![]() Standard Delivery on all orders minimum spend Royal Mail 1st Class Service ( 2-4 business days) - £ 1.49.We offer our standard delivery services throughout the UK and Northern Ireland. Orders placed after 3pm on a Friday and across the weekend will be delivered on Tuesday. Orders placed after 3pm on any given day may get dispatched that day but are more likely to be dispatched the following working day and therefore delivered the day after. Order by 3pm Monday to Friday, select the Next Day delivery option, and your order will be dispatched later that day and delivered on the next working day. We offer a Next Day service for UK Mainland customers. Orders weighing over 1kg will be delivered by DPD at no extra cost. We currently use Royal Mail to deliver orders weighing less than 2kg. Enjoy fast & free standard shipping – with option for next day delivery at an additional cost. Nothing ever went to waste.We pride ourselves on being able to offer unbelievable prices and promotional offers on a massive range of products. They even rubbed their hands and conditioned their hair with the leftover rind of limes. The exquisite scent brought back homesick memories of my grandmothers and aunties who would often serve me ice-cold lime sodas with strawberry syrup. She squeezed every last drop of the first fresh lime she got hold of since we left Vietnam. She tore the leaves of Thai basil onto my phở which transformed the charred onion and ginger broth to another level. In the urbanscape of damp and drizzly Hackney, the smells of star anise and black cardamon lingered two streets down, and a bowl of steaming-hot, delicious noodles greeted me home. ![]() ![]() Never knowing if I was Vietnamese or British or how to combine the two, I resented my mother’s cooking as a teenager because it was not what everyone else was eating. One which was rich with steamed pandan-flavored desserts and one with paper bags of battered haddock and salty, vinegary soggy chips (French fries). Having grown up in Britain, I was often torn between the two sides of my identity. The conversation only ever starts with, ‘Have you eaten yet?’ To cook well is to exhibit your love, kindness, friendship and compassion that you express through the colors, the flavors, and the vibrancy in your cooking. Unsurprisingly, my mum’s life revolves around food. And when supermarkets started to stock honeyed mango and green papaya, the parties got more and more elaborate. And when a friend discovered that they sold fresh pandan leaves in Chinatown, they threw everyone’s birthday parties. Imagine the exhilaration when my mum first found coriander (cilantro) in London they threw a carpet picnic of summer rolls and celebrated with full mic karaoke, volume 11. The beauty and deliciousness of their dishes mirror the compassion and affection that are often suppressed inside them. It's as if the plants in which they speak reflect the sweetness of life, the sourness it brings, the bitterness it embeds and the spiciness it embraces. They have been a sisterhood-a clan of women who support each other’s wellbeing, sing karaoke, jiggle a dance together, share food, endlessly discuss recipes and techniques and natter about herbs, fruits, and vegetables-since the early 1980s. All I know, I know by eavesdropping on their kitchen talk while they labored me on dumpling-folding duties and rolling spring rolls. My mum and her friends were the only Vietnamese people I knew growing up in London. ![]() Smell it, go on, smell it.’ Victorious, she would chant, ‘Ngon quá trời ngon!’ (So delicious, heavenly delicious.) ‘Shall I make a soup or shall I fry it with garlic?’ In the next triumphant breath, she pulls a green, almost yellowing mango out of her shopping bag and breathes it in. ‘I have found some,’ she would say in a more daring voice. ‘My neighbor told me that Chinese violets are in season,’ she would whisper, ‘they are really great for a good night’s sleep’, as if the secret violets would sell out, if she spoke any louder. The intonations of the Vietnamese language convey as much meaning, spirit, and emotion as the words, and so my mother’s excited yells also chirped about steaming purple sweet potatoes, and shrieked about fragrant, juicy limes in dipping sauces, as if every season presents her with a new surprise or a memory of a good thing coming back to life. Fruit and vegetables make her very excited and you can tell her level of happiness by the way she cooks, eats, and talks about food.
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