a few months shy of 18, I arrived in London. 
 Bond Street station to be exact.

dragging my dads old and oversized suitcase.
full of odd stickers, telling 
of far away travels. to far away countries.

you know, one of those 
in worn out leather with big buckle straps
and without wheels to help carry the load,

pushed right and left by what seemed to be a million people 
on their way to more important things.

but not me,
I was spellbound & it was love at first sight.
I felt at home. this was my town.

yes, this was where my skin got a little thicker. 
where my room mates name was susie
and there was mushrooms growing in the bathroom

this was where I learned how to hide from the guards at waterloo 
when I had no money for the train.

this was where I met a girl who taught me how to live

and this is where I still go. 
to sit by a stone with her name on it
and whisper into the english mist 
how I miss her.

but these are other stories.
to be told, 
maybe many moons from now.

because now I'm going to tell you
about a restaurant,

café rouge.

a perfect marriage, if there ever was one, 
 between english warmth & french exquisiteness.

in reality a chain but with the ambiance of the opposite.

the one in highgate was my favorite,
with an entrance easily walked by 
if it wasn't for the voice of edith piaf singing 

'non, je ne regrette rien'. 

rolling R's. 
leading us down old stone stairs with chalky' white walls 
and into a room
with chairs covered in coats of black oil-paint, 
stripped wood tables and candlelight  

there we enjoyed many a croque-monsieur, moules mariniéres and tarte au citron.

warm. exquisite.

until we discovered their 'petite bouchée'.
and after that day, we went there only for that. 
for their 'small bites'.

hot bread batons, fresh out the oven, sprinkled with seasalt.
laid in bread baskets, perfectly swept in red and white checkered cloth.
little white ceramic bowls with dips, 
salsa, pesto and aïoli.

& here I am. recreating, 
the tastes and the memories.

in dads kitchen.
with the help of mãma and her bread.

the dining room is filled with laughter and conversation.
the clinking of wine glasses 

and as I take my small bites,
I hear her. far away. 
but I hear her.

"avec mes souvenirs,
j'ai allumé le feu.
non, rien de rien, 
non, je ne regrette rien."*

Stay hungry  Stay soulfullish'



*"with my memories, 
I lit the fire.
no, nothing of nothing,
no, I regret nothing." 
| song by edith piaf |
| with lyrics by charles dumont & michel vaucaire |
all photography by hannah lemholt for soulfood.  


  1. Oh, this is lovely
    - London, that's my town, too.
    As much as I'm drawn to Paris
    and it's beautiful white streets,
    London is where my soul is.
    And Café Rouge :)
    So many memories
    of evenings spent with my then boyfriend,
    now my husband,
    over a bottle of red and their nibbles...
    Thank you for jolting so many memories, x

    1. Ohh! I get the chills when I read your comment <3

      I feel exactly as you do!
      my heart belongs to paris
      but my soul is forever london's.

      much. much love to you sweet Becca

      // Emma

  2. Replies
    1. Oh it is dear Hanna!

      bunches of warm hugs to you,

      // Emma

  3. Looks so delicious and I need to tell you: I LOOOOOVE Pesto and Ajoli :) I´m hungry now... ;)
    And such a nice story...and again a sweet picture. Hope your week is filled with sweet moments, fun and a lot of hugs and kisses!
    Looking forward to your next post.
    x, t.

    1. yes isn't it the best! simple & delish:)

      hope you are having a lovely week T,

      a million hugs

      // Emma


  4. y o u are the warmth.

    the exquisite.

    älskar detta.
    och Dig.