In Sheffield to do an interview, I linger in Cambridge Street, open-mouthed at the sight of its newly restored buildings. How astonishing to think that in my youth, a council hellbent on demolition wanted to put a shopping mall here. What we would have lost. The old entrance to Leah’s Yard couldn’t look more spiffing now if it tried, its rosy brickwork and claret sash windows crying out for a visit from Mary Portas or World of Interiors (or maybe both). Named for Henry Leah, a Victorian manufacturer of die stamps for silverware, this spot was once home to 18 Little Mesters, highly skilled craftsmen who worked with cutlery and tools. Its future – o tempora, o mores! – comprises a collection of studios and “makerspaces” as well as the inevitable coffee shop: Chocolate Bar, on whose menu you’ll also find “curated” charcuterie plates and cocktails “inspired by craft chocolate”.
When, I wonder, does a proud city reach peak coffee shop? How many ersatz street food outlets can one place sustain before its people rise up and march against overpriced fried chicken and pad thai? On the advice of my niece, Florence, I call in on the Cambridge Street Collective – supposedly Europe’s largest purpose-built food hall. Its pared-down, warehouse-style interiors are undoubtedly lovely, and the late morning air is heady with the scent of lime leaves and freshly ground Yirgacheffe. But still, something gnaws at me – and it isn’t hunger.
