French f r i a n d, lemon and almond and raspberry in one moist mouthful. Photo by Angela Lansbury.
South Kensington station is beside the Hoop and Toy which is next to the Brompton Market. Photo by Angela Lansbury.
South Kensington station entrance is just beyond the busy large pub Hoop and Toy, flying the flags of England and France - the French Institute is opposite. On the left is the turquoise green awning over the Brompton Market delicatessen shop and coffee shop.
Brompton Market. Photo by Angela Lansbury.
A melt in the mouth, moist almond soft centre cake is something I am always seeking in South Kensington, London and all over the world. I thought I had finally found my dream teatime treat when I discovered large macaroons last week. The gourmet God must have appreciated my efforts at eating out and relentlessly searching because I have great news I want to share with you. Just a few steps from South Kensington station is a hidden gem. The Brompton Market delicatessen with an adult version of the children's and opera lover's treasure house of sweets, a kind of Handel and Gretel setting. Jars of as yet untried treats line the walls, leading to a secret garden at the back, a miniature forest where rustic wooden seats are softened by white sheepskin. But the best bit is the food, the lemon f r i a n d. I shall explain more about that and its recipe later. But first the shop's scenic setting.
Your are in cultural heart of London, near museums and conveniently next to South Kensington station. The shop front is small compared to next door - is beyond and beside a huge pub where revellers spill onto the streets, enjoying London's summer sunshine and smoking cigarettes in the open air, banned from indoors by Britain's and London's health-saving laws.
Across the road is another gourmet delight, The Sampler, where I started my late afternoon with a miniature glasses of sweet wine from an Enoteca machine (which I shall describe in my next post).
After the wine, we were looking for a quick coffee and some snack to eat. In the Brompton shop we headed straight to the cakes displayed beside the till. Right at the front of the counter was one of the least expensive of their cakes, small enough not to completely ruin our appetite for supper, with a tempting raspberry on top, assuaging cake-eater's guilt.
Lemon F r i a n d with two raspberries on top. Photo by Angela Lansbury.
Look closely at the photo and you can see Chocolate and Guinness Cake. If you prefer, try peach and walnut muffin. Maybe on another visit, banana, white chocolate and walnut loaf. At the front, in grabbing distance, was lemon friand.
I had complained to my doctor that I was waking at night, and he told me not to drink coffee after lunch. My regime is to drink no more than two cups of coffee, one at breakfast time, a second for elevenses (English word for a mid morning snack at eleven a.m.) and decaffeinated coffee after lunch. Therefore I opted for the cheapest drink, the longest drink, and one which sounded reasonable fresh, lemon juice.
I try to think only good thoughts. Such as this tastes tangy. But in addition to be being a gourmet optimist I am also a health freak pessimist, masquerading as a realist. So I secretly and silently also thought the acid in the lemon might eat away some of the sugar on my teeth from the cake.
I should have asked for a glass of tap water to wash the sugar off my teeth and to rinse away the cake crumbs, but I didn't think of that. Next time. I shall definitely make this place my regular stop after visiting The Sampler opposite.
I had noticed the sole brown wooden table with the white sheepskin, or imitation sheepskin, over the bench seat to soften it and add a rustic touch. But I didn't spot the staircase at the front until I left, and the sign more seating downstairs. I did see the second staircase at the centre back of the shop opposite the start of the counter with the sign seating downstairs. However, standing by the till to pay, I was steps from he doorway to the three little tables on the balcony at the back, overlooking the basement garden, protected from weather and surrounding windows by a blue canopy.
The tables are rustic and frankly a bit basic, but that is part of the charm. Reminiscent of my student days in the Nineteen Eighties in Haight Ashbury (Take me back to San Francisco - be sure to wear some flowers in your hair).
But this is not America in the eighties with hippies. It is London in 2016. At the next table is a middle aged blonde, talking so discreetly that I cannot hear anything except her upper class Kensington accent, like Her Majesty the Queen giving the Queen's speech. Just to complete the picture of London in 2016, her companion is a contrasting colour of skin matching clothes, a black haired, well-dressed, elegant young woman, who could be any age from 18 to 80, who could be Indian or Iranian or Italian.
Down in the tented area, which reminds me of wedding marquees, two children and their mother are hidden from sight and view. We are shielded in this tiny area from the traffic pollution and noise, unable to hear either our whispering fellow ladies who lunch having tea, and the children so well behaved or far away that they fulfil the Victorian dream of children who are seen but not heard.
But the absolute 'icing on the cake' is the cake, the one without icing, the one which looks like a little muffin, more like an ovel French madeleine, which inspired Mmarcel Proust's memories starting his three book novel, based on his exciting story full of historical incidents, A La Recherché Du Temps Perdu. This cake is not Temps Perdu, for like Temptation and dieter's delight, willpower perdu.
One bite tells me to slow down and suck on the most almond filling and prolong the enjoyment.
Luckily I have enough lemonade to keep my lips occupied, and my hands holding the tall beaker with the straw. Straws are supposed to carry drink away from your teeth, protecting your teeth if not your diet.
I am sorry to spoil this image of heaven with health warnings. We did eat one cake between two of us. So honour is maintained, as well as the diet. (I always think running up and down umpteen steps on British railway stations and pacing up and down the platform waiting for trains must justify a lovely coffee or tea stop.
Before reluctantly leaving for our next appointment, to met the Umbrian tourist board, we lingered for a last look at the bottles and food in the deli area.
Next day, looking at my photos, I notice that what we had eaten is called a 'f r i a n d'. F r i a n d is a French word, which spell checker wants to change to friend. I like to think that a f r i a n d is what you should share with a friend.
Wikipedia, the source of all extensive free knowledge, shared by everybody in the world who wants to know about anything, tells me that the f r i a n d is often mistaken for a muffin. It is made with egg white and almond flour. Only a couple of days ago I read a cookery blog giving the recipe for making almond flower and almond milk. An american explained how you take almond and soak them overnight, and or grind them up, to make almond flour and/or almond milk. both of which are delicious and healthy and fresh and save you a heap of money.
Sometimes I like to sit and enjoy eating in a shop something which somebody else has gone to the trouble of making.
I looked at their website and found a blog saying that they were now experimentally opening later, not just to 7 or 8 pm but until 10 pm Thursday, Friday and Saturday through the summer. That's great news. I hope this late opening is a success.
More Information from:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friand
Brompton Food Market
33 Thurloe Place, London SW7 2HQ
tel :020 7584 4491.
www.bromptonfoodmarket.com
Angela Lansbury, travel writer and photographer.
