Circolo Popolare (London, UK)

Warning!

Serious pizza hunt ahead!

End of warning.

This was our third attempt to get in Circolo Popolare, a relatively new restaurant in the city and one that Alessandra crowned as the "best pizza place in London". And when an Italian says something of that kind, well, it must mean something. Circolo, here we come!

First time we aimed (quite naively, looking back at it) to simply walk in on Friday 6pm-ish in a group of 8 people. Needless to say, the place was hopelessly full and we were promptly briefed that the next available table was one for two people only, and with four and half hours of wait. Hmm.

On the second attempt, Alessandra tried to book a table mid-week for her leaving do - no joy again. Bookings are limited, mysteriously evasive and one needs to book a month in advance, kind of like when one wants to make an appointment with NHS GP regarding minor conditions, such as internal bleeding.

But we didn't have a month. For Alessandra was soon to set off for her new adventures across the ocean, and I thought it'd be a shame to do this one without her. Thus a mission plan was formed, timeline agreed, strategy outlined - we meet in the morning streets of Soho on Saturday 11am, hoodies on, and storm the main entrance, not giving up till we get in. If not given choice, we'll use force!

This time round, it was just three of us and so the hopes of making it were higher. The emptiness of the streets around was even more promising - surely everyone's still sleeping! But the moment I entered the restaurant I knew what the front-desk lady would say - "we're full".

A funny thought passed my mind, if the restaurant is perhaps employing actors in order to pretend being always full (and if they do, how can I apply). Before I got to proceed with those thoughts further though, the lady continued: "but we are just finishing breakfasts, if you come 11:30, we should have a table for you".

Welcome to Circolo Popolare, it's Saturday morning and it's full.

Wohoo! A minute later, Alessandra arrived along with her friend Liliana and I shared the news. We decided to do a stroll around the block, but came back already 11:15, trying our best to form a queue that would make it clear to anyone coming after us that "they should better get the hell in the queue as we're WAITING!". The strategy eventually paid off and finally, a bit after 11:30 we were ushered to a table.

Every alcoholic's dream...

The interior of the place is probably the first thing that makes one go "ooooh". The walls are tall and are featuring 10 or so embedded "caves". Each "cave" in turn has about 10 shelves full of bottles of alcohol (still full!). The shelves being about 5 bottles deep and 20 bottles wide, we calculated to be surrounded by something like 10000 flasks of often expensive content. Alessandra identified some special or rare ones and if we assume an average price tag of £25 per bottle, we're looking at £250k worth of alcohol around us - seemingly used purely for decoration! Did I say this is London?

We ponder the menu and thinking about how hard it was to get in, I decide to better try everything I can now, my order eventually featuring Zerotto (kind of like a soft drink by San Pallegrino mixed with Aperol or Campari), the "animal lover" pizza (a vegetarian pizza - because I love animals), thinly sliced San Daniele ham (because I love animals) and even a home-made Tiramisu for desert. A basket of delicious fresh bread is brought to the table, along with water.

When making the order, I attempt putting on a serious face asking for a pineapple pizza and a bottle of ketchup, but I only manage a second or two before succumbing to the pressure of conforming to the Italian norms. When I later considered Capuccino after the lunch, both Alessandra and Liliana nearly choked in the indignation over me breaking some sacred Italian laws, much like if I suggested that we should revoke basic human rights. You CAN'T have cappuccino with lunch! Gosh....

Definitely the most tasty cured ham I've
ever had...!

Anyway, the incredibly tasty San Daniele ham made for the best starter, whetting our appetites and putting to work the digestion fluids in our stomachs (am I really writing about digestion fluids?) in anticipation of the new arrivals soon to be coming down our esophaguses (I am not sure what's wrong with me now).

Filling the time a bit, I went for a inconspicuous stroll around the restaurant, mainly peeking into the kitchen like a weirdo on a nude beach. I dared not to speak to the sure-to-be top-end professionals and super-chefs, but I could easily see that Circolo has a kitchen simply on the next level compared to any other place I've been to. For one, it's a huge kitchen, divided into many sections, easily manned by 25-odd people (most likely many more behind the front facade doing e.g. dishes or support work). The pizza section itself has two ovens, each handled by a separate pizzaiolo. The inside of the ovens seems further to be made out of two parts. First, the "engine" compartment where the wood is burned to produce heat. And then the auto-rotating platform holding the fire-bathing pizzas themselves, easily 7-8 at a time. When the pie is about to be taken out, the pizzaiolo holds it on the shovel up against the hottest place in the oven and then - voila, another baby sees the light of the world. Stunning.

Magic happens here

Our treats are soon landing on the table in front of us and it's time to dive in. Beautiful they are, the Neapolitan style pizzas. A very soft, thick and puffy crust looks just like from a pizza chef's textbook, and so does the bottom of the pie. Ingredients not only look authentic, but taste that way too and I love the oily, almost mushy nature of my veggies - a testament to the quality of the oils used. The only thing we lack in general is a bit more salt in the taste, however that's also one of the simplest parts of the equation to adjust individually.

Alessandra's pizza featuring Burrata cheese

My Animal Lover. I loved it.

The girls were very content too (be it not - poor starved Italians in this fish-and-chips UK!) and after the sweet Tiramisu ending, I was even happy to pronounce a satisfactory level of satiation. Not an overload in any way - mind you, 45 minutes later I was already playing frisbee in Shoreditch - but a nice, happy and confident feeling that the quality food will be easily handled by my digestion fluids (damn... really? The fluids again?!). And that, ladies and gents, was worth it - the failed attempts to get in, the morning wait, the 40-odd quid I left there. After all, this is London with its best restaurants, and it's worth to try the best of the best ;-)

Zerotto

So was this the best hunt yet? Hmm. Very close, but nope. Sotto Sopra, Real Italian, Sorbillo or possibly others would not be shifted from their positions in the chart. And I guess while it is partly due to the style of the pizza (Neapolitan not being my favorite), it is also partly due to something else - the memories connected to the place, the experience of the days around the pizza hunt, the atmosphere not just inside the restaurant, but outside on the street. To put it metaphorically, it's simply the whole "slice of life", along with the slice of pizza, that creates that perfect experience. And although enough money can make absolutely superb pizzas in the heart of London, it can't make that perfect experience, if only because the notion of what is perfect is different for each of us.

I guess for me, it's still just about building that relationship with London, especially at the time of this pizza hunt - already few weeks down the line I'm more friends with the UK's capital. Either way, in terms of Circolo Popolare, you can't go wrong - a friendly and quick service, mind-blowing interiors, superb pizzas... It's worth it. So grab a sleeping bag, camp in front of the restaurant overnight and make your digestion fluids happy for the next day's lunch!

And don't forget some enjoyable Italian company. Otherwise you can mess it all up with an afternoon cappuccino... All the best in US Alessandra ;-)

PS:

Dough - 9
Ingredients - 10
Sauce - 9
Atmosphere - 9
Service - 9

The Duke (Deptford, London)

Vinny has great ideas. And one such great idea came when he read one of these blog posts: 

"Pizza blog, that's great, man. You should call it "a slice of life""

How come I never thought of that? Renamed, cheers again Vinny.

And so, here's a slice of my life, from the period that felt like making a true leap of faith. One where the abyss below felt kind of scary and where I hoped to see people on the other side. But a January 2020 now wrapped up, I think I've now touched the land, mainly thanks to the many helping hands that came my way, sometimes perhaps not realizing they were helping hands. And whether this "other side" is the right one, I don't know. People say "it will grow on you" or "give it a chance" and I think they're right.

But let's start at the beginning, almost taking off where this blog post left it. And we'll start with an advice, one that'll give you as a true friend, free of charge, an advice that you'll come and personally thank me for:

If you are about to change a job, move house and start in a new city, do it all in a single weekend.

On a smelly tube of some sorts

It's mid-December, about 9:30pm on Sunday evening and I am on a smelly tube line towards the east London, where my new "home" is. With me is the giant Fjallraven backpack full of stuff I kept for the last night at my ex-studio in Cardiff, as well as my small Klos travel guitar. I've just had 3 days of good-bye parties, packing, minivan round-trip to London to move the bulk of the stuff and a last minute cleaning of the studio before handing the keys to the landlord. A coach to London, the mentioned tube ride, another bus and there I am, dead tired at something like 10pm, standing in my new (cold) London room, with boxes everywhere, about to start a new job the very next morning.

Being tired, I fall asleep but it is an intermittent one. Waking up feels surreal with the inevitable feeling of "where the hell am I". The answer to the question is obvious though, with the omnipresent boxes not giving me any space for doubt. In London, baby.

I get dressed and I set off to work, trying to maintain a professional expression on my face, one that would indicate that I moved with a responsible schedule, am well rested, unpacked and ready for my first day.

The first day in work also means the first commute to work and here I am, for once, pleasantly surprised. Instead of the expected hoards of bankers in suits, my first steps pass a primary school with many kids saying goodbye to their parents for the day. Past the chicken shop I then go (with box of fries, 5 chicken wings and a drink for suspicious £2.5, cash only) and over the DLR and busy roads separating Poplar from Canary Wharf. Here some of the dreaded bankers join my route, though upon a closer look, they don't feel particularly evil, neither they are particularly high in numbers. Anyway, most of them turn left where I go right, and so in relatively sparse conditions, I enter Canary Wharf (sounds of fanfares everywhere now). Through a lovely bridge, past Cabot square with the thought-provoking statue of an industrial worker and here I am, at the reception of 10 South Colonnade. 15 minutes - not bad at all! Though deep within, I still long for that bus 30 to show up behind the corner, or for spotting those merrily-hopping rabbits from ONS campus.

Just off my street - a rush hour to the primary school

Morning view from the pass over the DLR and highways separating Poplar from Canary Wharf

The footbridge over the water basin in Canary Wharf

What was worse though was the first day at work - I soon find out that the lock-down level at my new workplace is a tiny bit on the excessive side: running any code, accessing Google Drive or even creating your own desktop shortcuts is simply not allowed, generally due to obscure clauses in the "security policy", leading me to hours of trying to understand the security risks involved in letting people create their own desktop shortcuts. I draw a big sigh and get mentally prepared for a long fight that I'll need to lead to enable me and my team to do our work. But at 3pm, I just have enough for the first day and decide to go home to process the thoughts and unpack. I come home, sit at the edge of my bed and look around at all the boxes. Then I put my head in my hands and ask myself the question "what have I done". My new "home" is shit. Work seems horrible. I don't like London already...

Slowly, over time, though, things would improve. 

At home, the boxes would be opened and the room tidied up. I'd find out how to fix my radiator to let some warmth in, clean the mould on the wall and install a dehumidifier. Pictures would be hanged, painting of Nash Point put on display and a projector set up to convert the wall opposite my bed to a cinema-like screen.

Nash Point - one of the nicest place I've ever been to and my favorite in Wales. Pic by the best photographer I know (Gareth), painted by the best painter I know (Miles). 

Home cinema test - check!

At work, I'd start the many "IT security fights", slowly getting access to tools and services I need. I'd find out that there's nice people at VOA too, that there are things that actually work better than at ONS, and that there's a true potential for me to do interesting and meaningful work. And perhaps most importantly, that the things I looked for in my move to a more senior role are very much there, reassuring me that the "leap of faith" is, at least work-wise, in the right direction.

I'd meet up with friendly faces - mainly ex-ONS - even if they're on other side of London. I'd volunteer to see them at their neighborhood, so that I get to know London, even if I did not necessarily feel like I want to get to know it. And I'd visit the meet-ups - Frisbee, Salsa, Toastmasters, a running club - all in the spirit of "let's just do something and speed up this get-to-know-London process". For what I really missed deep inside was not Cardiff itself, but the feeling of it being a home.

A bunch of awesome people from ONS London office at Princi in Soho. Photo is actually from the same table as we once sat with other awesome ex-ONS people.

Joining Peter and Kika for a run with their Fulham running club. Not really checking in advance what this will be, it turned out to be a knee breaking 26km in the hills of North Downs way

"Ain't nothing but blues bar" - exploring the gig-scene of Soho

This one is from a place in Deptford and actually features one of my new colleagues - do check out  "JB conspiracy" on Spotify!

And one good way to make a new place feel like home is to have friends from the old home visit, and go explore the new one. Therefore, when Alex and Vinny suggested a mid-January weekend visit to record a podcast (conveniently one about "how is it to move to a new place"), I was all for it.

On Saturday, 11th of January, we kick-start our journey with a visit to the mentioned dodgy chicken shop, getting a box of chicken and fries each, creating a solid turnover of £7.5. This was mainly to ensure that Alex does not activate his "hungry to angry fury" ultimate, a feature of his that I haven't experienced myself but was warned to watch out for. Also, we just want to get some proper greasy junk food.

Another order for some extremely spicy chicken is in progress, making the air almost unbreathable and literally forces us to wait outside.

Once we're done licking our fingers after the healthy breakfast, we begin our walk through the Canary Wharf, which has an interesting vibe on a weekend - families with kids are not an uncommon sight and well-dressed bankers give way to curious tourists interested to see the fancy financial centre. A little south of it though, we're back to the yet-to-be-gentrified London at Isle of Dogs. A commonly used expression is "up and coming area", which, as Mrazo told me when I bumped into him on a Ryanair flight, essentially means "a shit area".

Somber skies and sky-scrapers, that's Canary Wharf. But down below, it's often not too bad. For the true evil bankers are actually in London City!

 

Podcast recording in action

A proud civil servant. Seconds later, a security guard came out saying it is not allowed to take pictures like this. After creating desktop shortcuts banned by security policy, I won't be surprised by anything.

At the very south point of Isle of dogs, we enter a traditionally looking pub which has a small room where we decide to spend a bit of time recording. The setting is perfect for a discussion and we get the best material here. If interested, give it a listen - the topics touch on the unavoidable Cardiff vs. London comparison, what makes a place feel like home or picking apart our experiences of spending first days in a new city. Interspersed with tunes by a perspective - shall we say "up and coming" - musician Fero Hajnovic, you can't go wrong by putting this on at any time of your day! Link ;-)

The sun sets meanwhile and darkness meets us when we're out of the pub. We cross the Thames in the pedestrian tunnel to Cutty Sark and aim for the observatory point in Greenwhich, with Canary Wharf skyline in prime display right in front of us. It's an interesting view and at some point I get asked how it compares to the views of Himalayas. In short - it doesn't - but there's is something impressive in the way humans are able to convert abandoned docks and swampland into a world-class sky-reaching business centre.

Canary Wharf from Greenwhich view point

We continue towards Deptford - a decision that may have seen random to Vinny and Alex, but one that was in fact part of a meticulous and devious plan of a Dire Straits geek (me). For it is there, in Deptford, where the band spend its early days and made the breakthrough. It is also, as I was told, an "up and coming" area, and so I warned Alex and Vinny to put on their Unagi mode and be ready for some rough locals.

Without any harm though, we make it to Farrer house and look for a plaque marking the beginnings of the band in the flats above. In the quiet neighbourhood, we feel a bit weird, kind of like those groups of geo-cachers taking unusual interest in the most ordinary things. We succeed though and with a idiot-like wide smile, I get a picture with the plaque marking Dire Strait's first gig in the area. 

Found it! The best music ever began here :-)

I quickly google for the name of the pub where this gig could have actually happened. One suggestion leads to The Duke just minutes away and since we're relatively hungry, it's a no brainer, even more so when we find out that the place is effectively a pizzeria! A pizza hunt? Hell yeah!

The Duke is a cozy place, with friendly staff. I shoot a question to the waitress if Dire Straits' first gig happened here indeed, and she confirms they did one of the first ones here. I continue by asking what beer does she think they would've been drinking that time, but this time I only get a raised eyebrow and "how would I know? I wasn't alive back then". I get the point, shut up and order a pizza.

The prices here are also good and we attribute that to a principle we discussed earlier - the pub has not uncovered yet the "missing pound symbol" hipster trick that goes around London. You ask what is that? Well, it's very simple. When designing a menu, instead of writing e.g.

"House beef burger with chips    £11.00"

Write (preferably on a blackboard with a chalk):

"House beef burger with chips    11"

For not including the pound symbol is a sign of a modern restaurant, one where "it's not about the money". It's not 11 pounds. It's just 11. You're not spending money. You're spending eleven. And because of that, you should not mind to see e.g:

"House beef burger with chips    14"

Anyway, I wanted to say that the prices are good at The Duke.

And the same goes for pizzas. I got a marinara which came with plenty of sauce, solid touch of garlic and a proper, vivid taste. We further spiced it up with some chilly oil - with Vinny using about half a cup and breathing fire - and it was a treat. Nothing super special, but a decent pie, quickly delivered and on a tasty base too. 

The well deserved pizzas have landed!

 

Superb marinara indeed! Demonstrated by me being so eager to dive in that I forgot to take a pic while the pizza was still untouched.

Sunrise over London from Primrose hill

Here we also concluded the podcast recording, and the day in general, heading back for the DLR and home for the day. And I did feel better about London - after all, Dire Straits started here and there's a pinch of truth in asking "where else?". It may be crowded, too large, stinking and much less homely, but if there's one thing that London does better than any other city, it's providing opportunities.

Festival of lights in Canary Wharf

As Alex put it - London has many faces (though first we heard "feces", which is also true), you just need to ask the question "where is X?". And London will answer. Thus perhaps the hardest thing is to identify what that X is for you. But I do have some ideas.

Weeks passed and so did January 2020. Slowly, I touched the ground and the leap of faith seemed to be drawing to its end. It's certainly not the end of settling in here, it's not even the beginning of the end, but it is perhaps the end of the beginning. 

All things considered though, it hasn't been an easy one, and I am truly thankful for people that were with me during this time, helping me get through that "what have I done" feeling - may it be the very new faces, the well-known London ones, or those that came from "back home", kind of sending a message that it's not really that far away. 

Writing these words on a coach, coming back from an awesome extended weekend in Cardiff - I can confirm myself, it's just round the corner :-)

A bike ride in Wales. Can this be ever beaten by London? Don't think so ;-)

Dough - 8
Ingredients - 8
Sauce - 9 (super tasty on my Marinara)
Atmosphere - 11 (Dire Straits' FIRST GIG - what did you expect?)
Service - 9