Maltby Street: far from the madding crowd

Muddy beets and carrots

Last Saturday I made the short journey north to Borough Market.  When I first moved to London, only six years ago, Borough Market was a favourite Saturday activity but, disillusioned by the hordes of people, the need to be there at the top or tail of the day, the congestion making it impossible to shop (and preferring to spend my Saturday mornings cultivating my own produce rather then buying other peoples'), I had not been for some time.

My ulterior motive in going to Borough Market was to compare and contrast it to stop number 2 on my Saturday food-centric agenda: Maltby Street.  I was aware of the reported tensions between the two, the rumours of rent rises forcing traders to relocate from the former to the latter and Borough Market's governance's disgruntlement at the prospect of close competition, and I was intrigued to know which traders had chosen to sell at Maltby Street, either as an alternative to or in addition to Borough Market. 

Anticipating the crowds, I arrived early.  I was immediately struck by the gentrified aspect of the market's green arches.  However, the gentrification was not purely cosmetic.  Brazenly flaunting their wares behind flash signs and flashier price tags, there was an endless array of hot and prepared food, paella, steak sandwiches, hog roast, burgers, veggie burgers, pork pies, a juice bar, tableware and Borough Market emblazoned bags.  The hardworking growers and sellers for the most part gone, and with them the atmosphere, the buzz of market trade, and the exciting culinary possibility of British seasonal produce, replaced with the smell of frying. 

The Market's demise, in my eyes, was confirmed by my attempt to buy gooseberries from Turnips, the large and long established wholeseller of fruit and vegetables.  None of the three servers who tried to sell me the small, slightly furry, little green and so very British fruits that I had picked up off Turnips' showy display knew what they were.  They could not therefore tell me the price and had to go and ask at Head Office, loftily located in a glass office box above the market in the space shared with Roast (where the average cost of a main course is a £23). 

The answer was an astronomically expensive £8 per kilo, the price no doubt commensurate with the fact that Turnips' second and only other store is in Selfridges. 

Gooseberry fool

I made to leave and exiting through the eastern triangle of the Market (the Green Market), came across a ray of real market hope amongst the otherwise tourist trade:  John from Lincolnshire selling his own grown Lincolnshire produce.  Beautifully muddy carrots and beets, cabbages, radishes, peas and broad beans, onions, chard, fennel, tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes new and old and lots more besides.  A chat revealed that he also sells at Peckham Farmers' Market on Sundays.  I came away with a smile and a kilo of gooseberries for £5.50.

On the short walk to Maltby Street, I popped in to José Pizarro's recently opened tapas and sherry bar on Bermondsey Street.  The chef and his team were prepping but José stopped to proudly show me the beautiful wood and tiled interior of his eponymous new London seat and run through the day's specials.  The smells from the kitchen were teasingly good even though it was only 9.30am.  I made a mental note to return at the first available opportunity during opening hours. 

Maltby Street is nestled under the old brick railway arches in Bermondsey.  The arches have become home to a collection of traders with a long relationship with food.  Some are aficionados of the London food scene: Neal's Yard Dairy, Monmouth Coffee, St John Bread.  Others are smaller or less well-known but no less gem like: Fern Verrow's biodynamically grown vegetables, Kitty Travers's homemade ice creams (with taste tingling flavours such as elderflower and amalfi lemon, strawberry and tarragon, pea pod and caramel and sea salt), the Gergovie Wines warehouse selling wine at the bar, to sample, to drink or to take away and Tony Booth's, a veritable Aladdin's cave of fruit, vegetables and salad.  Then there are some surprises, like Lassco who's reclaimed treasures are a trove of nostalgia, objets d'art and functionality (rows of theatre seats, school benches, a selection of steel buckets and a gym horse were just some of the finds worthy of a perusal last Saturday). 

Macerating strawberries

The arches are big enough for serious activity and alongside the more frivolous shopping and tasting to which they have become home, Monmouth roast their beans on site, St John's bakery is housed in Arch 72 on Druid Street, and Neal's Yard have their main office and wholesale business. 

I sat in the sunshine outside Monmouth on chairs strewn liberally over the pavement for the purpose and enjoyed a coffee and brioche.  The atmosphere was quietly smug: everyone else enjoying their coffee and knowing that they, like me, were onto a good thing. 

I did my weekly shop in Booths and had to exercise considerable self-restraint not to buy more than I could possibly eat in a week.  I skipped out with 7 kilos of strawberries for £10, strawberries from out the back, slightly past their pristine best but perfect for the afternoon's plans for jam.

As I was leaving I bumped into José Pizarro in his chef's whites come to collect that day's supplies and talk shop with Tony Booth.  With his beautiful restaurant and a wide range of wonderful produce just around the corner, I am sure that he too knows that he is onto a good thing. 



Strawberries on a rolling boil



Strawberry jam