iykyk: a very london souvenir guide, edible edition

this is the edible edition of my very unofficial london souvenir guide: small, niche, london-centric treats that let you feel like you’re collecting the city via snacks.

and if this is barely scratching the surface of your unofficial london souvenir desires, there’s also… the homeware version.

i’m very aware that buying things in a consumerist hellhole is… well, buying things in a consumerist hellhole. but if you’re going to give someone a gift, or pick something up cityesque for yourself, edible souvenirs at least come with the consolation of being literally consumable consumption and disappearing after a few days. they’re practical, fun, and hopefully delicious - foods that feel like london, whether because of where they come from, who makes them, or the history they carry.

they’re the things you can leave on a friend’s kitchen counter when you’re at their dinner party, send in the post, or just keep for yourself to enjoy while sipping tea on a rainy saturday. small batch, quirky, specific - not aspirational nor over-hyped. a bit of local charm you can eat. think biscuits, coffee, chocolate, olive oil, or other treats that make a table, a snack cupboard, or a morning routine feel satisfyingly london.

there’s an electrical supply shop in clerkenwell where you can buy lightbulbs, fuses, cables, and also, casually, some of the best olive oil in london.

this sounds like a joke but it isn’t. tucked among the plugs and wiring at embassy electrical supplies is a stack of bottles labelled murat du carta, olive oil from the owner’s family groves in cyprus. mehmet has been selling the oil alongside his electrical bits for years. the trees were planted by his parents in the 1950s in their village in cyprus, and the oil is still pressed from those groves today before being shipped to london and bottled. it’s genuinely excellent oil, i think! i’m no expert, but it’s good to drizzle it on tomatoes, dip bread into it, or hoard it irrationally (my signature move) because it feels too good to waste. you can get it here and you can get it infused with most things too.

algerian coffee stores has been doing their thing on old compton street for decades, and honestly, i do not like coffee. like, at all. but i love going in here. it’s like a little window into a different world: busy, buzzing, full of people who definitely know what they’re doing (coffeeheads? is that what you call yourselves?). watching the ritual, the careful measuring, the steaming, is endlessly satisfying, even if i personally would rather be holding a pastry.

the house blend makes a brilliant gift. the smell alone will hit your kitchen like a punch of roasted magic - pungent, unapologetic (and so, SO bitter). these are small-batch, old-school, and a viable pantry show-off item with their statement red wrapped bags. honestly, if your giftee likes coffee, you will immediately be the coolest person in their kitchen. if they don’t, well… the bag of beans being even vaguely on your person will still make you smell like a wizard. try some out.

i’m going to be upfront: these biscuits are expensive. i’m sorry. they just are. sometimes restraint loses to novelty and butter. this is one of those times. but they’re also extremely indulgent, and feel less like a biscuit and more like a small, theatrical event you have with a cup of tea.

the lossus family are fortnum’s answer to the question: what if a biscuit simply refused to be subtle? what if a biscuit were… the main event?

they’re oversized, thick, generously coated, built around a chunky base and then finished with layers of chocolate, nuts, fruit, spices, and probably other fancypants accoutrements depending on what flavour you’re dealing with. there’s an exaggerated abundance to them that feels almost knowingly silly. you’re not meant to absent-mindedly demolish one while scrolling; this is a sit-down-shut-up-appreciate biscuit.

they’re named as if they’re characters, which helps: you’re not just eating a chocolate biscuit, you’re having a lossus. the tins are refillable too, softening the financial blow once you’ve committed the first time, and they do feel like something you could give as a gift without needing to apologise for it being boring. no one is disappointed by an enormous biscuit (a huge apology to my celiac and otherwise-gf pals).

are they an everyday purchase? absolutely not. but they are a ridiculous, comforting, once-in-a-while treat. make the biscuit a CEREMONY.

let me paint you a word picture. you get home from work. it is 7pm. it has been a hard day. you open the cupboard, pull out a piece of raw honeycomb, and start chowing down like a feral winnie the pooh. this is happening over the kitchen sink, because there’s only so much mess you need to clean up today. it’s sticky, unhinged, and it is LIFE CHANGING. the sugar recalibrates your nervous system (biologists don’t @ me idk how this works).

local honey man’s honey is excellent on its own, but the honeycomb is… so good. brings a tear to my eye good. ratatouille critic eating the ratatouille and remembering being hit in the face by his mother good.

chewy wax, bursts of honey, that faintly grassy, almost floral edge you don’t get from a jar. it’s AMAZING with cheese - especially anything salty or blue - but also very good as a solo bite.

this feels like a pantry staple in the london sense: not flashy or branded to death. just so, so good at what it is. it’s also an elite gift, because it looks impressive, tastes better than it looks, and guarantees at least one ‘oh wow’ moment at the table. join the honeycomb party.

deeply delicious, so calming - exactly what you want when you’re meant to be relaxing but your brain is still doing laps. hackney herbal teas make these thoughtful, beautifully balanced blends that feel like i am being gently told to calm the fuck down by someone who loves me.

(they also sell out towards the end of the year, indicating a london-wide cosign.)