THE coming of New Cross and Deptford has been predicted for some time. It won’t be an easy ride. The area lies in an inglorious corner of southeast London; those with well-cushioned sensibilities need not make the journey. But with the unpolished location comes that most heady of urban ingredients: an edge. For now, these neighboring districts still feel more like eccentric outposts than uncut diamonds.
The emergence of the neighborhood may have begun with the renovation of the Amersham Arms (388 New Cross Road; 44-208-469-1499; www.amersham-arms.co.uk), a weathered watering hole that was transformed in 2007 into the area’s first destination club. The wood-paneled front bar hums; a trendy crowd congregates under chalkboards announcing coming live-music gigs and D.J. sets. On weekends, the Amersham’s promoters are attracting a steady stream of local students and North London club kids to the sweaty backroom club (where the live music happens).
If gentrification is afoot, Deptford High Street appears to indicate otherwise. One of London’s still salt-of-the-earth thoroughfares, Deptford High Street is a blissfully chain-free zone. Most notably, pie and mash (£2.30, about $3.25 at $1.41 to the pound) has been served by the same family in A. J. Goddard (203 Deptford High Street; 44-208-692-3601) since 1890.
The Deptford Project (121-123 Deptford High Street; no phone; www.thedeptfordproject.com) is at the road’s geographic heart. The developers began by converting an old commuter train carriage into a colorful cafe on the site of a railway yard. Further stages of the project will include a series of art and design installations and, eventually, a hub of galleries and shops and a residential building designed by Richard Rogers.
And the Deptford Project isn’t an isolated effort. A few minutes away, the Royal Albert pub (460 New Cross Road; 44-208-692-3737; www.antic-ltd.com) has been salvaged from the remains of one of the area’s most notorious dives, and now hosts indie types lounging on studded leather sofas on a stripped pine floor, sampling Belgian Trappist beers (£3.60) and baked breaded Camembert with cranberry sauce (£6.95).
Beyond the 19th-century exterior of Bar Alchemy (323 New Cross Road; 44-208-692-1866), rude boys and art students with asymmetric haircuts party side by side to raucous live acts. If a solitary bouncer is loitering outside a nondescript residential door opposite Deptford Bridge DLR station, it means the Bunker Club (46 Deptford Broadway; no phone), a tiny subterranean basement club with a dance floor fit for 60 (at most), is in action. Drinks, in cans and plastic cups, are served to sweaty, indie night owls by a couple well into their 50s. Up market this isn’t.
Until the well-washed masses start arriving in larger numbers, this still feels a bit like London’s Wild West (southeast, actually), a boisterous concoction of blue-collar aesthetics and intermittent hipsterism. Perhaps some of the chaos will make it to the other side.
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