Elliot's Cafe in Borough Market or why I live in London - Sept 2011

Over time I've become increasingly disaffected with Borough Market. The corporate creep and commoditisation that all but wiped Spitalfields out hasn't quite managed to destroy Borough in the same way, but building works, a huge influx of camera touting tourists who sample everything but buy nothing and a management team who seem determined to get rid of all of their best tenants (you can read the sorry saga online here) are coming close. It's got to a point now where I'm loathe to recommend it as a location, unless you're going very early or have never been to London before.

One of the gloomiest encroachments for me in recent years has been that of the restaurants around the side. I'm never going to complain about places like Brindesa that put the place on the gastro map, though the likes of Black and Blue, with it's anaemic, badly cooked cow feel grossly out of place butting up against the likes of the Ginger Pig.


I'm partly painting a desperate picture for effect. It's not all bad. There's life in the old place yet. For every story mourning the loss of yet another old faithful stall or an angry article about the pricing or the tourists there are some sparks still. On a sun drenched Friday early morning the cobbled street is filled with local office workers grabbing refined caffeine from Monmouth, the cold air from Neal Street Dairy sends a waft of Stichleton up your nose, and you think that this is how London ought to be.


New opening Elliot's Cafe feels both late to the party and like it's been here for ever. On said Friday morning, I can't imagine anywhere I'd rather be. Bare brick, stripped Scandinavian aesthetic with a shared table groaning with some of the most sensational fresh baked pastries, fresh coffee smell and the buzz of a local community descending on a new spot. I pull a seat by the full height windows, sun streaming over my table as I open the paper prior to the arrival of my boss. I can't imagine ever sharing it with the tourists on a Saturday, but for this moment, it's all mine, it's all fresh and new and it's very, very good. 

   

I could no doubt eulogise about the coffee, but if you care where it comes from, you already know more than I do. It's hot, fresh and tasty. The same goes for those pastries (we take some back to the office for later) and a simple but truly perfect Eggs Florentine, yolks the colour of Spanish sunshine, spinach hours out of the ground, both served on the fresh sourdough they bake on the premises. Even a bitter old cynic like me can't help but be slightly inspired by the wonder of mornings like this - It's why I live in London.