And Brixton makes better patties too. As much as I loved my time in the West Country, even the best pastys made me pine for a a good old pattie from one of Brixton's small bakeries, made fiery with scotch bonnet and the pastry brilliant yellow from the cornflour. None of that bland nonsense, and none of that swede filth thank gawd.
And - nope - the patties in St Pauls never seemed to quite hit the spot, although food wasn't always the highest priority in some of those cafes.
And - nope - the patties in St Pauls never seemed to quite hit the spot, although food wasn't always the highest priority in some of those cafes.





