Kentishtowners are blessed when it comes to some of the best travel connections in London. East, south, north, west – a piece of the proverbial. Not to mention only half an hour’s walk into W1.
And of the many ways to scoot around the capital from our doorstep, the Overground (formerly the decrepit old Silverlink) is perhaps our favourite. It’s punctual, and a much more pleasant option than the tube – and can whisk you to Hackney in less than 15 mins. And back again.
Contrary to what some people might assume, we’re big fans of east London, having nearly moved there more times than Mrs Kentishtowner has had raves in a Dalston basement (er, three). Whilst some parts inevitably feel either oversubscribed or a bit hard work (north London is quite effortless and inclusive isn’t it?), eastside residents’ pioneering transformation of hitherto unimagined spaces is, we have to say, pretty damn impressive.
And Hackney Wick epitomizes such spirit. There’s been an arty scene there for years, of course, but the other Sunday (gloomy and leaden since you ask) we decided to combine a matinal wander round a derelict Stratford – without people it’s all rather ‘Walking Dead’ – with a mooch along the River Lea towards the Wick.
Hackney Wick simply means ‘outlying dairy farm’, established here way back in the 13th Century. It was a mostly thriving Victorian industrial suburb too, its main products including plastics (‘Parkesine’ was the first true synthetic plastic), natural polymer shellac, dyes and confectionery (Clarnico, of mint creams fame, was bought by Bassett’s). These are all celebrated in a 100 metre-long mural on White Post Lane near Queen’s Yard, by east London collective Bread. The word ‘pickles’ is there too, bottom left, as locals used to be able to smell the aroma in the air from one of the factories.
But start your wander on nearby Roach Road. We’ve been to the Counter Cafe a few times, especially during visits to Hackney Wicked, the annual art festival, but were impressed by how much the strip has changed in the last couple of years: there’s a big DJ bar and terrace, the Hackney Cut (named after this stretch of River Lea), the aforementioned cafe and Stour Gallery (pictured above), and the Carlton bar, where we sat with the spiciest Bloody Mary overlooking the Olympic Park.
Our goal in this meander was the much-hyped Crate Brewery. It’s another enterprising example of the way both north and east London have reinvented the micro ale trade. Like Camden Town Brewery, Crate has a quirky (but more idyllic) setting, right by the canal with factory opposite, graffiti everywhere, boats moored, and tons of outdoor seating.
They produce a golden ale, pale ale and lager (£3.50 a bottle or £3.5-4 a pint): we have to say these tasted less polished then their NW5 equivalents, but very hoppy and bright nonetheless. And stylish label and font, of course.
Pizza was a mixed bag: although we loved the intriguing combinations (Sage and Truffle potato, for example) our ‘Middle Eastern Lamb’ – a rather spicy affair with untoasted pine nuts and mozzarella – sailed surprisingly close to Domino’s ‘Meat Feast’ territory.
Red Onion, Courgette, Feta and Gremolata was much better – full of flavour, and underining my suspicion that, other than ham, meat and pizza simply don’t work. I’d also suggest that the pizzas are too big and too expensive – the lamb one was £12, for example. Smaller and cheaper works better all round. Or next time: share one between two.
But the pizza is only one aspect here. Crate Brewery is a brilliant place to kick back, and feels like the new heart of Hackney Wick.
Afterwards we went for macchiato at the Hackney Pearl (left), which we have previously eaten at (although were only half-impressed by the food). Tables and chairs lay scattered across the road; the place had a bustling, convivial atmosphere, but slightly useless service (our advice is to order inside).
We walked back along the canal, Victoria Park on our right, and surfaced at Ombra on Vyner Street (nr Mare Street) for a sundowner on its west-facing terrace.
And boy do they go overboard on a Negroni: it was double-size at least. ‘That’ll get you drunk,’ said the waitress with a wink.
And she was right. Thank God for the faithful Overground, which whisked us blearily back to the manor in 15 minutes.
Words & Photography: Stephen Emms
