.

I ask the clerk to remove the tags, so I can wear them out of the shop. She gives me a look that says “tourist” and I grin. Full of hot wine and garlic-soaked mushrooms, with warm feet I can conquer the world (or at least the next Christmas market).

Luckily, in Berlin that's never very far away.

Gratuitous tapas shot

Just back from Madrid....

The welcome of satay

Viscous tawny liquid bubbles slowly, like primeval mud in a volcanic badland. The smell that rises from the simmering gloop makes my nose twitch happily: peanuts, coriander, lemongrass and chillies.

This was my first experience of satay celup, the Melaka version of steamboat cooking.

Huge metal vats of bubbling sauce dominate the centre of each stainless-steel table. Over-bright fluorescent lights reflect off white tiles and greedy diners. Along one wall run shelves overflowing with bamboo skewers of every imaginable ingredient: prawns the size of my thumb, herb-flecked fish balls gleaming like pale pearls, slippery chicken livers and lumpy sausages, slender green okra stuffed with salty fish paste, morning glory leaves tied into small, neat bundles. There are other things too, strange meaty things I don't recognise.

Seeing I'm alone, a local teacher invites me to join her table. She gently steers me away from these stranger foods: “Not for you.” I am a Westerner, and hence expected to be timid in what I eat. She smiles over the chatter of languages rising around us like steam from the vats: bahasa Malay, Cantonese, English.

We help ourselves to skewers while waitresses, harried and sweating in jeans and t-shirts, scurry from table to table. They continually top up the vats of sauce and bowls of diced bread, to soak up the fragrant and spicy liquid; no one ever leaves unsatisfied.

Skewers are plunged into sauce. It's communal dinning at its most enjoyable - sharing tasty titbits, squabbling over tangled bamboo skewers, and laughing over dropped ingredients, lost forever in the bottom of the vat.

Finally, satisfied and replete, we lean back in our chairs as the waitress counts the sticky used skewers on our table to calculate the bill. My host insists on paying for my dinner, proclaiming me a guest in her city. She smiles, and is quietly gracious, like Malaysia itself.

I stumble happily back to my guest-house, both belly and heart full.

This article was written for the World Nomads travel writing scholarship in March 2012, based upon travels from January 2011.

Friday night at the chippy

It could be any English town.

Friday night. The local fish and chip shop. The smell of vinegar and oil hangs heavy on the warm air. A red fluorescent sign, flashes on, off: “open”.

A steady movement of people in and out of the shop-front: a few families, a few women, but mostly a series of lone men, one after the other.

A family man, hurriedly picking up 4 potions of cod and 3 portions of chips to take home for Friday supper. Maybe he buys a cheeky chipolata to eat furtively in the car on the way home.

A young man buys a portion of chips, unwrapped, and smothers them in salt and vinegar. He eats them with a wooden fork, standing in the street outside. The flashing open sign casts an intermittent red light over the pavement. I think he's fortifying his stomach before a night of heavy drinking with his friends.

A middle aged man wraps his chips in brown paper to take home. Perhaps he lives alone, can't be bothered to cook. There's something sad about a lone portion of chips. The furtive chipolata.

It could be any English town.

Ribs 'n' all that

I haven't written much yet about the food in the SW. There is a reason for that.

This part of the US doesn't have a reputation for terrific food (it seems to be quantity over quality a lot of the time), further complicated by the fact that we were mostly staying in National Parks, so you're a captive audience. That said, there were a few memorable meals.

The best was definitely the Bright Angel Lodge at Grand Canyon Village (No pictures available, as I was too busy eating to reach for the camera). Service is incredibly slow, but the food is lovely. Spicy, thick home-made corn chowder, slabs of meaty ribs smothered in sweet cactus syrup, and cinnamon-laced apple grunt for desert (which unfortunately I was too full to eat). And when you're through stuffing your cheeks like a chipmunk preparing for winter, you can step outside the door and be right on the rim, watching the condors soar over the canyon.

Of course, there were plenty of crappy meals as well. The worst were pancakes at the Yavapai cafeteria in Grand Canyon park; they brought back all the suppressed memories of my University dormitory meals. You add half a pint of syrup, and yet magically the pancakes are still so dry you can barely swallow them.

I'm amazed that no one's realised yet their potential for mopping up oil spills at sea....

Think I can corner the market?