In need of motivation to get out of bed on Saturday morning, B and I ran to Broadway Market, knowing that at the other end of this short stint of exercise would be delicious Climpson & Sons coffee and as many foodie treats as we could wish for. The rain started as soon as we arrived, and in our lycra and t-shirts we were not as aptly dressed as the rest of the trendy Hackney crowd. We nose-dived into the queue at Climpson, made friends with lots of long, blonde, curly haired toddlers, and wrapped our hands around the warm, deep coffee. Much more willing to now go out and face the rain.
We didn't hang around for long, but did manage to pick up a Mont d'Or from the almost stereotypically French French men's cheese stand before we headed home. Standing shivering, water pouring off their very temporary roof, the cheese's lives taking priority over theirs, he complimented us on our choice, perfect for a day like this. We agreed. Feeling slightly guilty that he'd spend the rest of Saturday standing here in the cold, huddling with the fromage for warmth, while we would be showered, warm, clean, and tucking into a cream, nutty, rich, delicious, gooey, flavourful Mont d'Or, we made a beeline for home.
Skipping over puddles and dodging splashing cars, hoods up and heads down, we walked home the quick way, knowing the outing would be worth it. Within an hour of walking away from Hackney, we had followed the amazing David Lebovitz's recommendation and doused the Mont d'Or with garlic and white wine, wrapped it up in foil, like a baby in a blanket, and placed it in a toasty oven.
When sufficiently goopy (thanks David for letting me steal your vocabulary), flowing like lava when a crusty piece of bread was dunked into it, we deemed it time to eat. The champagne bottle was popped open (note - this is not normal Saturday afternoon behaviour), and a perfect Saturday lunch was slowly demolished, as we watched the rain fall, pretending we were in large French château, not an East London flat framed in by scaffolding.
