There are some places in the world that instantly make you feel at home. You know, right from that first step, that first sight, that first smell, that you are in the kind of place that could make you happy. Often this feeling accompanies events - your first day at university, your first sight of a new house, occasionally, if you are lucky, when you start a new job - but for me this happens more frequently at restaurants and cafes. I have always felt comfortable surrounded by food, with a mother who cooks better than anyone I know, and family and friends who share my love of celebration and plenty. Good memories for me are inextricably linked to the food that accompanied them. The evening I had after my first holy communion, eating home-made choc-tops and allens snakes with my best friend while watching A Little Princess, the graduation dinner my mum cooked, outdoing herself for the umpteenth time with an ode to french cooking and champagne to match, my first time at The Rose Bakery, an experience in and of itself.
Well, now I can add Petersham Nurseries to that list. I had wanted to go for ages, because of spreads in Harper's BAZAAR UK, features on Park and Cube, and the prominent role it played in the best Burberry campaign ever, of all time. Nestled in the heart of Richmond in West London, it literally abuts the field opposite a family friend's house, a fellow foodie through and through, and we've always wanted to go together. When I finally did get to go, while in London just a few weeks ago, it was a cold and windy winter day, with barely a flower in sight. But it didn't matter. We found a seat in the deserted cafe - carefully selected because of its proximity to the heater - and devoured chicken and mash, tart and salad, cake and tea, cake and tea. This is the kind of place that appeals to that homey, simple pleasures part of everyone. The part that likes flowers - lots and lots of flowers - and hand-carved pottery and chandeliers, the part that likes dirt floors and Hunter wellingtons, candles burning all the time, cake and earl grey tea and honey, roast chicken with fresh herbs, the part that likes dirt and fresh air, children and tricycles, the part that religiously, fervently refreshes Manger hoping for a new post (Look, we've all done it). Some people are more attuned to this part than others. Some people are city people with a dash of country thrown in for good measure - they eat organic, they listen to the occasional Hugh Laurie blues song. But some of us are country people who have learned city behaviour. It's less about ambition and more about happiness. A world without fashion or trends. A world formed around contentedness as it exists in the pure simplicity of pleasures.
Because isn't that the point, that despite everything - the price tags, the artfully dishevelled-ness, the overwhelming perfection of it all - it's still the dream? Because if you could, if you really, really could, if you could cook from scratch every day with organic produce and herbs from your own garden, if you could breathe fresh air and see the stars every night, if you could sleep in and go to bed early, if you could make your own quilts and knit your own beanies and spend all day surrounded by green, if you could get your hands dirty with soil and seeds, with babies and buds, with four under four and chocolate-smeared cheeks and finger-painting, wouldn't you? I know I would.
Petersham Nurseries, Church Lane (off Petersham Road), Richmond
Well, now I can add Petersham Nurseries to that list. I had wanted to go for ages, because of spreads in Harper's BAZAAR UK, features on Park and Cube, and the prominent role it played in the best Burberry campaign ever, of all time. Nestled in the heart of Richmond in West London, it literally abuts the field opposite a family friend's house, a fellow foodie through and through, and we've always wanted to go together. When I finally did get to go, while in London just a few weeks ago, it was a cold and windy winter day, with barely a flower in sight. But it didn't matter. We found a seat in the deserted cafe - carefully selected because of its proximity to the heater - and devoured chicken and mash, tart and salad, cake and tea, cake and tea. This is the kind of place that appeals to that homey, simple pleasures part of everyone. The part that likes flowers - lots and lots of flowers - and hand-carved pottery and chandeliers, the part that likes dirt floors and Hunter wellingtons, candles burning all the time, cake and earl grey tea and honey, roast chicken with fresh herbs, the part that likes dirt and fresh air, children and tricycles, the part that religiously, fervently refreshes Manger hoping for a new post (Look, we've all done it). Some people are more attuned to this part than others. Some people are city people with a dash of country thrown in for good measure - they eat organic, they listen to the occasional Hugh Laurie blues song. But some of us are country people who have learned city behaviour. It's less about ambition and more about happiness. A world without fashion or trends. A world formed around contentedness as it exists in the pure simplicity of pleasures.
Because isn't that the point, that despite everything - the price tags, the artfully dishevelled-ness, the overwhelming perfection of it all - it's still the dream? Because if you could, if you really, really could, if you could cook from scratch every day with organic produce and herbs from your own garden, if you could breathe fresh air and see the stars every night, if you could sleep in and go to bed early, if you could make your own quilts and knit your own beanies and spend all day surrounded by green, if you could get your hands dirty with soil and seeds, with babies and buds, with four under four and chocolate-smeared cheeks and finger-painting, wouldn't you? I know I would.
Petersham Nurseries, Church Lane (off Petersham Road), Richmond
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