I am sure I have previously extolled the virtues of the marvelous Bagel Bake on Brick Lane. But I can't help but draw your attention to it again.
The other night I was heading back to the coast from seeing some pals when the urge to eat salted beef began to overcome me. I tried to ignore it, having already eaten and not needing to eat any more (logic).
But the bagel experience is more than just a bagel. It's wrapped up in my DNA however much I might want to overcome it or have attempted to deny it in the past. I am one half a Londoner and an East Londoner at that. I need to just live with it.
With folklore about the docks, the dance halls, tailors, cigar rollers, Jews, prostitutes, the olds maids chemist, Ginger Marks flyover, Catholic processions, loan clubs, black shirts, gangsters and boxing.
I remember the tale of 'old father shovel hat' who used out of work dockers to build his church on the cheap. In short, I am steeped in the geography and the culture of the place.