Category Archives: Ritzi Recommends

Places to go and things to do. Mostly in good old London town.

I’d Like To Thank, Castmembers, Condoms and Coffee…

Posted on September 22, 2011 | 5 Comments

VOTE RITZI! (Subliminal messaging along these lines shall appear throughout)

Well would you look at that? I only got shortlisted for a Cosmo Blog Award! And I discovered this rather later than the rest of the world, it appears.

I was home late (been to the theatre – of course) and because I live in the black hole of nothingness that is South West London, I had no phone signal, and so twitter was having some issues. At last, a teeny tiny tweet makes it through:

BigFashionista: Where is @RitziCortez? Does she know?

Oh bloody hell, do I know what? About half an hour of fruitless refreshing later, I got a phonecall (sure, no twitter but that works) from Blondie.

‘Congratulations!’ she shrieks as only she can.

ON WHAT????

Oh… Oh? Oooooooh!

Needless to say, after that I actually got my slightly drunken self out of bed and whipped open the laptop.

VOTE RITZI!

I’m so freakin honoured to be in that (rather short) shortlist of 8 amazingly awesome blogs, some of which have names which made me lol a little bit.

I started this blog almost 2 years ago now when I was temping in a between jobs job. At the time I was working with a guy I’d known for years, who bounded into the office one morning armed with a piece of information that would entertain us for days.An accquaintance, it seemed, was the writer of an anonymous book of sexcapades. She didn’t tell him her alias, but she told him about the cover art, and after about three days of trawling through Amazon, Foyles and Borders, we came across THIS, and shortly after discovered that the book was born from a rather sordid blog.

Life returned to normal all to briefly, and then one day I was unceremoniously dumped in a Weatherspoons on my lunch hour, and everything changed.

I read ‘Sienna’s Lovers’ from virtual cover to cover, and then discovered more blogs and more hilarious stories, and remembered that before my twat of an ex, I’d had that kind of life. To a reader, it was gold, and no one was writing it down. So I clicked the button on the top of the screen prompting me to start up my own sordid storydeck, and ‘Climbing Ritzi’s Ladder’ was born.

I started off on Blog.co.uk, which I still say is a damn good site. I met the fabulous Big Fashionista there (also nominated. She doesn’t say cock as much as I do, but she does post gratuitous pictures of hot half naked men every Friday) and I wouldn’t be here today if I hadn’t spent my first 6 months blogging every ridiculous thought that sprung into my head on that site.

There have been some close calls – some people have found out about and not all of them have been happy about it, but whaaaatever. I’ve never compromised what I write, and I always write the truth (sometimes a little too much truth) which has resulted in such tales as many rounds of Ensemble Bingo, unexpected anal obsessed Irishman, accidental Hudson River Park Antics and the odd deep rooted reflection on identity.

VOTE RITZI!

So, while I’m super grateful to have been shortlisted for this prestigious award that my mum recently glossed over the details of when telling my father about it, there is one teeeeeny favour I need to ask.

Can you go here please? Just for a sec? And vote your arse off for Climbing Ritzis Ladder (yes, they missed the apostrophe. I’m not holding it against em)

THANKS WORLD! I LOVES YA!

RitziCx

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Ritzi Does Cornwall

Posted on July 14, 2011 | 2 Comments

Guys.

There is a little place in this world, which is so freakin fabulously awesome, that I would genuinely leave London to live there, if only there was some kind of job for me to do there that would keep me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed (ie free coffee, free theatre tickets and press night parties) and that place is… St Ives.

Not that shitty one in Cambridgeshire, mind. The proper one.

Before the world completely explodes, and we head of to New York City to rock the joint, Nora and I decided we needed some serious chill out time, and what better place to go than the seaside? Particularly when children are still at school. Good thinkin.

So here is my guide to the best place in the world. Pay attention:

The beaches

No need for Newquay here. It’s the other side, the water’s not as nice and it’s full of chavs. Instead, you’ve got five amazing beaches to choose from, depending on what you fancy at the time. For example, upon arrival, it was bloody hot, but Nora wasn’t showing up until later with my suitcase so I was lacking in bikini goodness. Instead, I grabbed myself an icecream and headed to Porthminster beach. It’s mainstream, it’s white sands, and it’s right by the train station. Very handy. It does, however, have a very dangerous population of seagulls, so you should not devour your icecream anywhere near those bad boys.

Once I was better prepared, I headed to my FAVOURITE spot, Porthmeor beach. This one is home to the surf school, massive waves, hot lifeguards (one of whom asked for a lick of my icecream, which I may have taken as an invitation in London but in St Ives the correct response is; ‘bugger off and buy your own!’) and some damn good chips. Surfed a bit, tanned A LOT, and generally had a giggle.

St Ives signOther beaches… Porthgwidden, which is little and cute, rather steep, complete with playful seal swimming about in the shallows with some very surprised people. Carbis Bay, further away and technically in Lelant, but the equivalent of a meditteranian wonderland. And the cutest  (not for the beach but for the name) Bamaluz, a teeny tiny bunch of rocks that sometimes has a bit of sand around if the sea goes out far enough. More importantly, it’s on this sign ^^^ which is just hilarious. (Good job I took a picture then, because the next morning it had been corrected. St Ives vandals – I love them).

The food

Cornish Cream Tea at BumblesYou can’t come to Cornwall and not have cream tea. And that’s cream tea that goes scone, jam, clotted cream, not scone, clotted cream, jam like some Devonshire crazy. In my experience, there is NOWHERE better than Bumbles Tea Room (right by Porthmeor at the end of the Digey). This place does cream tea that makes your toes fall off it’s so good, and so long as you don’t linger over the lunchtime rush, they don’t mind weirdo writers like me huddling in the corner on their third pot of tea writing magical stories about mermaids off the coast of Marazion. Awesome.

The other Cornwall staple is – you guessed it – the pasty. Being a veggie, I’m not the ideal market for a pasty seller, but I still reckon I’ve managed to find the best darn place in town. The Yellow Canary Cafe, at the far end of Fore Street near the Marketplace, is THE BEST place, and they’re just bohemian enough to make you feel like you’re somehow eating a cool pasty. Mental.

Always start your day the right way (because after that you’re gonna eat a shitload of carbs and icecream) and head to Frubar smoothie shack on the harbour front. Nora and I love it so much, we genuinely woke up every morning, and declared that it was juice time.

Oddly, there is another magical meal choice… and that is PELS’s crepes. Cue a tonne of hilarious ‘ooh, I think I’ll have a crepe on the beach’ related puns. But after a long day of beaching, surfing, hill climbing and art gallery wandering, a chocolate and banana crepe from PELS on the harbour is considerably more welcome than a bloody good shag.

Alcohol

Gotta be honest, it’s not high on my list of priorities when I head to St Ives, however I defy you to visit without getting sucked into the wonderful Sloop Inn. This place has been standing since the 1300′s, and has a crazy history of smuggling and whatnot, AND they serve things in tankards. After stupidly going on the ‘pirate walk’ one evening (we discovered that St Ives has fuck all in the way of pirate history) and freezing half to death, we warmed our fingers around steaming mugs of hot chocolate and brandy in the Sloop, and it was magic.

The Badger Inn, in Lelant (5 mins down the road) does THE BEST carvery in the world. It also has extremely potent wine.

Where to stay

I will always advise getting out of the busy harbour part, and heading somewhere St Ives sea viewup the hill. Somewhere near the Island is good, or up near Barnoon Hill. Don’t go to far up near the Rugby Club though, or you’ll lose the atmosphere of beingdown one of the tiny streets of the town. This time, I stayed up near Porthmeor and Barnoon carpark (very handy) just behind the Tate St Ives. Would highly recommend getting a little house of your own, so you can totally pretend you live there. Come on, we all do it. And check out the view.

Where else to go

Should you, god forbid, actually get a bit bored of the town, you’re in driving distance of some pretty awesome places. Penzance is 20 minutes away, and the other side of it is Marazion, home to St Michael’s Mount. I would advise visiting and not trying to walk back across the causeway after the tide has come in. Nora and I nearly died.

You’re 40 minutes away from Lands End and Porthcurno – Lands End is dull and overrated, and the carpark is £4, but if you haven’t been, you must. Porthcurno is home to the Minack Theatre, carved into the stone of the cliffside, where I’ve seen some amazing stuff (not this time though – The Death of Sherlock Holmes, shockingly crap).

The Lizard is not far away, and Zennor (where there is a mermaid. Look it up), and if you time it right, you should totally check out the Eden Project on your way out of the West Country, if you’re passing through St Austell.

So there you have it! Ritzi’s guide to the best place in the world. Frankly, if you’ve never been, you’re missing out. Get your ass down there now! Before the kids descend and fuck it all up!

Go on then, maybe just one last pasty…

Last cornish pasty

RitziCx

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Zumba-holics Anonymous

Posted on June 23, 2011 | 3 Comments

My name is Ritzi Cortez and I am a Zumba-holic.

‘Serious body sculpting for party animals’

Now that is a tagline I can get my head around.

A couple of weeks back, I had a date all planned and whatnot (those of you who follow me on twitter may recall this) who then cancelled on the day of, which royally pissed me off as not only do you just not cancel on Ritzi Cortez, but  I’d also worn heels, a very foolish thing to do in my office.

Anyhoo, long story short, the Aussie totally got in on the man hating and declared that she was going to Zumba for the first time that evening and that I should join her.

“It burns 600 calories in one class,” she informed me. “That’s more than sex honey.”

It burns more calories than sex? I. Was. Sold.

So that evening I joined the Aussie and her mate Disney Princess at Zumba at Clapham’s Clear Wellness centre, a place which also does Yoga and HULA HOOP CLASSES (I know, right?) and we shook our fabulous asses to the beat.

Oh. My. God.

Zumba is frickin awesome. Coming from a Musical Theatre world as I do, I’m no stranger to shaking it on the dance floor, but any one who knows me will tell you that while I’ll do it if I have to, I’m not a fan of the dancing aspect of my former career. However, stick me in a gym studio and pump up the latin inspired beat, and all of a sudden all those years of tedious dance classes finally pay off and I was LOVING it.

I love it so much that I signed up straight away and now make it my business to go three times a week.

Esther, the Saturday morning teacher at Clear Wellness, is an absolute demon. Seriously, the woman kills me. Especially this last weekend after I managed to imbibe a bottle and a half of red wine on Friday night and somehow managed to get my ass to Zumba the next morning by 11am. I swear to god I was sweating wine, but afterwards I felt amazing. 

Therefore, I advise all folks of the world to get their Zumba on and pronto, and pretty soon you’ll be shakin (as opposed to wobbling) that ass all over the world.

Zumba zumba zumba.

RitziCx

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Welcome To Diagon Alley… I mean, Cecil Court…

Posted on June 16, 2011 | 1 Comment

Welcome Harry, to Diagon Alley Cecil Court.

This place is one of my favourite places in Londonia (you can tell because it’s up there in my menu bar picture). It’s a not far from my office and I have been known to take a detour on my way back from a meeting or en route to the theatre, and  fall off the face of the earth for hours, lost in a world of pretty books and eccentricities.

It can be found just off St Martins Lane, just next to Freed (the dance shoe shop) or from the other side on Charing Cross Road, right by the Wyndhams and theatre alley, but you can easily miss it if you don’t know it’s there.

While away the hours downstairs in one of the many many specialist book shops, hunting for the elusive first edition (I’ve never found a first edition but to be honest I wouldn’t know one if it flew up and hit me in the face, Mirrormask style), or marvel at the crinkly old maps in Storeys, get your fortune read in the window of Watkins, or pick up a one of a kind piece of jewellery in Christopher St James – they sell CROWNS people. I mean seriously.

Whenever I look in the window of Drummonds, I find myself searching for the elusive ‘Harlequin and the Enchanted Fish’ poster which I remember once spying in the royal room of a West End theatre (I forget which one) on the wall of the queen’s loo. I fucking love that poster. They don’t make play titles like that any more!

The other slightly more un-cool and arty reason I love this place is because it’s a magical alley in London filled with random artifacts and dusty old books, which frankly makes me feel like I’m in a Harry Potter book. Shut up. I’m a nerd, whatever.

It’s a great place to come after catching a matinee in Covent Garden, though I can also recommend it at 3am on a Sunday morning, as Nicole and I have done many a time with many a stumble, pretending to hoike up our non-existent Victorian skirts and tread the cobbles* of Covent Garden’s most magical alley ways.

Check it out! And please buy me a crown.

RitziCx

*please note, Cecil Court does not have cobbles. I just like alliteration.

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Neal’s Yard May Just Be The Best Place In The World

Posted on June 7, 2011 | 4 Comments

You know my world revolves around a particular part of London. I pretty much flit back and forth between Covent Garden and Soho, occasionally braving Victoria if I have a desperate urge to run away to the land of Oz (and no, we’re not talking ‘Wizard of’. Do you know me but at all?) but for the most part I can be found just off Shaftesbury Avenue.

Which is why I am one of the seemingly few people who truly appreciates the sheer awesomeness of Neal’s Yard, (not so) hidden gem of Covent Garden, where everybody knows your name (or pretends to anyway) and you can get a haircut, mani-pedi and a damn decent cup of coffee in under and hour, and for under £50.

Entrance to Neals Yard, Covent Garden

A mere hop, skip and jump away from anywhere worth going, you can shuffle your way into Neal’s Yard via Shorts Gardens, just off Neal Street and right by Seven Dials. This weekend, in desperate need of a haircut but bank account positively reeling from the £700 I’d just spent on flights to New York for Trouble The Musical in July, I procrastinated in my own garden until 4pm – it was so bloody boiling in London this weekend it was all I could do to bring myself to wear anything other than a bikini before 4pm – and then hopped on the heat stroke inducing tube into town. Upon my arrival at one of my favourite London alleyways, I knew getting off my ass had been a good decision.

Hair By Fair Salon in Neals YardWhere else can you walk through the door of a salon, say ‘I need a haircut’ and be in the chair getting a damn good shampoo-ing within the space of 5 minutes? Nowhere but Hair By Fairy. I love this place, the people are achingly cool (there was an excessive amount of jumpsuits and printed pants going on on Saturday), they have a picture of Betty Boop above the desk and a haircut will cost you just £13.

In London? That is just bloody amazing.

They open every day (except bank holidays as I discovered to my detriment last week), from 10am Mon-Sat and 12-5 on Sundays. You do have to book in for the beauty appointments, but considering manicures start from a tenner, I figure it’s not too unreasonable to expect a phone call first.

I was introduced to this magical place by my friend Polkadots a few years ago, when I used to get my hair cut by Jose, my favourite wiggie in the middle of wardrobe village in Drury Lane (for those who don’t speak theatre… a guy who dresses wigs and puts them on actors, and the place where costumes live and quick changes happen during a show) but Jose buggered off back to spain and I was left without a hairdresser! Polkadots – she of the fabulously quirky purple hair – raved about this place and at that point I’d not even ventured down the strangely colourful alley behind the smelly cheese shop.

Changed. My. Life.

Neal's Yard Deli

It’s not just HBF that pumps my nads about this place (or it would, if I was a boy attending Shermer High in the 80′s) but the fact that every shop/cafe is painted a different colour. Not to mention inflation seems to have passed it by, and everything is oddly affordable. And today, for a mere 65p, they gave me the means to fix my favourite owl earrings that the little sister got me for Christmas, via the wonderful crazy bead shop that sells such handy things and gives you a step my step guide of how to fix an earring that has suffered death by wedge sandal.

So if you’re in need of a haircut, a walk in backrub, a yoga class – or just fancy a wander, Neal’s Yard really is the place to be. And if it’s a nice sunny weekend – I’ll be the one in ridiculously large sunglasses sat outside the deli with a battered old laptop. Come say hello – mine’s a brazillian fruit juice, banana and acai please, ta.

RitziCx

Betty Boop LOVE YOU in Hairy By Fairy

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Scrummy Places To Eat In London : The Day We Stumbled Through A Portal To Morocco

Posted on March 31, 2010 | Leave a comment

Today there has been some kind of crazy BT problem caused by a fire in Paddington, which means that the phones in my office are dead. The internet (ancient as it is) runs through these phones, and while I can blog til my heart’s content, my email is also down so I can do, basically, nothing.

Awesome.

With this in mind, the only minion in the office and I decided to hop it over to Covent Garden for a little bit of shopping, and just when we were getting thirsty this magical place appeared before us:

souk

I’m sure it didn’t actually appear from nowhere but I’ve never seen it before. From what we can tell, it is called ‘Souk’ and on the sign it said they sold coffee… which is all I needed to know.

We entered through the magical shrouded doorway and were apparently transported through time and space to Morocco. The entrance hall was filled with foot stools and mini mosaic covered tables, and drapes and candles were everywhere! At the end of the hall was a set of double doors that lead into the main restaurant part. We tucked ourselves away around a corner and sprawled over the scatter cushion covered couches in middle eastern delight.

A man at the other end of the bar seemed to be getting a lot of visitors while we were there. Hmm… Moroccan coffee bar or secret front for drug smuggling ring? (for reasons of personal safety I should probably point out that he was probably interviewing people for a job there. Boring!)

insidesouk

While it does amazing real food, we just fancied a little snack, so I got garlic pitta with feta cheese which was absolutely devine, and the minion got the most melt in your mouth freshly made chips you will ever taste.

It would be an amazing place to go on a date – maybe a second or third date when after I’ve checked they appreciate Harry Potter. No point wasting magic like this on a muggle.

We got onto deep and meaningful subjects like where we’ll be in ten years etc. I reckon I’ve pretty much got a good plan sorted – in fact, hearing about the minions problems made me more certain that I’m finally turning into a real grown up! (who shags around a bit… but I’m single so who cares?)

If you’re ever near Seven Dials, go check out Souk. It’s awesome. That is all.

RitziCx

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Scrummy Places To Eat In London : Ritzi and Nicole’s Adventures in Las Iguanas

Posted on March 23, 2010 | Leave a comment

Ahhhhh Las Iguanas, home of never ending streams of margaritas every Monday (or tuesday when we have stuff to do on Mondays) UNTIL NOW.

This lunchtime, I toddled over to Las Iguanas on Dean Street to meet my good friend Nicole (I may have mentioned her once or twice) and ordered our usual 2-4-1 margaritas, only to be told they aren’t on 2-4-1 any more!

End. Of. The. World.

Completely stunned, I realised I’d have to actually look at the menu, and spent the next ten minutes (Nicole was late. Tut.) staring blankly at the cocktail list in complete denial.

At the suggestion of the nice Las Iguanas people, we decided to go for a new Passionfruit Caipirinha, which looked pretty impressive but was very sweet and ever so slightly impractical because the passionfruit seeds kept getting sucked up into the straw! To be honest folks… I spilt half of it in my lap in my determination to use the goddamn straw. Not a good move. While it was quite nice, Nicole and I are in agreement that we could only handle one each, as opposed to the margaritas of which we can easily get through three each over lunch. I almost can’t believe I’m saying this but… there was genuine conversation about other places in Soho that might do food and 2-4-1 cocktails for next week.

Let’s not make any rash decisions though, right? (*cough* like taking margaritas off the 2-4-1 menu *cough*)

True to the spirit of sampling the new spring/summer menu I went for the Asparagus Salad, which was pretty darn fabulous. Packed full of new potatoes, feta cheese, asparagus and luuuuurvely fresh salad leaves, (I avoided the chillies, it’s for the best, trust me) it was so bloody healthy that Nicole and I thought it not too unreasonable to splash out on desert.

And OH MY GOD. Desert. Wow.

The lovely chap who serves us every Tuesday when we miss our usual Monday visit (I happen to be rather attached to Mondays due to the usual presence of ‘ShouldbeMexicanbutisn’t', the oddly attractive waiter who always surprises me with his London accent.) brought us the desert menu and we immediately went for the newest addition (although the new chocolate pot was a bit tempting as well) called a ‘Fruit Fajita’. What is a Fruit Fajita I hear you ask? Well, here ya go;

IMG00265-20100323-1423

Does it look like sex on a plate to you too? That’s what I thought. Amazing cinamon butter covered bananas, peaches and pineapple complete with DIY wrap kit of mini crepes, icecream, toffee-esque sauce and chocolate flakey bits, this was the messiest yet most AMAZING desert I have ever had.

To make it even better, it turns out that it is the creation of our favourite Tuesday waiter, who kept looking at us to make sure we were enjoying it. Bless him. I suppose I can forgive him for breaking the tragic news of the missing margaritas.

In short, that was without a doubt the best meal I’ve had in there, but at the end of the day I think we can all see what the moral of the story is.

Ahem. Las Iguanas? Put Margaritas back on the 2-4-1 deal pleeeeeeeeeease? Maybe just in Soho? Just for Ritzi and Nicole? We could get little Ritzi and Nicole badges so you know it’s us… just don’t tell the rest of the West End who we are, yeah?

In other news, Nicole has decided it’s a really good idea to go to a party where the man who has systematically ripped out her heart, chucked it on the floor and done a little dance on it on a regular basis over the last few years will be in attendance. Being the good friend that I am, I shall have to drag myself along to make sure she doesn’t do anything completely STUPID (are you hearing this girly?). And if I happen to pocket the phone numbers of any hot West Endy men also in attendance that’s just an added bonus, right?

Off to look up prices of flights to Vienna do some work.

Ciao

RitziCx

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An Awkward Lesbian Moment To Begin Your Day

Posted on March 11, 2010 | Leave a comment

So last night I went to meet the lovely Nora for a bite to eat – which is actually quite tricky feat as Nora is allergic to everything. Seriously, when you invite the girl over for dinner she brings her own can of beans and sausages (remember them? they still make them!) so she isn’t an inconvenience. Bless her cottons.

Anyway, it just so happens that I’ve got rather good at finding places to cater to her mad intolerances, so last night we headed over to Beetroot Vegetarian Cafe on Berwick Street in Soho. It’s one of my favourite places – you know everything’s veggie friendly, and you just buy a box (small, medium or large) and then point in the general direction of what looks tasty and they whack it all in there for you. Personally, if I could eat nothing but their roasted veggies for the rest of my life I’d be okay with that.

IMG00225-20100310-1743

We got onto the subject of Mimi and her current drama with her swedish lesbian lover (she likes her drama that girl) which reminded Nora of a recent experience of her own.

‘You know how I go to that church?’

‘I do indeed.’ Each week, crazy, bohemian, rosie-and-jim-boat dwelling Nora goes to this crazy church place and plays the most ridiculous sounding sports (Ultimate Frisby, for example) and then goes for a sauna and a beer after with the other church folk.

‘Well, the other week I heard people talking about this girl who does massages, I thought I could do with one because I’d just got back from touring and had been driving a lot, so I asked her if I could get one. It was only £15 for half an hour so I thought, why not?’

Why did I get the feeling this was going to get interesting, I wonder?

‘It was really great and everything, but then she told me to turn over,’ Why would you? ‘So I did… and then she started giving me a boob massage! She said loads of people carry tention in their boobs!

‘What did you do?!’

‘Nothing! I closed my eyes first and then thought maybe that wasn’t the best idea so I opened my eyes and then I didn’t know where to look! I looked at her and she was looking back at me and smiling!’

At this point I get a mental image of the situation and just how uncomfortable Nora – who once decided to give lesbianism a go and went on a date with a woman to a gay bar, giggled a bit and then remembered that she actually likes cock – must have looked. I almost choked on my sausage-free sausage roll.

It gets better.

‘Then this week I saw her and said hello, and then she asked me if I was going for a sauna because she was and she wanted to join me!’ At this point Nora nearly has an anurism. ‘At what point did I give off the lesbian vibe?’

Um… around the time you let this woman fondle your breasts? Poor, unsuspecting Nora.

We then proceded to reminisce about a show we were once in together in a theatre around the corner, and recalled the most amazing pub lunch we’d ever had (while recording the album of said show) in a studio near (ish) to my dear old mum’s house. We soon became obsessed with eating there again, and decided we needed to roadtrip up to the midlands and go there again. Checking schedules we realised that we were booked up for ages and ages… except for this weekend. Suddenly, a completely awesome plan was born, to get up bright and early on Saturday, drive up to surprise my mum (for Mother’s Day – see my logic? Don’t have to acknowledge that I forgot to send a card!) and casually suggest popping over to the most amazing pub lunch pub in the world for a bite to eat.

I called my little sister to make sure they were going to be around at the weekend;

‘Hey, are you about on Saturday?’

‘Well… I’m going out.’ Of course. She’s always out. Students, bah.

‘Will mum be home though?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Because… Nora and I are going to drive up to *** and surprise mum for mother’s day!’ *Fanfare* *Trumpets* *Streamers*

‘Hmm… alright then. But you’re not coming out with me.’

Thanks little sis. I miss you too.

Might have something to do with when I pulled that bassist she fancied… maybe. Geez, you only chased after him for two years and then I swooped in and distracted him with my womanly curves… let it go girl!

And there lie my weekend plans… stay tuned!

RitziCx

For those who care, Beetroot Vegetarian Cafe is at 92 Berwick Street, Soho, Londonia. Open til 9pm, it’s basically amazing, and I highly recommend it.

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