Uri's Pizza: kosher fast food in Stamford Hill

Just before the pandemic hit I joined one of Rabbi Mendy Korer's public walking tours of London's ultra-Orthodox Jewish area Stamford Hill. The tour had all the access, insight, jokes and snacks you need for a gripping morning getting to know an enclave of our city that for most Londoners is an enigma. Mendy runs his public walking tour every couple of months and you can book via his website. 

Friends and family were intrigued by my visit to Stamford Hill, maybe prompted by some recent popular dramas set in similar communities. So when the Covid clouds parted I asked Mendy to do a private tour of Stamford Hill for us. In the end we did three.

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I wanted to top and tail the private tours with some local kosher food. Ideally somewhere that feels like it is part of the tour, and which made the tour feel a bit immersive by some mingling with Hasidic staff and customers, but where we didn't feel like we were gawping and pointing at a community that is very private and actively separates itself from the rest of us. This wish for privacy and separateness, what Wikipedia's article about Hasidic Judaism calls actively seeking "social exclusion", makes it awkward for the likes of me to go charging into local businesses that have zero interest in having me as a customer, let alone bringing a group of tourists.

Still, the venue for a pre-tour coffee and pastry was a no brainer: Grodzinski's at the top of Stamford Hill is London's oldest kosher bakery and makes a sensational cheese and cherry danish.

Lunch was trickier. I found a few suggestions through Google, but I soon realised that my exhausting liberal hipster algorithm required a reccy, a taste test, and a chat with the management about bringing in a tour group. Which is how I found Uri's Pizza, a no-frills kosher cafe on a side street off Stamford Hill, run by and for local Hasidim. 

Uri's Pizza is run by the wonderfully kind, wry, brisk and busy Rivka and her team. She and Abraham were fine, if maybe a bit puzzled, with me wanting to bring a group of 12 on a Sunday afternoon.

Uri's and the nearby Tasti Pizza are the Stamford Hill's kosher fast food outlets. Their customer base is broadly the same as McDonald's: mothers and children, groups of teenagers, colleagues having a quick coffee, but in this part of town families means 5, 6 or more children, groups of teenagers are always single sex, and colleagues are more likely to be taking a break from their full-time Torah study not their office. Moreover Hasidic enclaves like Stamford Hill tend to have what Brooklyn tour guide Frieda Vizel calls a "mom-n-pop shop economy" and this extends to fast food, with no showing for the normal multinational corporations. At Uri's you do get a proper fast food style tray liner but it is bilingual Yiddish and English. As you can see in my photo, there is also a place by the door to park your fedora, the everyday hat of choice for Chasidic men and boys. 

Falafel pittas are a popular takeaway lunch. It is manically overstuffed with so many pickles and salads that you need to fork it out of the bag. This is the "heimish" approach to food, and even to life, that is important in the Hasidic world and which you find all over Stamford Hill. The word heimish is derived from the Yiddish word for home,  and in British English we might say "homely", although that word has been appropriated in American English to be a socially acceptable equivalent of "ugly". When it comes to food, it sort of means generous, maybe a little informal, and made on the premises. But it covers more than food, and writer and film-maker Sarah Rosen says heimish is "something you feel, not something you can define".

At one pre-tour coffee at Grodzinski's bakery I noticed they were selling their own sushi. I asked Rabbi Mendy how it is, and he answered with a complimentary shrug "It's heimish!". Decide for yourself. The ads for Grodzinski's sushi feature local "Hasidic comedian, magician, mentalist, mind reader, entertainer" Meilich Landau who cracks daily Yiddish and English jokes on his Instagram feed.

At Uri's Pizza the menu and food prep is based on the rules of ultra-Orthodox Jewish dietary laws. Foods, utensils and kitchens in kosher cooking are divided into meat, dairy ("milky") and "pareve" (neutral). Meat and dairy are always stored, cooked, eaten and sold separately. I haven't quite figured out how it works at Uri's, but I believe the food there mostly pareve, but some milky. They definitely have ice cream on the menu, although I have never ordered it. When some of my group wanted milk for their tea, it had to be fetched from the way in the back of the shop, but I might be over-thinking that.

Opening hours too are dictated by how the Hasidic week goes. While most days Uri's is open until 10:30 pm, like many businesses in Stamford Hill they are closed on Friday and most of Saturday. On Friday staff and customers are preparing for their own Shabbos including Friday night dinner, and they won't be leaving the house until after sunset on Saturday. Uri's reopens at 9:00 pm on Saturday for some late-night post-Shabbos action until 1:00 am.

As a popular hangout for large local families, during the day Uri's often has a log jam of double-buggies and kids' scooters and bikes both inside and outside. Beyond childhood, separation of the sexes is an important and visually striking aspect of this community, and this includes the counter at Uri's with its theoretically separate queues for men and women. This family I photographed here happened to fall into line, but at busy times the queue gets a little more informal. Or maybe heimish.

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On the walking tours there can sometimes be up to 12 of us, so I always let Rifka and her team know in advance what we want for lunch. This means by Thursday latest, given the Friday and Saturday closure. My groups gravitate towards the hummus plate with falafels -- or chummus plate as Uri's menu has it. This may be because they enjoy that throat-clearing chh when ordering their hummus, or just because I pimp it quite heavily, but either way it's a good choice. 

Hina, who snapped this photo of a hummus plate after our recent walking tour, says these were "the best falafels I have ever tasted". The hummus comes with a pool of either olive oil or tahini, plus some extra tahini on the side. Plus unlimited pita, although this is usually only theoretical because one is enough.

So what about the pizza? It's Uri's Pizza after all. Full disclosure: I have never had it. But one time when I was having lunch there, the guy at the counter asked if I or one of my tour group members had been recommending Uri's "on the internet" because people had been coming in for the pizza saying they read about it there. Most Hasidic Jews don't (or shouldn't) go online, although there is a small but interesting Hasidic presence on Instagram and a lot of folks seem to use Twitter. Uri's itself has only a super-basic and frustrating website, where emails bounce back as undelivered. So they figured it must have been one of their outsider customers who sent their pizza viral. I did some digging over lunch, and it turned out to be down to Insta-famous chef and self-described "pop-up kween" Whyte Rushen who had recently recommended the pizza at Uri's as "fucking banging".

 

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The heimish principle of informality means that the menu at Uri's is not really a reflection of what you can order. Only items with a price are available. Even then, not always.

If you are lucky there are some off-menu treats. I once ordered a potato latke from the menu, but no luck. Instead they had some baked potato knishes. I rinsed three of them. 

I had never seen knishes in London before. They are a cornerstone of New York Jewish cuisine in the Ashkenazi (European) Jewish tradition. I have been to New York a few times and I always go to the shabbily fabulous Yonah Schimmel's Knish on the Lower East Side. I was once there in the '90s when some college students were trying to make a documentary, and the proprietor was being hilariously grumpy and difficult with them. I doubt they got enough footage.

Uri's knishes, if you are lucky enough to be there when they make some, are very traditional. They are made entirely of mashed potato, maybe with a tiny bit of onion, baked with a few sesame seeds. Hard to explain how delicious and moreish they are.

The priorities of dietary laws and the resulting predominance of smaller or local food brands throughout Hasidic neighbourhoods make food shopping a treat for people like me who enjoy exploring supermarkets and looking at packaging. At Uri's the soft drinks tend to be Israeli brands, such as this can of a mango nectar pop that my friend Caroline has here.

Uri's has 155 Google reviews at the time of writing this blog in May 2022. Over the year or so that I have been going there, they have smartened the place up a bit with new booths and self-service hot drinks. They don't mind outsiders like me and my walking tour groups, but it is still the perfect place for a good heimish feed after a long day at the yeshivah.

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Uri's Pizza, 4 Windus Road, London N16 6UP

020 8880 8788

Most photos are mine. Some are by friends who joined a walking tour with Rabbi Mendy Korer:

• Hina @the_ferral_goats
• Jess @jessicarimmington
• Ruby @rubysprecious

The Slow Death of Surface Mail

For many years I ran a successful online shop selling Tupperware brand products. I used this same blog to document my adventures as The Tupperware Man from 2006 to about 2012. It's all still there if you want to read it.

Overseas customers would often ask why I didn't offer a slow and cheap "Surface Mail" option for larger deliveries.

I wish I could. Here's the story.

I previously did offer delivery by Surface Mail (sent by sea, not air) as an option for customers outside the UK. It is cheap and hence attractive to customers, and while it is too slow for most people -- up to 12 weeks delivery by sea -- that was fine for some customers who did not need their order urgently.

Unfortunately, when the UK Royal Mail rebranded Surface Mail as "International Economy" in 2014, they quietly removed the main features that made it useful for large, non-urgent packages: optional tracking, and optional extra insurance and compensation above the standard £20. I only discovered this when following the change of name from Surface Mail to International Economy I tried to send a large heavy package to a customer in Yemen. It was worth over £100, so I wanted to add the extra insurance and tracking. The post office staff told me it was no longer possible to add these features to the rebranded International Economy. I and my customer were now limited to £20 compensation if the £100+ parcel was lost, damaged or undelivered. I took the chance, and thankfully it arrived safe and sound in Sana'a, Yemen.

In my opinion, Royal Mail removed the tracking and extra insurance options deliberately, to make International Economy less attractive and in effect virtually unusable. The Post Office website says the service is ideal for "heavier parcels that don’t need to arrive in a hurry", but surely if a package is large and heavy enough for the sender to consider using International Economy, surely the contents are highly likely to be worth more than £20? For a while I did continue to offer delivery by International Economy for all overseas orders, but in the end I stopped. No way did I want to be stuck with compensating a customer for lost contents worth £100 or more, when the Royal Mail would only compensate me maximum £20.

Removing this option for additional insurance has forced people to use more expensive and, for Royal Mail and the Post Office, more lucrative options. Given that staff at small Post Offices are specifically instructed to "upsell" services, I suppose I should not be surprised.

Following Royal Mail's quiet rebranding of the Surface Mail option as International Economy, the Post Office then was really on a mission to slowly throttle the service. First they started hiding the very existence of International Economy. Ask the counter staff at main Crown Post Offices for your options for sending an overseas package, and they will never mention International Economy. It became a game for me, even when I had no intention of using the service. Several times I called out the counter staff at the London Bridge Post Office for omitting to mention it. One even said there was no longer any such service. So you're thinking, why not use the self-service counters, which all main Crown Post offices have? That would stop these painful exchanges. Do I need to tell you? -- International Economy is the only service not available through the self-service machines, and nor do the machines refer you to the counter for additional options.

Again, by stealth, International Economy is made that bit more difficult to choose, because (1) you need to already know about it, and (2) you need to join the counter queue to use it  -- if the staff member at the counter even acknowledges that it exists.  

At smaller sub-Post Offices, staff are for sure trained by omission to not know that International Economy exists. On the Post Office's disastrous Horizon IT system the option is conveniently hidden on a separate screen. I have seen this for myself: the guy at my local sub-Post Office showed me the screen to explain why he had initially told me there was no such service. Again, this is surely deliberate.

But there's more. Any claim for loss or damage for a package sent by International Economy must be done by requesting a paper claim form, while all other services have an online claim. There is no other reason than to make it difficult, and hence an unattractive service.

And there's even more. Such a claim requires original proof of purchase and value, both of which most retailers need to keep for their accounts. Again, Royal Mail is using stealth to make International Economy virtually unusable.

So it seems pretty clear to me that International Economy does not generate enough revenue for Royal Mail, and they have a policy of actively marginalising it into a slow death, or even pretending it is dead already. One day the service will be withdrawn, like International Reply Coupons were in 2011, and Royal Mail will say it is because no-one was using it.  Well, I wonder why?

Incidentally, it wasn't just Royal Mail working my last nerve over this. There was another problem with online retailers like me offering delivery by International Economy, but this was about customer behaviour. When I did offer delivery by International Economy, I found that some overseas customers were automatically choosing it because it was the cheapest option, disregarding my heavy klaxon warnings about the 12-week delivery time, and about the lack of tracking and insurance. They would call me 10 days after dispatch demanding to know where their delivery is, asking for tracking details, etc. So I changed the name of the delivery option to "12 weeks by sea, no tracking, max £20 compensation" and still they chose it. I had a few very difficult conversations with angry customers, and I had to find a nice way to remind them that they specifically chose this service.

I don't really miss running my online shop, but I do miss Surface Mail.

Photo from Catford Couriers

Russian around in Kaliningrad

I love to travel, and many years ago when the Guardian newspaper first launched their online edition I won a contest to spend six months travelling around the world for them, writing about my travels as I went. I know, eh! This is the ad for my column that they ran in the paper.

Now when I go away I need make sure my Tupperware business keeps running.  The orders keep coming in, and my delivery from the distributor comes every Thursday or Friday. So if I am not here to sort, pack and dispatch orders, I will have some irate customers.

This year I am solving the problem by taking two short holidays just a few weeks apart. Next week I am going to New York, where I am thrilled to be going to my first Aunt Barbara Tupperware party.  There will be a couple of days' delay in dispatch for next week's orders because I am not back until Monday.

My other trip this month was to Gdansk, Poland and another very unusual place -- Kaliningrad.  It's okay if you have never heard of it, although you are probably thinking it sounds a bit Russian.  Well it is just that -- literally a bit of Russia.  Kaliningrad is a small wedge of land between Poland and Lithuania that has been part of Germany, East Prussia and now a disconnected enclave of Russia separated from the rest of the country.  Look on the map and be amazed that you never knew it existed.

It's not the beautiful German-speaking city of Königsberg it once was. It was pretty much flattened in World War II by British then Russian bombs.  A small part of its former charm is still there, and some buildings were restored or rebuilt after the war, but with the Soviet Union in control there wasn't the will to recreate the beautiful German city it had been. The most obvious sign of this is the gruesome 1970s Community party HQ called the House of Soviets, or the "buried robot" as locals call it.  It stands abandoned and derelict in a prominent position by the river, near the site of the former Königsberg Castle. When the castle was destroyed in the War, the USSR opted to not restore it and commissioned the House of Soviets instead.  It is officially closed and boarded up on all sides, but I managed to sneak in and have a look. 

I snuck into the strange and abandoned House of Soviets, completed in the 1980s but never used and now fenced off. Locals call it the buried robot #houseofsoviets #kaliningrad

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In Kaliningrad I decided to look up some local Tupperware ladies.  I found the address of the distributorship in the back of the Russian Tupperware catalogue and while my travel companion James went off to the Amber Museum, I set off down ulitsa Alexandra Nevsokova, looking for number 51A.  It was a hike, but I found the building, complete with Tupperware sign. I explored round the back of the building, but sadly the shutters were down.  I left them a business card on their postbox, which I am sure caused some confusion when they did open the office.

@thetupperwareman visited @tupperware_cis today but было закрыто. I left my card. #kaliningrad #tupperware_cis

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If you have the chance to visit Russia, and you are an adventurous traveller, I strongly recommend using AirBnB to stay in a local's home. It is logistically a bit awkward because for a Russian visa you need a "tourist voucher" which shows which hotel you are staying in (or which local relative or friend has invited you to stay in their home). If you are using AirBNB or backpacking, the easiest way round this is to order a tourist voucher from a travel agency, which they will issue for a small fee without you needing to actually book a hotel. I know, it does seem odd to give false information in your visa application, but it is perfectly acceptable. My tourist voucher cost £20 online from Stress Free Visas, and I then applied for my visa through the official Russian visa centre in London.

James and I stayed in Anna and Vladimir's little flat overlooking the river and the cathedral.  It was your standard old-school Soviet housing block:  the exterior and communal areas are pretty bleak and neglected but the flat itself is a cosy haven. There was some fun decor:  I had a Snow White heart-shaped pillow and there was an illuminated display case of amber and seashells inlaid in the floor in the hallway!

 

Fun domestic decor at our @airbnb in Kaliningrad, including a display case inlaid in the floor with shells and amber #kaliningrad #russiandecor #airbnbhomes

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If you can remember the 1960s kitchen, you weren't there

Last summer's Vintage at Southbank festival was great fun. A blogger called Kathryn took these great photos of my vintage 1960s kitchen set and posted them to her blog Yes I Like That. Thanks Kathryn for letting me re-post them here.

Green genius

I was very pleased with myself. I had scored a big bag of beautiful Hass avocadoes from my local market, and all of them perfectly ripe and ready, not the solid bullets you sometimes find. Bargain price too.

I have played with many guacamole recipes over the years, and my signature version is what I call "Japamole". It includes some wasabi, the brain-tingling Japanese mustard, and a few other little Japanese touches. With my bargain bag of avocadoes, I would make a big bowl of it, and take it with crudites and tortilla chips round to my neighbour Erika's that evening. She has visitors from a Finland and a few of us were having an impromptu Saturday night get together, all bringing a dish.

Back home with my haul from the market, I started to halve, peel and stone the avocadoes. To remove the stone, I do the cheffy trick of a karate-chop with the sharp edge of a large knife, so it is slightly embedded in the stone, then twist and lift the stone out. The avocadoes looked amazing, just perfectly ripe and luscious.

Text message. It's Erika, checking what everyone is bringing tonight. "My special guacamole!", I text back. Reply: "Hannah's already bringing her husband's guacamole, can u do something else?" Something else?! "Okay, no problem!", I lie. So I have eight large avocadoes already halved in a bowl, and a potato masher in my hand. Hannah's husband Mauricio is Mexican. I can't compete. But I certainly need to do something with all these avocadoes. And quick.

This is definitely a time to turn to my favourite cookbook -- the internet. I wipe the avocado from my hands, and start scrolling through page after page of avocado recipes:

* Guacamole. Out of the question.
* Salads. Too many other ingredients I don't have.
* Soups. No good for a buffet.
* Cleansing face masks. Oh for Heavens sake.

Then I see it. Avocado lime ice cream. As well as my mashed avocadoes, I just need lime juice, honey and whipping cream. Check. I have all three. Genius.

For every two avocadoes, I add 120 ml of lime juice and the same quantity of runny honey, and blitz in my blender. I then fold in 240ml of cream and pour the elegant pale green mix into my trusty Tupperware Jel-Ring mould, then slide it into the freezer and hope for the best.

Needless to say, Hannah's husband's guacamole was delicious, with a lovely spiky touch of chilli with the creamy avocado. People knew I had brought dessert, but until I unmoulded the ring of pale green ice cream, no-one had a clue what it was. I quickly toasted some desiccated coconut in a dry pan, and sprinkled it on top as I scooped the ice cream into bowls.

Some people were a little reluctant, not wanting to be impolite, but also not very keen to try this unusual ice cream. But not for long. It was a real triumph. They really really loved it.

Next day, I had to send the recipe around on Facebook, and every couple of months since then, someone lets me know they have made it themselves. The Finnish guests couldn't get enough of it, and the recipe has now gone global!

Dare I try it with wasabi?

You will always find me in the kitchen at festivals

I just heard today from the distributors in Dublin that I was the top-selling UK Tupperware consultant for the second quarter of 2011. Given that six months ago I had quit selling Tupperware after the UK distributor went out of business, I am very pleased with myself for doing so well. Thanks very much indeed to customers past, present and future, for your orders and your enthusiasm.

And it's full steam ahead for what is my most exciting Tupperware adventure yet -- my 3-day 1960 Tupperware party at the Vintage at Southbank festival next week. I was frankly daunted to be shown a 4 metre square blank space in the Royal Festival Hall last month, in which I have to create a kitchen set from scratch. I work alone, and I have pretty much zero budget, but I decided to face the challenge. The basic premise is that I am re-staging the first UK Tupperware party, which was in Weybridge in 1960, but I reckon I will be taking a lot of liberties with the period detail. But not only does my set need to showcase the Tupperware, and look more or less authentically 1960, but it needs to hold its own next to the professionally-designed and dressed living room set right next to me, hosted by Foyles bookshop. Sorry, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit out of sheer terror. The festival organisers have trusted me to do a good job of it, despite my limited experience and resources, and I am determined to pull it off.

I have sourced some great period kitchen furniture from eBay -- although some of it will be going straight back onto eBay the day after the festival! I bought this lovely 1959 kitchen dresser, restored to its original glory, and I think I will be keeping it. I have ordered a roll of checkerboard lino for an authentic vintage kitchen feel, and I am trying to work out how to lay it without ruining the Festival Hall's wooden floor. Afterwards, I may well lay it in my own bathroom and kitchen. As well as all the Tupperware to dress the set and demonstrate for the punters, riffing on the classics I have been blogging here the last month or so, the lovely people at my local vintage shop, Radio Days in Waterloo, have been kind enough to lend me some original 1950s and 1960s items. These include a fantastic baby blue rotary telephone, a politically incorrect minstrel tea-cosy, some late 50s/early 60s magazines, and other gems. My sister Lois will be the party hostess, and she has bought a perfect 1950s frock for the occasion.

It is very exciting, and something new for me, to see my presence at the festival mentioned in the media:

• The official Vintage Festival blog had a piece about me. Okay, I pretty much wrote it for them, but they published it with some brilliant retro graphics.
  
• The Festival team have created the lovely ad for my party you can see in this blog post, featuring the Jel N Serve, which I will indeed be demonstrating live. At that link, scroll all the way down for the ad. Those are not my manicured hands, byt the way...
  
• Time Out London's preview of the festival mentions my party as a highlight. Thanks!
  
• The charming Kiera Buckley-Jones of BBC Homes and Antiques magazine is dressing the Foyles living room set next to mine, and is looking forward to us being neighbours.
  

I will be in the ticketed performance area inside the Royal Festival Hall, not in the public market area outside, but I do hope to have a chance to work the crowds outside in the market too, and hand out a few catalogues.

I am nervous, but definitely excited.

The art of Tupperware

I am thrilled that Wayne and Gerardine Hemingway have asked me to organise a Tupperware party as part of their Vintage at Southbank festival. For the weekend of 29 to 31 July, London's Royal Festival Hall will be transformed into a warren of venues and performance spaces, to celebrate and showcase British style and design of the the last seven decades. There is an amazing programme of music, films, performances, events, workshops, food and drink, and more; and there will be a vintage marketplace outside the RFH, which is open to all.

I will not, as you might expect, be in the marketplace. The Hemingways have instead asked me to create a retro kitchen set inside the ticketed area of the Royal Festival Hall, into which I will invite festival punters to join me and my hostess at a Tupperware party that celebrates fifty years of Tupperware as a classic piece of domestic product design. Very exciting, and quite daunting, but I am delighted and excited to be involved.

This is not the first time that my Tupperware parties have collided with the world of art and performance. In September 2008, I blogged about a Tupperware party hosted by bearded drag queen Miss Timberlina at a London Fashion Week party, in a beach hut decorated by Alesha Dixon. Then at the 2009 Edinburgh Fringe Festival, I supplied Tupperware products and after-show sales for US Tupperware queen Dixie Longate. Sadly, my blog was on hiatus at that time, so there are no photos or reports from Dixie's show, but if she makes it back to the UK for more shows, I will be at her beck and call and will blog it all.

One performance for which I was actually paid as an artiste was Gay Shame Goes Girly, an event organised by the Duckie collective in 2009 as a tongue-in-cheek alternative to London's Gay Pride. A celebration of all things female, or matters perceived to be culturally female or feminine, I was brought in to do Tupperware Lady training. I prowled the event in my Tupperware pinny, with a tottering tower of Tupperware all Velcro-ed together, looking for likely recruits, of any gender. I used the official Tupperware training manual to ensure that each potential Lady had clean nails, had their hair off their face, and that they could do a decent product demonstration to their friends. Successful candidates became part of my sales force for the evening, for which I gave them a business card and a complimentary piece of Tupperware to demonstrate and keep.

Most recently, Goldsmiths fine art students Miguel Pacheco and Isaac Muñoz asked me to be part of their gallery show at the College. It was a performance assignment, but they had decided to get someone else to do the performance for them: my good self. I did a 20-minute potted party in the white gallery space, with a totally straight face, and without any concessions to the venue. I think an art critic would call it a transgressive interactive performance piece: as well as demonstrating some student-friendly Tupperware products, I drew a raffle, put a tutor in a gingham pinny as my hostess, and encouraged the international student audience to give Tupper-monials about their favourite products from their mothers' kitchens back home in Lisbon, Frankfurt, Budapest and Rio. At the end of the party, art met commerce and I took orders. Miguel and Isaac took a chance by allowing someone else to do their performance for them, but I think I did them proud.

My Tupperware parties at the Vintage Festival will take place across the whole weekend of 29 to 31 July, on the ground floor of the Royal Festival Hall. Festival ticket holders only, I'm afraid, but I will also be taking a turn around the market place now and again.

Tupperware Classics: Space Saver Ovals a.k.a Modular Mates

This photo is obviously a publicity shot. No-one in the real world would have kitchen storage like that. Would they?

Ladies and gentleman I refer you to Sandie, one of my first ever customers in 2006. When I delivered her order, she sweetly allowed me to take a snap of her larder. I refer you also to Leanne and Paul, who have hosted two fun parties at their lovely home in Woodmansterne, and who again were kind enough to allow me to photograph their kitchen in 2007.

A kitchen cupboard well-stocked with Space Savers is the sign of a hard-core Tupperware connoisseur, like those lovely customers I just mentioned. A snazzy lunchbox, water bottle or sandwich keeper is something you can show off, or showcase in the office fridge, but only you see the inside of your kitchen cupboards. Just imagine opening that door to bliss, not chaos.

The Space Saver range is another product that Tupperware could not stop, even though they tried. They had an ostentatious farewell party a couple of years back, and replaced them with the boxier and frankly superior Space Maker range. But, momentum and demand brought them back, and the Space Savers are still a mainstay of the catalogue. I find they are especially popular with my antipodean customers, who I suppose are used to being particularly scrupulous with the air-tight storage of dry food, protecting it from humidity and bugs.

The Space Saver is as well-designed a piece of Tupperware as any. Maybe more. It comes in four sizes -- five if you include the round spaghetti jar -- which correspond with food packaging sizes. Designed on the skyscraper principle, the Space Saver has a small "footprint" on your shelf or countertop, storing vertically to maximise space in my hostesses' bijou London kitchens.

Interestingly (to me, anyway), the Space Saver name is only used in the UK. In markets where kitchens and living spaces tend to be bigger, like Australia and the US, the name is Modular Mates, emphasising their stacking and tesselating qualities. Because with a selection of the different sizes, you can create stacks all the same height, which is very pleasing. The lip on the seal means they stack securely without toppling. Here's Leanne's stack for a perfect example. Opening your larder to see that, you don't have to be Bree Vanderkamp to feel a frisson of pleasure.

Once you look at it in detail, you realise what a feat of kitchengineering the Space Saver is. The container is lightly frosted to add to the uniform appearance when many are used, but there is a cutaway polished window, so you can see what's inside. The seal has two separate openings, a small one for pouring and a large one for scooping. The seal opens flush against the side of the product, so there is no clogging or backwash when you pour something like flour. The Space Saver is slim, and fits comfortably and ergonomically in the hand. At a party, I sometimes make a saucy remark about that, depending on the mood of the crowd.

You can get a sheet of reusable labels for your Space Savers. No need to arrange them in alphabetical order though.

As a treat, here's my favourite relative Aunt Barbara, the top-selling Tupperware lady in the US, demonstrating them for you:

Tupperware Classics: Sandwich Keeper

Tupperware is keen on coining new names for its products. I have a soft spot for the Eleganzia range, which I always say in RuPaul's voice, but the Bake 2 Basics range is one pun too many for me. And there is a lot of 'n': Grab'n'Cut (scissors), Heat'n'Serve (microwave dish), and Sip'n'Care (baby's cup).

I also like the idea of naming the product in a way that suggests it is not just passively storing your food, but actively taking care of it. Doing the job so you don't have to. So your cake is not in a tin, but in the Cake Taker; and your sandwich is not in a box but in the Sandwich Keeper.

The Sandwich Keeper is a very humble product, almost the cheapest thing in the catalogue. It is the product I recommend to party guests who don't really want to buy anything, but who don't want to be impolite to the hostess. It feels like a classic, hence its inclusion here, but that's maybe because there is something a bit old school and retro about a sandwich made with sliced bread. You certainly wouldn't get a baguette, roll, or doorstep butty in there.

Don't underestimate the Sandwich Keeper. It is beautifully designed. There is no seal to store (or lose), because it is attached, which is a blessing. The Sandwich Keeper's compactness, slim with the rounded edges, is very pleasing on the eye and in the hand. It is a minor feat of engineering too, with what Tupperware grandly calls a "living hinge", all moulded from one piece of plastic. There are no separate pieces to fall apart, get lost, or harbour crumbs or germs. The clasp is also integral, and will not pop open when carried.

A nice feature is that it is designed with a proper top and bottom. The bottom has four little feet that keep it slightly raised above the counter top to avoid scratches. According to my product guide from Tupperware HQ, the sandwich icon etched on the top of the Keeper adds "a touch of humour", which even I admit might be pushing it a bit.

The Sandwich Keeper currently comes in the same colours as the Sports Bottle, and customers do indeed tend to buy them together for children's school lunches, no doubt packed in smart West London kitchens. On my consultant order form, intriguingly the colours are marked "Boy" and "Girl". At first glance in the catalogue, you would say "Green" and "Pink" -- but hold your horses, and look closer. In a camp flourish worthy of Eleganzia herself, the choice of colours is actually a manly "Tang" or a womanly "Fuchsia".

Tupperware Classics: Tiwi Ice Tups

"Tiwi" is a teddy bear character devised and copyrighted by the Tupperware Brands corporation, but he seems to have never quite caught on with children. There have been a number of Tiwi branded products over the years, and he does still feature in some knick-knacks like colouring books and keyrings that I can use to keep hostesses' children out of my face while I am trying to entertain her guests. But Tiwi is pretty much toast, usurped by Hello Kitty and Spongebob Squarepants, both of whom are licensed for kids' Tupperware products that I can occasionally supply.

Funnily enough, Tiwi's last remaining product is one of Tupperware's most beloved and classic: the Tiwi Ice Tups, a.k.a. the Tupperware ice lolly makers. When I say beloved, I mean of course beloved by parents, not by the children they are aimed at. I am a childless bachelor, but even I know that just as children prefer Spongebob to Tiwi, they would generally choose a Fab or a Funny Foot over a frumpy home-made ice lolly.

Still, the Ice Tups are a fun and iconic product, and they always prompt cries of nostalgia when folks see them, and as such they are definitely worthy of their place in this countdown of classics. The set consists of a stand and 6 moulds, each stick featuring Tiwi himself. You also get a couple of extra seals and sticks for when they get lost (and they will). You fill the moulds with fruit juice. coulis, milk shake, smoothie or yogurt, then give them a few hours in the freezer to make healthy and original bespoke ice lollies.

But face the truth. If you order Tiwi Ice Tups from me, they are for you, not for your children. So why not make some grown-up lollies for yourself. If there was time at a Tupperware party to prepare and freeze lollies, I would be filling the moulds with coffee ice cream laced with a slug of Kahlua, then dipping them in melted chocolate before a quick re-freeze. Or I would make these fantastic and easy Pimms ice-lollies.

I have run Tupperware stalls at many summer fetes and fayres, and even though there are some quite spendy items on my display, it had never occurred to me that they are tempting thieves. Strangely, the only product that has ever been stolen is a set of the Tiwi Ice Tups, at the St Barnabus Community fair in Bow, East London. I blogged the whole sorry saga back in September 2008.

Tupperware Classics: Shape-O

This rather arty shot of the Tupperware Shape-O toy comes from the Australian blog Babyology: Modern Finds for Hip Kids and Parents. Modern? Hip? For a toy that hasn't changed in 50 years, that is quite an accolade. As the blog says, the toy has retained its iconic status because "the Shape-O teaches shapes, colours and logic as well as being a super rolling rattle for bubs".

I find that almost everyone knows the Shape-O from childhood, but that many folks are surprised that it is a Tupperware product. In fact, the Tupperware catalogue has always had one or two products unconnected with food, usually toys. Remember the Pop a Lot. Tupperdiva's fantastic website has a gallery featuring Tupperware toys from 1965 to 1989 -- including the Amphibio and Totempails, which were briefly available again last year during Tupperware's UK 50th anniversary. Today's UK catalogue features the Shape-O, and also the pleasingly old-fashioned Stencil Set that Brianna and Chelsea are enjoying in this 90-second YouTube clip. Note Chelsea's product placement of the Shape-O at the end of the clip!



All the classic Tupperware pieces I am blogging about have had some subtle colour changes over the years, usually to reflect changing tastes in kitchen decor. A 1970s solid opaque orange Quick Shake for sure looks a little too old-school for most current tastes, and it now comes in a see-through colour that the catalogue calls Custard. And while it's true that a Google image search will return a very few Shape-O's that have dabbled with a different palette, that was a very brief interlude. I can certainly only supply them in the classic and timeless red and blue, with yellow shapes.

The Shape-O is a fantastic toy, and brilliantly designed to take children through different stages of play and learning. For the very youngest children, 6 months and up, it is a ball that makes a cool noise because of the shapes inside, and that is easy to pick up by the holes. Eventually the child will learn to pull the little handles connected to elastic, which opens the ball to release the yellow shapes. Posting the pieces back inside the ball teaches about shapes and logic. And when that gets old, each shape features an etched number and dots, for number learning.

A Shape-O is built to last, and they are often passed down from parent to child. I know from my customers that it is also a popular nostalgic gift for an adult friend or family member. The mini-version, attached to a keyring, would probably be my best-seller, if I could get hold of them in any quantity.

Naturally, sometimes the shapes themselves get lost. A very determined and strong pair of children who try to stretch the two halves as far apart as possible might eventually snap the elastic. Spares are available from me.

Tupperware Classics: Square Rounds

Of all the Tupperware classics, the Square Rounds are probably the most timeless and iconic. Whether it's the roomy 800ml size shown here, or the lower-slung 400ml version, it is a sorry kitchen that doesn't have some Square Rounds. Air-tight, water-tight, cool-looking -- perfect.

Once they were an all-purpose Tupperware container, but Square Rounds have really come into their own for freezer storage. The high-quality polymer material stays flexible at freezer temperatures, so a quick dip in warm water and a squeeze will loosen the solid contents with no need for a knife or pounding. The stackable design, seal with its raised lip, and slight tapering towards the base allow for maximum air-flow and quick freezing.

Originally both the container and the seal came in a milky white. The colours have chopped and changed over the years, and the font used on the seal has updated every few decades, from 50s diner-menu style through 70s bubble writing to today's Helvetica Bold. They went solid orange in the 70s (what didn't?), but they now have settled into a frosty white, with bold single-coloured seals. The current Freezer Starter Set consists of two each of the 800ml and 400ml sizes, and a longer Double Diner with their seals in orange, dark pink, and red. An audacious use of very similar colours together, but it works. Interestingly, the Double Diner name itself is a throwback to an earlier time, because it originally came with a divider, for use as a lunch box.

People sometimes say, "What is the big deal, Tupperware Man? I use plastic tubs from the Chinese takeaway, or old Flora pots. They are free." I am all for a bargain, but frankly I think Square Rounds are value for money. How many of the kitchens we grew up in still have Tupperware products that are 30, 40 even 50 years old, and still going strong, having paid for themselves hundreds of times over. I have to say I do also have plastic tubs from the Chinese takeaway: they are what I use when I send people home with leftovers. My Tupperware Square Rounds never leave the house.

If you buy Square Rounds now, they have a subtle (and for Tupperware, very rare) surface design: an abstract snowflake pattern etched all around the sides, as you can see in the photo. But otherwise they are identical to their 50s ancestors. I can stack some of my grandma's original milky white ones with mine, seamlessly.

Here's a Tupperware party tip: pour a layer of melted chocolate laced with a few drops of mint essence onto the seal, just enough to just reach the brim of the raised edges. Into the fridge it goes, and you soon have some classy thin mints.