at Hector's
if I do kick it, you may bury me here
There was a wine bar in New York that I loved to go to. I remember when it first opened, a few blocks from my West Village cubicle, and I would take myself there on Saturday mornings, sit in the corner window next to the massive pot of flowers, and romanticize my life as I looked out over W4 & W10. I then moved uptown and found another wine bar. This one was not as aesthetically rewarding, also a part of a chain, but I felt safe there with a book and a happy hour glass of wine on a Friday evening on my own. And then, I moved to London, and the search for my next neighborhood wine bar began. And unfortunately for me, I did find the perfect spot, but it was an hour and some change away from my Clapham home. But that didn’t stop me from making the commute to Hector’s.
Ah, Hector’s. The charm that spills onto the streets of Ardeligh Rd is a delight to behold. It has everything I could ever want from a neighborhood wine bar. A restored building, with the scaffolding sign of a previous business still hanging loosely from the top. You wouldn’t know the name is Hector’s unless you stepped closely to its contrasting front door to the soft yellow paint, and saw the name etched suspiciously small in the window. You walk inside and feel as though you’ve walked into a living room, the fireplace tucked into the far left corner, with comfortable nooks seated around it. There’s a bookcase of wines waiting to be perused, and the centerpiece is a swimmingly teal bar that you can’t help but admire and covet its beauty. There’s always an enchanting yet quirky arrangement of flowers on top, just slightly too big, taking the main stage.
But my favorite room in Hector’s house is the one you descend the hidden set of stairs to see. The back wine cellar, 10 degrees cooler, feels like you’re stepping into the wardrobe of Narnia, with new magic to behold each time you step inside its doors. I love sitting down with a friend, receiving the coupe of water and cup of olives, and slyly telling them I’ll be right back, and I slink away towards my little secret. I peer around corners and shelves, looking for labels and names I hadn’t seen before. And at some point, someone who works at Hector’s comes to enjoy the treasure hunt with me. I love how knowledgeable they are, and also how secure I feel talking about wine with them and never feel inferior or embarrassed by my bubbling questions and excitement to pick a new bottle to try. I wink at the silly cats painted on the walls and make my way up to reality, ready to see the look of wonder in my friend’s eyes at where I just disappeared off to.
I’ve sat many times outside until the doors close, or in the window seat with a friend or two as we munch on snacks and let the sunshine sit on our plates. But perhaps my most memorable seat is one I haven’t actually sat in since the first time I arrived at Hector’s, almost two years ago. The seat in the back corner, where two is a crowd, but one sits comfortably, and I watched this bar turn like a merry-go-round as my eyes glistened at the idea of this being my new neighborhood wine bar. It was the perfect fit, and I was determined to make it a part of my routine, no matter how many worlds away it felt from SW London. And now my jamais vus, “I never knew”, moment comes like a wave crashing over me, as Bailey, two years ago, would’ve never dreamed that not only would she be a 10-minute walk away from Hector’s after finally moving to the neighborhood of her dreams, but also that she would dream of opening a wine bar just like this one, too.
Eating, Drinking, Enjoying
Eating
Canto73
The menu description does not do all the thoughtfulness and complexity that goes into each dish justice. As they described each plate, I was in awe at how much testing went into each decision, and how an ingredient was added or modified to intensify the flavors. I think they cooked a fig leaf six different ways for the final dish. So impressive.
Drinking
Americanos
Speaking of Hector’s, I had an Americano post-dinner, pre-bottle of wine a few weeks ago, and as a Negroni lover, was immediately hooked on this lighter version with still all the bitter flavors I love. Equal parts sweet vermouth and Campari, with a dash of soda or tonic water at the end, I’ve been making my own for patio happy hour moments.
Enjoying
Hello fig season!! Look at these girls sitting pretty at the off-license shop below my flat. Turns out the guys who own it go every night after they close to the massive wholesale market in Leyton at midnight, pick up all the fresh fruit and veg for the next day, and then bring it back that same night before going home. Do we think I could catch a ride with them sometime soon to see it for myself?
