Even the Elizabethans were wary of the London neighbourhood now known as King's Cross: “Walk not there too late,” one scholar warned in the 17th century, and that was before the bone boilers and horse butchers moved in, followed by the slum dwellers and, more recently, the drug dealers, pickpockets and prostitutes.
When I moved to London in 2004, I looked at an apartment in King's Cross, a notorious area of central London sandwiched between the Regent's Canal to the north and Bloomsbury to the south. It was a lovely place, full of light, spread over three floors, with a shiny red plastic button by the front door.
“What's this?” I asked the real estate agent, who shrugged and looked sheepish.
“It's just a precaution,” he said. “You won't ever need it.”
It was, of course, a panic button, and when I noticed the bars over each of the big, bright windows, I decided perhaps this was not the apartment for me. These days I probably couldn't afford it, because rents are soaring in this once-decrepit neighbourhood. (“Mountains of filth,” sniffed a 19th-century politician making an official report on King's Cross. “Hillocks of horse-dung.”)
The renewal of the past few years is largely due to the refurbishment of St. Pancras rail station, the Victorian gem that, until 10 years ago, was the derelict home of crackheads, hookers and out-of-their-heads ravers. Now, as the London terminus for the Eurostar train, it's home to bon vivants, gourmands and out-of-pocket champagne swillers. In 2011, a luxury hotel will reopen in the station, giving the local economy another boost. One of London's top art schools, Central St. Martins, is relocating to King's Cross; can avant-garde shoulder pads be far behind?
For now, the neighbourhood is still sleazy enough to provide an illicit thrill for the urban explorer – it is home to Soho Books, which proudly proclaims itself “Adult Retailer of the Year, 2009.” (I didn't know they'd already held the awards ceremony.) But the rubber fetishists and weed peddlers are increasingly being squeezed out by the design and advertising agencies, and the young professionals who've snapped up Victorian row houses – even if they have to step over drunks to get their kids to school in the morning.
It's a glorious part of London because it's the real London: squalor and beauty living in companionable peace. But the Elizabethans were right; you really should watch your purse at night.
Getting off the train
You could spend an entire day at St. Pancras, the most beautiful train station in Europe and now a mini-mall filled with clothing boutiques and food shops. If you're going to Paris or Brussels, you should factor in at least an extra hour for a stop in Europe's longest champagne bar, where you'll be drinking on the platform only a few metres away from the wheezing Eurostar trains. If you're hungry, the St. Pancras Grand serves classic English cuisine – bubble and squeak, liver and bacon – with a 21st-century twist. You'll feel like Celia Johnson in Brief Encounter (and hopefully not like Anna Karenina). www.stpancras.com
London Broil
Who knew you could feed a restaurant full of people using food raised and grown within the boundaries of dirty old London? But that's what chef Oliver Rowe has done at his popular, inviting restaurant Konstam, where the windows are draped in swaths of bathtub chain. Start with pigeon breast (not from Trafalgar Square) and horseradish crème fraîche, and follow it with duck leg (not from the nearby canal) and gooseberry compote. Book early. 2 Acton St.; www.konstam.co.uk
