Borough Market – a foodie’s bliss

An array of truffles in Borough Market. Photo Credit: Lilly LeClair

My first Christmas overseas, and my husband and I—besides each other—are sans family. The week was spent doing quintessentially London activities, but how would we spend the actual holiday? By cooking up a storm.

I heard that Borough Market was open every day leading up to Christmas. Of course the popular Thursday thru Saturday event is a great place for free gourmet samples and lunch with friends, but I had hoped to do a big grocery trip here someday. This was my chance, and my empty fridge begged to contain something besides a lonely carton of minestrone soup.

We head out early towards Angel tube for the four-stop ride to London Bridge. Though just before 9am, the market is already bustling. I feel my senses being pulled in every direction. I look around and Southwark Cathedral (the oldest in London) stands majestically before me. Bundled musicians play Christmas favorites and a jolly man offers free Prosecco tastings. Chestnuts are roasting over an open fire. Yes, it is definitely festive.

First things first: protein. Sensing our indecision, a butcher recommends stuffed duck. Without a thought, we hand over 12 quid. Next we find an ostrich filet dealer. I ask a woman how to prepare it and she replies: “I like to sauté mine with red wine and garlic.”

Now time for fruit and veg. Long stalks of brussel sprouts, artichokes, shallots, potatoes, exotic mushrooms, bunches of rosemary and sage, and big juicy berries fill our bags. We walk towards the cheesemongers and purchase Welsh favorites along with fresh baked bread.

Lingering over the ample dessert displays, we arrive at an endless row of chocolate truffles and scoop up assorted varieties like hazelnut praline, fresh mint and apricot brandy.

Suddenly a fragrance beckons. It was definitely time for some mulled wine. Bendales wine shop is cosy, and the friendly staff help us choose our holiday pours while we warm up with the spicy concoction.

Overloaded, we make for a quick exit, but are caught, and because this is likely our only London Christmas, we can’t say no. One pork pie, please.

“How long do we heat it?” I ask the man behind the counter. His eyebrows raise and he responds in a thick British accent: “No, you don’t heat it. Take it out of the fridge and let it sit for 30 minutes. If you are going to do it right, serve it for breakfast with a glass of whiskey.”

Whether we follow instructions or not … well, that’s a story for another day.