Chocolate Guinness Cupcake Moment

It was warm and wanton in my hand. I was busying myself with the transferring of cakes from tin to cooling rack and this one just seemed reluctant to proceed. I did have the cream cheese frosting cooling in the fridge so could well imagine how the warmth of the fresh, dark cake would work with it in all the right ways.

A knife plunged in to the frosting and slathered on top of the newly liberated cupcake was all it took. There it wobbled for a moment, getting used to its new surroundings, before spreading languidly over the cake’s welcoming curves.

I captured the moment for posterity and then dived in for a piece of the action. Soft and dark. Creamy and cool. I actually had to sit down to get the most out of it. At one point it became too much and I cut the cake in half with a spoon, just to watch the one side tumble, softly, like a cushion.

I’m mad about moments like these…

Dark & Moist

A cheeky little slice of Baked Chocolate Fudge (taken from the Donna Hay Magazine) for a hearty supper cooked by my brother Ferdie the other night.

Night time at Choc Star

love the way Jimmy looks at night - all purrty and lit up. I took him down to Putney Embankment the other evening to furnish rampant lawyers with as much chocolate as they could handle…we guessed they were lawyers when we heard one of them, a way back in the queue, declaring “This makes a change - seeing all these powerful people standing in line so obediently”. They were certainly well behaved. It wasn’t to do with them being tame though, more that chocolate obviously meant a lot and they weren’t about to blow their opportunity for free reign once reaching the chocolate counter.

Wide-eyed faces would step up, assess the options - pouring over each plate and cake-stand laden with treats (”What’s better, the chocolate terrine or the chocolate Guinness cake?”. “Why not have both? Just putting it out there”, I’d offer. At this, the eyes would grow wider - a childlike incredulity - an ice cream added to the equation and off they’d slide with their booty of delight, back to the party and the band and the no-holds throng of a Saturday night far, far from the Bar!

Gennie from the box

First it was Gennie from the Cage. But the little super-silent power behind the creation of endless milkshakes, hot chocolates and fairy light configurations seemed all wrong for the old contraption. That had been built to keep the Big 6.5kva Beast (inherited from Eddie) at bay. The new generator, I finally decided, needed something a little more elegant to house…’her’. A market trader buddy of mine recommended Steve down in Shooters Hill…and therein started off the most classic case of ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.

I wanted a stainless steel number, with a roller mechanism whereby you could take the entire shelf off, with the generator on it, thus losing unwanted space for festival pitches, etc (and also so as to be able to open the rear doors and retrieve all manner of treasures lost down the back during enthusiastic milkshake sessions). ‘Yep, no problem’ said Steve and then proceeded to take the most unimaginable length of time to produce the thing.

When it finally arrived (after one aborted attempt at delivery involving a crucial section not having been welded properly…and near destruction of the long-anticipated masterpiece) it was the most beautifully constructed little box you ever saw. Bits flipped up here and hinged over there, holes were strategically placed, air vents in place and the whole thing shimmered and seemed right at home bolted onto Jimmy’s rear bumper.

And then I used it. We had a job to do for a store in town. The staff had all been working super hard and needed treats. I baked Black & White cupcakes, Millionaire’s shortbread and some chocolate chip cookies, loaded in the ice cream, fired up the gennie and off we went. Further into our journey, as the record-breaking April heat beat down on us, so, unfortunately, was it beating down on the steel cage. There wasn’t exactly an explosion but there might have been one if I hadn’t heard the choked, rasping sounds of the little caged gennie gasping for help from its hot hellish box.

I managed to style it out and carry on, no harm done to the ice cream thanks to my very handy eutectic plates in the freezer. But now, as I investigate further, not only will I have to impale the box with a series of heat rescuing holes, but the gennie is absolutely screwed. It sounds like a dying tiger, belching out pained involuntary growls. And the only person who can fix it is in Nottingham.

Did I ever mention that these sort of problems are not in any way my bag? What I need is a little practical person living in the corner cupboard of the van and who comes with me wherever I go, drilling holes and fixing stuff along the way. If anyone knows someone….?

Something from the weekend

It’s official - April 2007 has been the hottest ever since they first started counting 348 years ago. While Australia and other hot countries freeze, we tromp down to the beaches, bracing our skin for a good roasting…well, kind of.

The sun fanciers (AKA everybody) were out in full weekend mode - on Saturday in Acton and then yesterday at Brick Lane. Gees, what a difference a few miles makes. In the West we have the most extraordinary bunch of people I’ve seen in a while. Some perfectly regular, others, not so much…





nd over East we’re talking about an all day runway show of looks that you can’t quite believe are happening. Speaking of fashion, I was rung up by Vogue the other day. They are doing a piece on lady van drivers and wanted to set up a shoot with me and Jimmy. ‘Brilliant!’ I said, ‘who else have you got?’ and was thrilled to discover there’s a company called Lady Gadriver - an all female team of handywomen (I could use some tips).

They wanted to shoot me somewhere urban and found a place under the Westway. A make-up artist arrived at 6.30am to do my hair and slap and then we drove to meet the others at the location. Most of the (four hour) session was spent taking pics of me eating my wares with a big cheesy grin on my face. The most challenging shot being up on the roof (hadn’t tried that one before and it gave me the opportunity to relieve Jimmy of a cheeky little teabag that seemed to have taken root up there) - I had to clamber up with three ice creams (chocolate, Mexican chocolate and mocha FYI) and lay into them lasciviously. After about half an hour of this, a few ice cream changes and a whole network of brown sticky lines streaming down my arms, I felt a bit sick (I don’t recommend it).

Oh, and now let me introduce you to the latest in deliciousness on wheels - my friend Simon has decided to bring Latin American street food to town with Jesus, the mint green dream machine. Look out for Luardos cruising around this summer!

Onwards and upwards...

Hey choc-van fans, I haven’t penned any e-words in eons. There is the dubious matter of my being rendered delirious and near-hospitalised by a bout of pneumonia. My granny blames me going ‘galavanting to Dublin without an overcoat’. She thinks I don’t put enough clothes on, but then she is fairly old school - with a tendency for rather Dickensian viewpoints. She’s absolute gold dust though, with a fire in her eyes and a teflon sensibility that I hope to have some of when I’m 90…must be the Irish in her!

Alanna and I headed off for a weekend of shenanigans in stag party city. I have never seen anything like it - save for, perhaps New Orleans in the French Quarter. A city centre so rampantly amuck with binge drinking, quick fixing out of towners that the whole thing felt like being in a particularly booze-sodden theme park. Temple Bar sure was heaving with heavers but, once we’d managed to navigate our way around the piles of chunder that lay dumped in steaming mounds at every turn, we soon found our radars and headed North.



On the South side of Dublin the idea of hanging out on the other side of the river is unthinkable - a sense that the North side doesn’t tally with the city’s new and prosperous image. Well, that’s great, but there was a football match on - a really poignant one - and the only place we wanted to watch it was in a boozer close to Croke Park. We walked the entire length of Lower Dorset Street, entering every pub along the way, wanting to find the right one until, there it was, our oasis - The Auld Triangle.
For the next seven hours we were inducted into the ways of the stronghold group inside. Derek and Sean and Paddy and Aiden. Mickey, Alfie, Johnny and Paul. We emerged astonished, frankly, to be still sentient. My doctor tells me she thinks I had already caught my infection before I went to Ireland but, between me and you, I doubt if my jingle-jangle in the Auld Triangle was especially helpful…



And now here in London all is summery. The ice cream is back in action. The hot chocolate cravings have retreated and been replaced by a demand for iced mocha milkshakes, scoops of mint choc-chip (new flavour!) and almond, orange and brandy chilled chocolate torte. Come and get some if you’re around!

Take me home, country roads

Here’s Jimmy hanging out in Lavenham a few days ago. I picked him up from the wilds of North Suffolk and we bounced along at our usual leisurely pace - taking in a bit of Bury St Edmunds to see what was new (not a great deal, but everything just looks so much smaller than I remember), then down to Lav’nam and on to the village of 100 people where I grew up.The winter sun fell steady on the ravaged countryside. A sludgy, untidy looking time of year anyway, the storm of the other week had really been busy - uprooting trees that had been around for years, churning up fences, shooting holes in the roofs - all things I hadn’t been aware of in London. I pottered around quite happily for a bit, then went over to Tash and Noches to catch up after their two month stay over in Jamaica. My three year old god-daughter Zahara goes around singing Buju Banton and talking in her new little patois chat and her sister Mya tried to show me some of the dances, but came over all shy and giggly halfway into it…I’m not surprised! There’s one called the Dutty Wine which involves some pretty vigorous neck spinning - apparently it’s common to see girls being carried off after fainting from giving it too much turn!

So anyway, I left Suffolk after a few days and returned Jimmy to London. We’ve got back into the flow of things at Brick Lane and done a couple of really fun parties. While the chocolate martini shots have been seized very heartily by all who come near, so too has the Venezuelan hot chocolate…there’s a bit of a beast to be fed here and I’m a touch nervous as the supplies are dwindling. My Chuao connection, Willie, is in the midst of setting up his very own mini chocolate factory down in the West country and the beans are en route…but not processed. It’ll be worth it in the end though as I’ll have access to a magical supply of pure, single estate cocoa liquor - the things I want to do with that stuff set my heart a flutter! (So please be patient if I have to cross the Ven Hot Choc off the board for a couple of weeks).

Now, one more thing before I go. On Monday night I was invited to a steak extravaganza at Hawksmoor. I’ve been in there enough times before, propping up the bar, munching on the thrice cooked chips and getting intimate with many different bourbon based drinks (courtesy of the lovely Lucas and the hilarious Jorge), but their steak and me had not yet met. Well, we have now and it’s all rosy. Great juicy slivers of Sirloin and chunky discs of Chateaubriand kept arriving on my plate, whereupon I’d gather them up on my fork with some Bearnaise sauce and proceed to enter That Place. You know the one - where voices and noise fade away, the eyes close and, for a moment…you can’t be reached. Joyous, indulgent escape.



And then came this little fella - the Chocolate Sazerac. I’m a big fan of this cocktail anyway, but when they made it with chocolate-infused bourbon and creme de cacao I could barely contain my delight. I usually stay away from anything too sweet with drinks, but this guy is bad. It’s Sean Penn in a glass with a Jay-Z twist and I’m going to be hunting down that recipe and executing it at home, in the van and wherever else I can find.

Double-frosted six-layer Devil’s Food cake

So, I’ve just learnt how to put pics up by myself (bit of a break-thru) and thought I’d take the opportunity to showcase my birthday cake.

The odd thing was that I made it myself - and check this out (because it must mean I’m growing up), I volunteered to do it. Christmas had been chaos with my (deeply Catholic) uncle arriving with five of his six kids who swarmed the tree like a pack of hungry coyotes, licking their chops and sidling off with other people’s pressies to secret corners of the house. Little piles of par-opened gifts lay pillaged and forlorn and no-one really knew what was meant for whom. Still, at least the Balmoral Flings proved a winner on the booze front and anything chocolatey was sent my way.

People usually avoid giving me chocs these days for fear of getting it wrong. I’m open to all sorts though, as long as….actually, I am a bit of a nightmare, unless we’re talking about M&S chocolate cornflake mini-bites - a tub of which I’ve just polished off very happily. Anyway, the point is that by the time my birthday rolled around I didn’t want the cake to be jeopardised by the wanton chaos of the rest of the house, so I put on my pinny and got baking…

Delicious. Beautiful moist layers of Devil’s Food cake, joined in paradise by the deepest, darkest ganache I could muster (a combo of Green & Black’s 72% cooking choc and some Cote D’Or 85%) with cream from down the lane. The white American frosting that held this tidy package all together was like a magical edible cloud billowing around in my mouth.

Then there were more celebrations back in town, a (very lucrative) trip to the dogs, a misjudged karaoke performance to a crowded bar, an endless conveyor belt of dodgy drinks and finally, I emerged on January 2nd, bursting into ‘07 (not sure what happened to the 1st) feeling AMAZING!

I don’t know what it is but, after a couple of months of wintry indecision and lacklustre feelings, I have got my head around a few fundamental truths with which to find my focus. People say that after your first year of business there is often a really tough patch of not knowing what direction to take things next and that many businesses lose their way - and I love hearing stuff like that, it gives me back the fight. I’m excited about the next year because I’ve lifted my gaze from where it was fixated and now have a much calmer view.

I have so many ideas for Choc Star and am looking forward to getting them going. Jimmy’s down in the country at the health farm, having a bit of pampering before being brought back to London for more adventures. We’ll be back on Brick Lane either Jan 28th or Feb 4th, depending on the roadworks scenario - see you there!

Brownie tour

I've just returned from the most wonderful holiday. Road trips do it for me everytime. I love the way everything feels so free! No one knows you, the ones that do don't know how to get hold of you, you don't know where you're going to end up at the end of the day and...anything can happen!



One thing that struck me was the light. There is a technicolour vibrancy to the sky that we in England are rarely blessed with. Its gently pink-purple arrival in the mornings, then its brazen stretch over the whole day. Stark, wide, clear clear blue that seaps behind the horizon at night. And the air! It was kind of...marbled, warm in some steps, with refreshing streams of coolness in others.

We met lumberjacks and gold miners, cowboys and naked hippies. We ate beautiful succulent steak and wild salmon, hash browns and omelettes and fresh, ripe(!) avocados. We feasted on porcini lasagne and slurped up creamy clam chowder - and all the time there was delicious wine at hand. 'Clean Zins' and powerful Syrahs...and by day those oh-so-gluggable Pinot Gris'.




Most importantly though - and what with being a professional chocolate enthusiast - I was eager to get my chops round any piece of it that so much as winked at me. It was always catching my eye - from the velvet-like bittersweet chocolate custard at Chez Panisse to the heavenly chocolate haystacks in the Chocolate Haus in Mendocino - and I was up for it all. Black & White milkshakes, chocolate bananas, cocoa nib meringues and chocolate waffles all came into the equation, but it was the brownies that really got me going. It's not that I always physically required one, more that I felt compelled to get one - even if it meant three in a day - just so I knew...



You see, I have this fascination with what makes the perfect brownie (anyone that knows me will vouch for this) - and each one is so different. In London we have a myriad of choice but I can only think of one brownie (Choc Star excluded) that cuts it and this was made for me by a really great pastry chef who I hope to work with very soon! The rest are either delicious but dry, delicious but not cooked, delicious but more like a fondant, delicious but cakey, delicious but corrupt (who puts hazelnuts in a brownie?!), way too heavy on the vanilla, way too heavy on the VANILLIN or just absolutely wrong.



In San Francisco they love to put 100% cacao in them. This way more sugar can be added without being too much, meaning denser, fudgier brownies. My top three of the trip were from Poulet Deli (Berkeley), Citizen Cake (San Francisco), Scharffen Berger (Berkeley), with Recchiuti and Tartine's also very yummy.



I also discovered a hotbed of exciting new chocolate. As well as new bars from Scharffen Berger (loved the Las Islas and Kumasi Sambirano blends), I was delighted to discover new makers through Adam at Fog City News and Michael at Cocoa Bella, both in San Francisco. Just tucking into a Havana Heat 'Bistro Bar' by Chocolat Moderne of New York before my dinner...gotta run!

Cali calling!

Oh my God, I’m so excited - running around like a nutter getting ready to go away on my research trip / roadtrip to San Francisco and up. The way they do things in the Bay Area is right up my street. Loads of milkshakes, ice cream, cake and chocolate! MMmmmmmm and I’ll be sampling all of it.

My mum and me go off on these great trips and have a right old laugh. She’s so much fun and likes picking up weirdos and freaks almost as much as I do (plenty of them over there). We always end up in these extraordinary situations. Usually it’s to the Deep South where up in the mountains and down in the woods it’s all about moonshine and ‘coon hunting, listening to the blues in rundown old shacks and gittin’ greasy with the soulfood!

This trip will be quite tree-huggy I suspect and I relish the chance to get into that Emerald Triangle up in Humboldt County - gimme some of that good Pacific Coast air….So I’ll write all about it. In the meantime I leave the lovely Millie in charge of Jimmy. The van will be back in position on Brick Lane from now on into the hot chocolate months.

I’ve got to go and catch that plane now - 11 hours of doing absolutely nothing. Bring it on!

Festi circuit

Camping. Still not quite sure how I feel about it. I’m more of a Winnebago girl myself, but the last few weeks have dictated that I get involved with the zippy-zippy, nylon rustle and hot face in the morning thing on a much grander scale than usual.



As we steer Jimmy from motorway to motorway (boy can he get surly on some of them slopes), each new festi presents itself in various degrees of high production/heavy security wonderment. I ain’t gonna lie, the first festi of the summer, Big Chill- the biggest of all - had me feeling terrified. I couldn’t imagine how it was going to be and the unknown had me super-stressed. Luckily I had some pretty hilarious wingmen on my team and together, we figured that what we lacked in professional output and hardcore signage, we’d make up for in good customer chat and lots of bling (not to mention the trustee ‘Gay mic’ which ensured everyone in Herefordshire knew we had some tasty ice cream on us).



What I hadn’t anticipated was the number of ridiculous conversations we’d find ourselves part of as people would get drawn to the van and then seem unmoved to leave. Like a conveyor belt of characters from some twisted fable they’d turn up in their various outfits, have a chocolate martini shot or brownie fudge sundae (let’s not get into what was happening to the frozen choc-dipped bananas), often try and enter the choc-mobile - ‘but it’s so beautiful!’ - and then eventually have to make way for the people behind to have a go.



It is a bit like having a grown-up Wendy house doing Choc Star and it’s very interesting seeing the different reactions to it. The festi crowd are the perfect people to appreciate it and (despite my initial stress at all the logistical demands) we have been having a right old laugh.



The other weekend we went to Cambridgeshire for the Secret Garden Party and got positioned with Jimmy’s ass backed right up against the Up All Night tent. Now I like music. I love it in fact. But what with relations already rather strained between me and tents, plus an advancing lurgy, plus being regularly traumatised by visits to the porta-loos, my sense of humour was tested to the max as the bands did their thing. Holy shit! Forget about ear-plugs - that base was attempting to take over my entire nervous system. It was so horrific it was funny.My mum eventually arrived one morning brandishing a child’s potty - so we could at least conquer the toilet scenario…I couldn’t quite figure out how best to pull it off though - sauntering past the ‘Groovy Smoothie’ lot all nonchalantly, clasping the little plastic vessel and then ducking behind a camper van/hedge/fence. Think I’ll have to work on that idea.

After the Secret Garden I drove home to Suffolk. What bliss! Over to Bury St Edmunds and down to stay with my friends Tash and Noche in their new Southfork-style ranch. I was happy to see that my old pal Gormenghast was still in business and pulled over to purchase some plums from the little table outside her rambling garden. The beard was as fecund as ever. Way past attempting to style it out, it occupies her face as if she has as much business cultivating one as the next man. We should take her to Bestival with us…

I love it, I love it! This heat is off the hook!

Jimmy’s been a very busy boy lately and I’m thinking of getting him some TLC at the garage. Plus he had to go through the trauma of having his insides sabotaged, but more of this in a minute.

The fetes and parties have found us in all four corners of the city: Dulwich, St John’s Wood, Kingston, Bow and heading out down the old trusty M4 for a bit of country fun. On the way back from a charity event the other day there were some serious noises coming from the exhaust. Though some of the lads in the yard tried to sort it out it soon became clear that I was going to have to pull out the old AA card. Now I always thought the AA were who you called when you broke down on the motorway and they’d come and tow you home. I didn’t realise there was a role for them with this sort of ailment. And if it’s not that urgent you can even book an appointment to suit your schedule. Discovering this I asked them to come and find me at Bloomsbury Square where we were doing a gig for the Architectural Bienale.



As I set up the wares and my brother Beppo went to find us some pizza, the AA van pulled up behind with the big old (slightly inappropriate for such a tiny job) yellow lights flashing. And who should get out but the most gorgeous AA man you’ve ever seen! Now maybe I’ve been misled by the ads but I thought AA men were supposed to be slightly dowdy fellas with a touch of the anorak about them. Not this one. Tall, dark and rugged with a real glint in his eye… He got straight to work, cutting up some old can, getting under the van and DIY-ing the job until I could get Jimmy raised to have it done properly. Of course I gave him a huge ice cream (Mexican chocolate, MMMmmm) and, not being able to resist, I just had to get his number. Job done, off he went with a toot-toot and I got back to the punters.



There’s a piece in the Metro today about British chocolate. I was called up the other day by the writer and spoke with passion and eloquence about the change in attitude towards chocolate in this country; about how we’re placing our own stamp on chocolate and finally pulling away from the glib reliance on Belgian, French and Swiss as our best bets. And about my attempts with Choc Star to merge good chocolate with familiar, delicious treats. What gets pulled out of all of this? Something about good chocolate being ‘up it’s own arse’. Oh well, I guess it gets the point across.

So I went to pick up my van from his digs on Saturday only to discover to my absolute horror that the delicious ice cream that languished in the freezers inside had been sabotaged! This is the kind of thing that comes to me in my anxiety dreams and it came true! The same thing had happened a few weeks ago when I arrived to find the van unplugged. Talks with all the security guards ensued and I made a big sign which I stuck to the plug saying “Warning! Do not unplug. Freezers must be run at all times”. To happen once is unfortunate, but to happen twice is bordering on the suspicious. Why would anyone want to waste damn good ice cream? Finding secure parking for Jimmy is an ongoing struggle in London and one which often has me pining for a place in the country with a barn next door to plug him in at night….

But for the meantime this heatwave is giving London a real switch in her hips, the St Georges flags remain proud and defiant (’England til I diiie, I’m England til I die…’) and chocolate ice cream and malted chocolate milkshakes are in hot demand. Gotta go!

Dodgy boiler

Gees, where to begin? I’m in the middle of a major bake-in: fudge brownies (getting fudgier with every tweak and twist), Millionaire’s shortbread, chocolate Guinness cake (can’t get enough of this one and always have to make extra for old greedy chops here). Down the corridor is some serious drilling and hammering action - nothing exciting, just the new boiler being put in. The old one was about 50 years old and finally packed up the other week leaving us without hot water. Nice. Lots of water boiling has ensued including all pots on deck to pull off the arduous task of creating a hot bath. Very pre-war. Quite rewarding actually and you sure as hell need one after all that to-ing and fro-ing with those steaming vessels.

At the weekend we were down in Bognor Regis (I’d always wanted to visit Bognor, ever since I insisted on it being the location of my very first ‘business’ when I was 14. Business Studies GCSE: we all had to pick a project - mine was called Chocolate Unlimited and was a chocolate cake shop (!) I don’t remember a lot about it apart from the break-even chart and being split up from my friend Lozza because we were messing around too much).


We were there for The Rox festival which, I have to say, was not a success. So much of my first year in business is going to be figuring out what not to do and though I didn’t get any closer to Donald Trump status in Bognor, I learnt some valuable lessons and picked up some very good advice from some of the ‘old hands’ in the biz. The Tex-Mex man, North Carolina sweetcorn guy and Bill with the Chinese food trailer were all more than happy to chew the cud with me (whilst we waited for Bognor to find their appetites) about the pitfalls of this trade. There they were with these big, smooth-running operations - all ready for the crowds that festis (usually) attract. And there was my van, gorgeous and cute and everything but…we need to address some logistics before entering that particular arena. Yikes!



Oh, I haven’t even mentioned my long weekend in Havana! Well, what I should say is my week in an all-inclusive in Varadero which was supposed to entail me lying around in the sun recharging my batteries whilst having my drink regularly re-filled but, after a couple of days of resort hell, I was soon high-tailing it over to la ciudad to see what Cuba really had to offer…Damn! That place was doing it for me in a major fashion. I hooked up with a British guy who’d been living there for a while and knew all the best nooks and crannies to get lost in.



If I ever wanted to write a book that’s where I’d go: layer upon layer of questions and fascination and contradiction and SPICE! A bar crawl alone threw up enough to keep me going for weeks but then there’s the music and the dancing. Now I thought I’d seen some crazy dance moves in my time but this was something else. Jaw-dropping - you know, I did my best, I tried to get down but…these people are in another league.



I’m going back to Cuba for a proper stay next time. As long as I get through this summer in one piece. This weekend: the Strictly Dance Fever wrap party. Bring it on!

Bike ride

There’s nothing like a good old bike ride on your day off and one of my current favourites is cycling along the canal - from Little Venice all the way East. There’s this whole mellow scene going on that’s such a pleasant surprise after the chaos of the streets…well, it’s hardly Calcutta out there but the chance for a bit of respite from the traffic/bendy buses/militant cyclists/dangerous pedestrians is great.

My mate Alanna came by the house and together we headed off for fun and (mis)adventure. You know those friends who you can’t help but get into trouble with? Well that’s her, and as we bounced from one pub to the next, on to a club in the evening and then to this extraordinary party in Kings Cross, our encounters with various characters along the way were just as hilarious as ten years ago when I’m sure we were a lot wilder.

Some things never change and I’m glad. I’m a lot less flighty than I used to be though. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned, Choc Star has honed my levels of commitment in a major way. I mean there I am, enjoying my day off, unwinding after a fairly stressful few weeks - and my mind is never far from work…when we cycled past Melrose and Morgan in Primrose Hill I dutifully leapt off my bike and headed in to purchase a variety of cakes for research. Great shop - all kind of calmly functioning and soothing colours. Had a chat with Mr M., polished off the booty (thumbs up to the cake, not overly moved by the icing) and got back on the road.

Later on we found ourselves in Camden Passage where the delightful Paul A. Young has pulled off a great little chocolate shop. I walked in and thought of Elizabeth David…if she’d ever passed a bit of time with Prince and wanted to shooszh up her pantry a little. A nice strapping blonde guy immediately offered us ceramic beakers filled with dreamy hot chocolate and we perused the blocks of Amadei and Paul’s own bars. Very interesting but I’d long ago cycled off the cupcake calories and was in need of another fix. My eyes lit up as they fell upon the table of baked goods: chocolate baguette cake, double chocolate Amadei biscuits, super-fudgey brownies and salted chocolate and caramel tarts. I went for all of them, all wonderfully simple and wonderfully delicious…but the caramel tart was seriously flicking all the right switches for me. A deep, luscious, smooth caramel, sprinkled with bits of salt that gave the sweetness a whole life of its own. If that baby could talk I’m sure it would make a great companion for a bike ride!

I love B&Bs!

Last week we hit the North to promote the new Topshop store in Manchester. Jimmy was like a foal let loose in the meadows, whinnying up the M1…or was it the M6? I have a terrible memory for roads and directions. Luckily I had good navigators and after several hours (quite slow lane-focussed) we arrived in Wilmslow where we were booked in to stay at Marigold House with Kate and Bernard. There was the darling Bernard all ready and waiting in the driveway, eager to get the van plugged in and us settled.


The place was immaculate. Gleaming and deeply domesticated. I was delighted to discover that Kate and Bernard’s neighbours might as well have been a Who’s Who of Weatherfield, past and present. There in the village shop as I assessed milk purchasing possibilities, were wall-to-wall signed photos gazing down at us: Jim McDonald, Steve McDonald (what’s happened to his hair?), Deniece and good old Ken Barlow. Back at the ranch Bernard poured us G&Ts and divulged tales of suburban intrigue amongst the locals. It felt safe and cosy and I was kind of relieved to be in a version of the countryside after so long in the city.


The job went really well with lots of Topshop customers thrilled to be being given free chocolate goodies. Elsewhere we traded our wares with builders for power and with the Manchester Eye workers for a ride on the wheel. I can’t believe how much the city seems to have changed…yet going for a spin round the old neighbourhood proved that some things never change. The city centre thrives whilst the surrounding areas sink into pot-holed decay.

It was great to have done the job and for everyone to have been happy with it. My first big out of town event - and here’s to many more.



After returning to London the following week was super-hectic. Lots of Easter chocolate fiends unleashing their desires at the van. Greenwich at the weekend was thronging with people and it was really good to discover quite a few making a special trip because of the piece written about Choc Star in the Metro on Wednesday. We scooped and shook ice cream until we were sold out of everything, then handed round the last few pieces of Millionaire’s shortbread, brownie shots and chocolate gingerbread men before heading home and diving into the bar round the corner for some heavy duty bourbon cocktails. Bliss.