There is a wonderful cognitive dissonance to Bistro Aix. It thinks it is in Paris but it is really in Crouch End, the flatter twin to Muswell Hill, a district so charismatic it had its own serial killer in Dennis Nilsen. (He killed more people in Willesden, but Willesden doesn’t receive its due: here or anywhere.)
We pick our way through the Versailles of north London, past Little Waitrose and the clock tower
I have never thrived in Paris.
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
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