La Belle Epoqué
“A cage went in search of a bird.”
Franz Kafka
The thick, humid heat of London is dense and oppressive — like being submerged in warm liquid. Rain has not graced the ground in weeks; and, during its absence, the sun has carved miniature canyons into the mud. It feels like floating in a formaldehyde tank abandoned in the middle of a desert.
The black and white exterior of La Belle Epoqué Patisserie stands in sharp contrast to the leprous brickwork and sickly luminescence of the street surrounding it; an austere lick in a sickly cityscape populated by the nauseating young families of Newington.
The cool interior — grey floors, unadorned cabinets, modest woodwork and tasteful strips of gold — exudes a calm and refined confidence like a severe Parisian, dressed darkly and staring starkly into the middle distance through delicate plooms of cigarette smoke. Rooms further back are lighter; orange paint and childlike impressionist sketches of the Canonbury area. Around the counter, the offerings are zoned into takeaway baguettes, savoury and sweet bakes and delicate macaroons — while the service that administers them is polite but reserved, mirroring the quiet allure of the food itself.
Their salmon and broccoli quiche is a close friend’s favourite; its sturdy, squat squareness emitting pleasantly pungent wafts of melted cheese after it has been heated and bought through to the garden. Structurally, it’s impeccable: the dense pastry encasement and crispy lid providing the perfect textural counterbalance to the soft saltiness of the fish and cheese within.
The blueberry and apple crumble tart is arguably the best slice of confectionary I have tried in London. The soft appleberry sourness of the filling is juxtaposed with the varying roughness of the sweet crumble topping; the firm, subtly polka-dotted crust forming an apposite dance-floor for their gustatory ballet.
La Belle Epoch’s Parisian animus is understated and assured — unlike many other patisseries in London, which waterboard you with their dubious heritage. Its calm aura, exquisite baking and reserved class combine to make it an unparalleled exclave in which to spend a Sunday morning. Unfortunately, the same world I left behind the door — devoid of blueberry and apple perfections — awaits when I depart…
