This afternoon I went to collect the cake for tomorrow’s performance. We like share various tastes with our audiences, and whilst we usually bake our own recipes, the Health and Safety powers-that-be dictated that we can only serve food made under the watchful eye of a Food Hygiene certificate.
So I dashed across town to Rinkhoff’s. It’s funny really – yet another strange turn back around the spiral of time. Around this time last year, we visited Rinkhoff’s on a self-guided tour of the East End. It was sadly closed by the time we got there, and the only thing we had of the bakery was it’s historical spiel – bakers and purveyors of deliciousness in East London since 1911. And the spot on which I once stood on a chilly, windy day and gazed at closed metal shutter, and the spot from which I collected bagels and cake for Every Way Up tomorrow. Bagels made by the same Family, and which are probably made according to the same recipes as in 1911. Recipes which probably stretch back far further – perhaps, recipes like ours, which are made at family gatherings and handed down through generations.
And as I walked back down Whitechapel Road, with bagels in my bag, and an armful of boxed sweet treats, along the stretch of market amid the din of voices which now occupy the neighbourhood, it dawned on me – weighed on me even – that we have too become part of this place. That our stories, this story which draws so much from the history of these streets, has also added back to them. That the bigger narrative continues and that it moves and we move with it.
Come and join us at the Roundhouse tomorrow – come for a bite of bagel and our stories.