I
awoke in a daze.
It was the morning after 14th February, and I knew I had done something very wrong. Something shameful, and sinful. Something the beau could not forgive. The air was thick with the scent of wine, grease, secret spices, and shame. On the bedroom floor, an empty cardboard box lay open.
It was the morning after 14th February, and I knew I had done something very wrong. Something shameful, and sinful. Something the beau could not forgive. The air was thick with the scent of wine, grease, secret spices, and shame. On the bedroom floor, an empty cardboard box lay open.
The
plan had been to spend Valentine’s night alone, as the beau was booked to play
folk music for the baying crowds of Kent. He had foisted gifts of chocolate, Prosecco
and a sonnet upon me that morning (I had delivered beer and dark chocolate
digestives in an Asda carrier bag as a token of my love), and had left for
work, not to return for many hours.
It
was a rare Friday night in alone, and I had been weak. I had turned to an old
vice: chicken. Fried chicken. The kind of chicken that doesn’t have a phone
number – just a card in a phone box. It wants the money up front and you’ll
need to see a doctor in the morning.
Following
a swift rehearsal with the Canterbury Players I scuttled into a Chicken Cottage,
my face covered by a cowl, and placed my order. On the plus side, they cooked
my chicken fresh to order. On the down side, the branch has ridiculously large
and bright front window so that everyone
outside can see you waiting for your bucket of solitude and potato wedges of loneliness.
Goods
acquired, I spent the evening at home quaffing sparkling wine and gnawing on
dead bird while imagining the bass-playing beau being flanked by lovely
Valentines ladies at this gig of his*. The chicken was crisp and slutty and
unstoppable. I didn’t think about the consequences, I was drunk and stupid.
The
next morning, I woke up convinced that Ragnorok had happened in my mouth. Tis
the way of MSG, my friends - a few moments of hedonism will lacerate your taste
buds and leave your tongue as parched as a burnt forest. I needed to redress
this folly and repent my sins.
And
so, to KITCH...

KITCH
is a fairly new addition to Canterbury’s main thoroughfare. A wholefood café that
prides itself on healthy food that don’t compromise on taste, it sits primly amongst
the historic buildings of St Peter’s Street in a calming wash of blue, white
and grey.
Owner
Emily details her foodie principals on the KITCH website – use only all natural, wholegrain and seasonal
ingredients. Sugar, sweeteners, processed foods and trans-fats are not
needed. (Admit it, you don’t need
them, you just pretend you do because you want more lard bacon cake).
But
there is more to KITCH than the café; Emily also runs her My Deliciously Healthy Kitchen cookery classes on site, offers outside catering, and
can fill your fridge and freezer with up to three weeks’ worth of healthy meals
with her special detox packages. The café also hosts
private events; I realised too late that while I was covered in fried chicken
on V Day, KITCH was hosting an Asian-fusion supper club with Godmersham’s
Portable Pantry. I grew up in Godermsham!!! I don’t know why that’s important right
now!!!
So I enlisted fellow thespian Sarah to sample their
delights for lunch on Saturday, once I’d burned all evidence of my chicken
frenzy so my boyfriend would love me again. Sarah had already bagged a window
table when I arrived so we could people watch. Looking at their cake display, it
was tempting to order a pile of sweet treats and tea, and devour them while
flicking V signs at the foodless passers-by through the window. But that would
be mean. Brilliant, but mean.
The dish was exactly what I needed to quell the previous night’s sins - tasty, healthy and nicely portioned. The root vegetables were well spiced, and the egg poached to perfection on a thick slice of sourdough. Sarah’s sandwich was also laden with pert salmon. My only quibble with the meal is that £2 for a very small glass of pear juice is pushing it.
Alas
we could not stay to sample the full range of their cakes – Sarah and I had
only limited time and needed wine (KITCH will be serving bubbles soon, I hear) –
but I still bagged a couple of their almond peanut butter cookies for the road.
They go very well with a nice Chilean sauvignon blanc, I later discovered.
What
attracted me to KITCH was that it is more than just another ever-so-twee coffee
shop in Canterbury, as it makes the effort to offer the whole healthy package. It
is less about piety on a plate, and more about sharing and teaching. The website for the cookery classes is resplendent with tips on how to eat well,
from portion size to what to keep in your larder, and I applaud eschewing
processed trickery in favour of natural goodness. I do the same at home where
possible….but bear in mind that I am Irish and I need to have access to certain
processed carbs every so often or the universe will explode.
Whether
you are a wholefood convert or you just need a healthy pick me up, KITCH is on
hand and, I suspect, will love you no matter what.
4 St-Peters St, Canterbury, Kent. CT1 2AT
Opening hours: Monday to Friday 8.30am-5.30pm, Saturday 9am-5.30pm, Sunday 10am-4pm
Contact: emshealthykitch@gmail.com
Find KITCH and Emily on Facebook and Twitter
*Apparently
the beau's only piece of action was from an older drunk woman who staggered up to him
and said “You look mad! I’m mad too, are you mad like me?!” I can’t compete
with that level of wit.
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