Kate Kingsley's Blog

Bright Lights, Small City

Here's one of my worst-kept secrets: I'm a city girl. I love the cultural variety and the endless choice of living in a London, a New York, a Paris or a Rome. Hardly a week goes by when I don't discover someplace new. (Ok, I'm exaggerating. But [image error]whatever.) Take last month, for instance, when a friend and I stumbled on an awesome hole-in-the-wall tapas place near Old Street. We were both big fans, and yet neither of us have been back - there's just so much else to do.

And therein lies the snag. While I've always considered big city variety to be a privilege, it can be a problem, too. What us urbanites tend to miss out on is the intimate texture of small-town life. The neighborliness. The coziness. I mean, if I lived somewhere smaller, I'd have probably revisited that tapas place about a dozen times. I'd [image error]be on chummy terms with the other regulars and BFFs with the bartender.

That's one reason I'm glad to have discovered Woodburner - a folk night in Dalston (East London) held every Monday night. Now, I'm not saying Woodburner isn't a tad pretentious - you only have to look at the "vintage eclectic" décor in the photo at left to see for yourselves... But what I like about it is the community atmosphere. Most people who go are regulars, meaning that the room is always scattered with familiar faces. The barman says hi. Acquaintances nod across the candlelit [image error]tables.

Oh, and I like the music, too. A lot. The first Monday I went, a father and son played together. The father is a famous cellist named Alexander Baillie; the son a talented young violinist named Max. That's them in the first picture, performing a jawdroppingly beautiful duet from Eastern Europe. A few Mondays later, the guest musician was Sam Lee, winner of the Arts Foundation Award for Folk Music 2011. I don't know much about folk, but I'm pretty sure Sam deserved that prize. The room fell into a trance listening to his beautiful baritone voice, and the array of haunting, exotic instruments (some of them home-made) that accompanied it.

Around midnight, closing time came. "See you next week!" echoed the refrain from people heading home. I smiled to hear it. I smiled to feel part of a small community, while the vastness of London twinkled under the moon.

 

Woodburner @ Dalston Boys Hall, 68 Boleyn Road, London N16. Mondays from 8pm. £3 entry.

Puppy Love

Hey people! It’s been way too long. Which is nobody’s fault but mine, of course. And since it makes me weep copiously to accept any sort of blame or criticism, let’s just say it’s nobody’s fault at all! Excellent. Moving swiftly on...

So, the other night, my friend C took me to a party in a “secret” new speakeasy called Danger Of Death, on Brick Lane. (For any of you non-UK readers, Brick Lane is a narrow, curving street in East London, home to dozens of curry houses and raucous bars. Hopefully, it’s also going to be home to me before long, since I’m working on buying a flat nearby.) I say “secret” because Danger Of Death is hidden behind a code-protected door, in a basement, under the street – and yet it has its own website. Hmmm. Contradiction in terms? I think so. Oh, and I forgot to mention: the place is members only. Otherwise I’d recommend it, because, despite the pretentiousness, it’s a pretty cool hangout.

Anyway. My point is not to recommend awesome nightspots. My point is this: As C and I fought our way towards the bar, we spotted a gaggle of girls, all practically jumping on top of each other to get at a guy. We assumed, at first, that this guy must be pretty gorgeous. Nope. He had greasy hair. Bad clothes. Slouchy posture.Then I saw it: the tiny black Labrador puppy tucked into his coat.

[image error]Now, this picture doesn’t quite do justice to the puppy’s adorableness. In real life, he was practically perfect in every way. I, of course, rushed over and started drooling, stroking the little babycakes and letting him lick my hand and babbling questions at the owner. Looking back on it now, I have to laugh. The guy had obviously hit on one of the dating game's best-known secrets: puppies are the best chick magnet you can get. And I had turned into one of the dating game's biggest clichés. The puppy probably wasn't even his. He'd probably borrowed it from someone and brought it to the bar to pick up girls. Or maybe he'd rented it. You know, from the Pimp-A-Puppy dating agency. If one doesn't already exist, it should.

 

Just joking. I deplore the monetization of baby animals. Especially when it involves duping poor, innocent girls like me.

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Green And Blue Things

I admit, I stole the title of this blog post from a poem about canals by Patrick Kavanagh. (Helpful hint: If you're looking for a title for something, stealing a line from a poem is pretty clever - plus, it's an accepted form of thievery! Remember that film No Country For Old Men? The title was totally nicked from a W.B. Yeats poem - which happens to be one of my favourites. Or that novel Brave New World? Totally filched from a line in The Tempest.)

Anyway, enough about plagiarism. The reason I'm thinking about canals today? Well, last night I paid a visit to a very cool café/wine bar called Towpath on Regent's Canal. For any of you non-London readers, Regent's Canal is a secretive waterway that snakes through London, from Paddington in the west, past Regent's Park, Camden and King's Cross, all the way to Limehouse Basin in the east.

Back in the early 1800s when it was built, the canal was a hectic place - full of barges belching smoke, tugging coal and steel across London and up into the rest of England. Now, it's a haven in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world.

Towpath is out in Dalston, on the fringe of the gentrified bit of East London - meaning, in order to get there, you might have to walk through some vaguely dodgy areas. But if you ask me, it's worth the trip. The tiny place is owned by food writer Lori de Mori and food photographer Jason Lowe, and you can tell it's got some serious foodie credentials. My friend and I arrived an hour or so before sunset, watched the rippling water, and tucked into delicious bar snacks: bruschetta with prosciutto and a lovely homemade tomato spread; fluffy spanish omelette; crisp green olives. We drank cold white wine out of small, stemless glasses - the kind you'd find in a French pavement café.

One of my fave things about the place was the fact that it created a community on what could have been just a blank stretch of concrete. See that water bowl in the picture on the left? It was a magnet for dog walkers, who'd stop and chat with the staff while their dogs enjoyed a cold one. And the bottles of water on the table above it? A cooling station for cyclists and runners. As for the canal traffic, we watched at least two canoeists pull up to shoot the breeze with their mates at the table next to ours. I felt like I was in a small, lazy town - not the middle of a giant metropolis.

The verdict? Towpath may be an hour's bus ride from my flat in Central London, but on the next sunny Saturday I'll be coming back to check it out for lunch. If you're anywhere nearby, why not do the same?

P.S. If you're wondering why these pictures are so rubbish, it's because I forgot my camera and had to make do with an iPhone...

Old City, New Stuff

I had a pretty cool night last night.

Back when we were at high school, one of my best guy friends and I decided to found a new club. Members: us. Rules: exploring London. Because you know that malaise you get when you think you've done everything there is to do in your city? That you've exhausted it all and that you might as well just move? Well, my friend and I felt that way. So we decided to inject a bit more culture into our lives.

The plan was simple. We'd spend a day doing things that were totally out of our routine. They could be weird or completely normal - as long as they were different. My friend's choice was to visit St Paul's Cathedral and then eat lunch at a pub on the river. Mine was to see the famous Rembrandt exhibition that was on at the National Gallery that year. Both of us remember that day as one of the best in the history of our friendship.

We were 17 back then. Now we're 29. And the club lives on. Every couple of months, my friend and I meet up to do something new. He's into curry, so one night he might take me to a random little curryhouse way up in Wembley, North London. I'm into theatre, so I might take him to see a play that he's never heard of. Last night, we went to Vertigo 42. 

It was a beautiful June evening. Vertigo is a bar right at the top of one of the highest buildings in the City, and my friend is into views, so it seemed a clever choice. Check out this pic I took - can you spot the London Eye, on the north bank of the river? Yep, we're way higher than that. Awesome, right? 

 

 

Actually, if I'm honest, I gotta say that Vertigo 42 isn't really my kind of bar. They charge £16 for a glass of iffy champagne, and the whole place feels a bit like a Virgin Upper Class lounge. Which is great - if you're at an airport. 

 

 

 

 

On the other hand, seeing the whole of London from that high up is pretty special. I never realized before how green our city is.

 

And after all, that's the whole point of our little club: seeing old things in a new way. Here's to many more evenings like last night.

 

xo

Kate

Have you discovered anything new about your town or city lately? Write me, I'd love to hear about it. 

Spring Break

Hey people. It feels like ages since my last blog post. Sorry for the gap - but, you know, even writers need a vacation every now and then. (I'm blocking my ears against the cries of protest from my friends who have office jobs: 'But you get up at 10 every day!' 'But you go to the cinema at lunchtime in the middle of the week!' 'But you're always jetting off to NYC for "work"!') Ok, I admit, as a teen author I have it pretty good - but everyone deserves a tan once in a while, don't they??

This year was a big birthday for my dad (I won't say which one or he might spontaneously combust), so I travelled with my parents, my sister, my two half sisters and various dear family friends to the village of St Paul de Vence in the Maritime Alps above the French Riviera, where we stayed at the Colombe d'Or hotel.

 

La Colombe d'Or is one of my favourite places in the world. And not because it's beautiful. Or because it has great food. Or because the rooms are full of antique furniture, painted beams and gorgeous glazed tiles. (Although all of those things are true.)

Here's why: La Colombe d'Or has one of the most awesome collections of twentieth century art that I've ever laid eyes on (outside of a museum, that is). Picasso paintings. Léger murals. Calder mobiles. And more. 

 

 

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Back in the days before these artists were superstars, they used to come to St Paul de Vence for inspiration. And instead of paying money for their room and board, they'd give their work to the family that owned (and still owns) the hotel. Today, all their art is just hanging around for guests to gawk at. Cool, right? I mean, check out that giant Calder mobile at the end of the swimming pool. Personally, I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon than reading in one of the hotel's old-fashioned wooden deck chairs, inhaling the scent of jasmine and roses, and occasionally glancing up to watch the mobile sway in the breeze.

Another thing I like about La Colombe d'Or is its intimate atmosphere. The same regulars tend to come at the same times every year. They make friends with the other guests. They exchange air-kisses on the sun-baked pool patio and catch up on the year's gossip. The whole thing is so full of low-key Euro-glamour that I can't help smile.

Whenever I visit, I feel like I'm looking in on some Great Gatsby-type gathering.  And I could be. Because up here in the mountains, very little has changed in a hundred years. Check out this pic of the restaurant's famous menu. It's been the same for decades on end. Grab a table outside, order the huge crudite basket full of fresh vegetables, and admire the view of the rolling hills and the Mediterranean far below.

Sun, scenery, culture, and food. Hmmm. Maybe I should move here for good.

Things To Do When You're Trapped In NYC

Hey people! So, this is my first ever blog post - I hope everyone's extremely excited. I certainly am...

For the katekingsley.com blog debut, I've decided to go back to April, when I was trapped in New York by that Icelandic volcano whose name no one can pronounce. Now, obviously it's not that often that anyone gets trapped in Manhattan for an extra week - and  I have to say, if you're trapped anywhere, this is the place to be. But, dear readers, once you've visited all the museums, picnicked in all the parks and hit up all the downtown hotspots, just what else is there to do? Below is my little list of emergency recommendations, designed to save any stranded YL&F-ers from that worst of all things: boredom.

 

Dylan's Candy Bar  1011 Third Ave

This is the ultimate candy experience. And I should know, because sweets are one of my favourite things. I practically jump up and down whenever I pass this place - which is often, because my family has an apartment nearby. Owned by Ralph Lauren's enterprising daughter, Dylan, the shop's three floors (yes, that's three floors!!) stock every kind of sweet thing you can imagine, from killer ice cream sundaes to gigantic lollipops to old-fashioned penny sweets. They've even just started selling Willy Wonka Oompa Loompa bars: a classic case of life imitating art? Better go see for yourselves. Just don't get carried away by that sugar high...

 

Barney's  660 Madison Ave

This is going to make me sound like a total snobby Upper East Sider, but Barney's is definitely my favourite store in New York. I admit, I can only afford to shop in the Co-Op section (the young trendy bit on the 7th and 8th floors), but that's YL&F enough for me. The Barney's buyers have a talent for seeking out great young designers and showcasing their work. In other words, if you read about the hottest young fashion talent in Vogue, chances are you'll find their designs here. Also, there's Fred's - a cool people-watching restaurant on the very top floor. Last time I was there, Sharon Stone was at the next table. I was so star-struck I could hardly enjoy my delicious steak salad.

Abercrombie & Fitch   720 Fifth Ave

Stop drooling, girls.

Ok, admission: I've never worn anything by Abercrombie, nor have I ever bought any of their stuff. The reason I'm recommending this store is... Well, isn't it obvious?? When I visited in April, this charming young guy was standing just inside the front doors with a bunch of friends, helping point shoppers in the right direction, and agreeing to pose for photos with whatever over-excited girlies asked for them. He very kindly let me take this picture for my blog. Perhaps I should go back and thank him personally when I'm next in NY...

 

 

 

Belgian Shoes   110 East 55th St

These shoes are totally bizarre, right? But I think they're also kind of amazing. And: they're a New York preppie institution. I mean, just look at the pastel colours and the cute little bows. I like to think these would be Dylan Taylor's favourite footwear if she still lived in NYC. Try wearing them with some cool skinny jeans or a super-short skirt - you can totally pull them off! And you definitely won't know anyone else who has them...

[image error]PJ Clarke's   915 Third Ave

PJ's is one of my favourite restaurants in Manhattan. First of all, it does great burgers and fries. Second of all, it does great martinis. And third of all, it's sublimely atmospheric. Founded as a saloon in 1884, the place is ancient by NY standards. If you're into Mad Men, you might recognise it from season 1 - the whole office comes here for after-work drinks and dancing. I love the way all the office buildings on Third Ave tower above it, while PJ's remains, unperturbed, at the centre of it all.

 

Opening Ceremony   35 Howard Street

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As you might be able to tell from the pics, Opening Ceremony is a very cool store. It's right down in Chinatown, just off Canal Street (the go-to place for buying ripoff Chanel and Gucci bags). These guys specialise in cutting-edge designers - ie, the kind of clothes that you probably won't find many other people wearing. I always like to look out for their guest collaborators. In December, I picked up an adorable red plaid jumpsuit by Pendleton Meets Opening Ceremony. Too bad it's wool - even a dedicated fashionista like me can't rock that in summer...

And finally...

Excellent Dumpling House   111 Lafayette St 

If you happen to work up an appetite in Opening Ceremony (or fighting off the crowds on Canal Street), I suggest heading to Excellent Dumpling House for a pie-fest. They do hands down the best (not to mention cheapest) dumplings I've tasted in NYC. Plus, the place is a welcome rest-spot for footsore shoppers. Don't come here too often, though - the food may be completely delicious, but I have a strong suspicion that's because the chefs are rather fond of grease. I always try not to eat too many of their dumplings in case I turn into one myself. It doesn't work though - they're just too good.