A world of skinny jeans and skinny oat lattes
It will take only a few seconds, upon ascending from Old Street’s Underground Station, for you to feel as though you’ve entered into another world. Like Alice in Wonderland, you’ll be met with strange sounds and smells, obscure colours and shapes, and if you only meet one mad hatter then it must be a quiet day indeed. This is Shoreditch, London’s official urban space that refuses to apologise for being different.
It is a land which stands on its own two feet, commanding a personality so uniquely different from the usual hustle and bustle of a busy London town. Shoreditch is undoubtedly busy, make no mistake, but people aren’t rushing to corporate meetings, they’re sauntering to social gatherings. Nobody is sporting formal wear – instead the locals enjoy a healthy mix of skinny jeans and seemingly whatever was on sale at the nearest charity store. Oxygen is only the secondary most important ingredient for the lungs in this little square of Hackney and you’ll never find yourself more than twenty feet away from somebody nonchalantly vaping the day away.
If any of this sounds disparaging that is entirely unintentional. It’s just important to stress the tangible change of atmosphere this district creates. Far from the claustrophobic, judgemental and occasionally suffocating feeling of Britain, Shoreditch has a laidback vibe that’s hard to put on paper. Perhaps the ambiance is best seen with this little establishment just outside the train station.
The Shoreditch Grind, it is called, boasts of being a café, bar and diner all in one. It isn’t spacious, but that is merely to its advantage; the closeness makes it the perfect home for intimate conversation, such as which music artists have sold their soul by going mainstream, or how corrupt and evil the government are, or whatever hipsters talk about on a typical overcast Friday afternoon.
Of the limited food options on the menu, I opted for the “Grind Cheeseburger” with fries on the side, betraying the adventurous side of my personality that fancied the “Smashed avocado, taro chips.” And of the vast drink menu, I once again walked down the more conservative, non-alcoholic route of a medium latte.
The food, overall, was decent, and was unsurprisingly, given my conformist choices, the most grounded part of my experience. The burger was just tasty enough that I could harbour no complaints but also just rough enough that I didn’t for a second believe I was eating from a more established, global brand, which is virtually a sin, I imagine, in Shoreditch.
Indeed, you’ll be hard-pressed to find any Pizza Huts, Pizza Expresses, Gourmet Burger Kitchens or even a McDonalds. Shoreditch is made up a series of small, independent eateries. Look left, and you’ll see a Turkish Kebab shop. Look right, and your eyes will enjoy a small Korean diner.
This is the place of freedom and diversity, resident to London’s trendsetters and one too many flashing neon lights. And if you don’t ‘get it’, good. You’re not suppose to.