Gertsamtkunstwerk

Giant cheesy leek and potato pasty

To commemorate when st George's Day fell on Meat-Free Monday. Perhaps.

The recipe said to use shop bought shortcrust pastry, but, frankly, by the time you've run down the shop and faffed around, it's easier to make your own. Perhaps I should have photographed The Making of the Pastry, but if you're unsure of what that looks like, pop out for shop-bought!

Chop some leeks

Boil some slices of potato

Combine with some chunks of Cheddar, and pile onto a round of pastry laid out on a baking sheet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The recipe actually  said nothing about greaseproof paper, but I don't fully trust my baking sheets, and have taken to lining them regardless.

You really have to pile those ingredients up, it's a precarious balancing act. And make sure you keep that border round the edge.

Cover it with  lid of pastry - that's significantly bigger than the first piece. Neaten it up and give it an egg rinse

 Bung it in the oven for 40 minutes, then take it out

 Naturally, your eyes fall on theunsightly burnt black bits. Aha! Remember when I said I didn't trust baking sheets. There is a reason. All I had to do was lift off the greaseproof paper and bin the ugly burnt black bits. The burnt juices neither ruining my baking sheet not spoiling my giant pasty.

Also this year we have discovered that there is nothing that cam't be transformed from ordinary and adequate to outstanding by addition of a fresh well-dressed salad. (Correlates with the maxim of making sure your food is not totally beige). Ta da

The original recipe

Saving unimportant churches for the nation

I started this blogpost, including its title, with a pretty firm thesis in my mind. All I needed was the facts to support my view.

In some recent blogposts I have brought you photos of:

St Matthew's Brixton

and its twin St Jude's

St Mary and St John the Divine Balham

St Paul's Herne Hill

St Mary's Battersea

and St Martin's Ashton-upon-Mersey

The thesis was broadly:

The system of listing buildings as being historically or architecturally significant is heavily biased towards stately homes and churches, and, in general ignores the history of ordinary, non-Establishment people.

I did some research - reading various articles on the internet - and realised that my thesis was at best a blunderbuss approach. It turns out that my problem isn't the principle of Listing buildings. English Heritage explains it: 

   All buildings built before 1700 which survive in anything like their original condition are listed, as are most of those built between 1700 and 1840. The criteria become tighter with time, so that post-1945 buildings have to be exceptionally important to be listed. A building has normally to be over 30 years old to be eligible for listing.

I don't think anyone could argue with the fundamentals of that.

Wikipedia says  

It was the damage to buildings caused by German bombing during World War II that prompted the first listing of buildings that were deemed to be of particular architectural merit...The listings were used as a means of determining whether a particular building should be rebuilt if it was damaged by bombing, with varying degrees of success.

Again, how can this be contentious, at least at a strategic level? 

So, it seems I was putting the cart before the horse. I was irritated at the high number of churches (and stately homes) that were regarded as 'historic', whereas I ought to have observed: a large number of buildings that have survived from before 1700 or the 19th century to Second World War or present day, are churches. This proves that many churches are old.

Listed buildings account for about 2% of English building stock. In March 2010, there were approximately 374,000 list entries of which 92% were Grade II, 5.5% were Grade II*, and 2.5% were Grade I. Places of worship play an important role in the UK’s architectural heritage. England alone has 14,500 listed places of worship (4,000 Grade I, 4,500 Grade II* and 6,000 Grade II). In fact, 45% of all Grade I listed buildings are places of worship.

Wikipedia, again.

My irritation was fuelled by the lazy complacency of some small parish churches. They have no real significance beyond their parish or county but they trumpet their current importance by reference to their Listed Building status. Which in most cases only means 'the church is old'.

I would be relaxed about this if they used this merely as a starting point for telling the story of the community that grew up around the church. Or if they acknowledged the circumstances in which they were built - eg by Government, to suppress possible revolution from amongst the working people: the Commissioners' or Waterloo churches. 

St James's Bermondsey boasts:

In 1724 at the Bishop's Visitation, it was recorded "In Bermondsey there are 9,000 people". The only houses were along Bermondsey Wall, which was part of the only road or highway from the City out into Kent. Here wealthy merchants had magnificent houses. The first streets in our Parish were Salisbury Street and Janeway Street. Here a rich West India Merchant built a house and called it Jamaica House, after the island from which his fortune was derived. By 1710 there were enough poor people living here for it to be necessary to provide a workhouse for 50 people.

The Church now built was dedicated to St James but everyone called it Bermondsey New Church. Its grandeur recalling the days when wealthy merchants still lived in Grange Road and Jamaica Road.

That makes me almost vomit with disgust. The West India Merchant 'derived his fortune from Jamaica'. This really is obscene. Unforgivable.

Conversely, the Reverend Arthur J Dobb wrote about St Philip's Salford

Although fine words were spoken about the need for some spiritual, restraint of the working classes to their indulgent practices of gambling lounging, drinking and debauchery, nothing was done to provided churches in the slums until, under a Parliamentary Act of 1818, £1 million was granted to build new churches "lest a godless people might also be a revolutionary people". As less emotive reason for building these churches, they were to be the nation's token of Thanksgiving to Almighty God for the victory at Waterloo, hence they are sometimes known as "Waterloo Churches". The overall intentions may have seemed worthy, yet the monies were mainly spent in the middle-class suburbs and did little to alleviate the acute distress and harsh repression which manifested themselves in such demonstrations as "Peterloo".

Could the money have been better spent on providing an education for poor people? Could that have reduced their indulgent practices? Or would it have caused them to think for themselves, question the repression of the masters, and organise to change society?

Some years ago I read - almost certainly in Alan Piper's History of Brixton - about how the property developers built houses and then built churches, not so that the people could go and worship, but as an ostentatious display of their wealth and piety. (I paraphrase significantly). The churches built were generally Anglican but, again according to Wikipedia, The religious census of 1851 revealed that total Nonconformist attendance was very close to that of Anglicans. Additionally, there were Catholics, Jews and people of no religious practice. The churches were not democratic.

I like looking round churches. Some display attractive art. Some tell part of a story of humanity. Churches, organised religion and ritual are of immense sociological fascination. But if they trumpet their assumed historical importance, they must tell the whole story, not just the Government/Establishment propaganda. Otherwise, they are historically irrelevant. Or worse - celebrating that their church was there to celebrate the vast fortunes that were made from slavery. 

I have been critical. There will be more photos of more churches. And perhaps more criticism. St James's Bermondsey, I have my sights set on you. 

 

Also, recently, but not yet blogged, I have visited Nonsuch Park and Nunhead Cemetery, and I have watched a TV programme about the Lost Gardens of Heligan, which all tell a different story of what happens when architecture and heritage is neglected and abandoned.

So, I have no desire to knock down the churches I have visited or walked past. Just to take St Matthew's in Brixton. Its congregation is much smaller than many of the Evangelical/Pentecostal churches and the many local mosques. Together their numbers are eclipsed by the vast majority of the population that seldom if ever attends a place of worship. It is clearly in dire financial straits and, to be honest, it serves little or no purpose in the community.

Would it be missed? I don't know. As a functioning church, probably not. As a building, probably, at least for a while. But as a space? Without a doubt.

Look again at the pictures of Brixton around St Matthew's. Or go there yourself physically. Or go to your own town or village centre. Imagine the church knocked down and the space, including its churchyard, built over and used for a secondhand car showroom, a supermarket or 'luxury apartments'. I can't stand that thought. At the very least, the old churches provide a respite and a breathing space. But I wish they would tell the truth about their history, the whole truth about their community. Then they would truly be a community asset, not just an ignored artefact.

We need and want to retain these buildings as churches or with alternative uses. They come to dominate our collective idea of what is 'historic' and 'important'. Churches were maintained for functional reasons more than ordinary homes and places of work and play, so our historical sense of ordinary people is dominated by churches. St James's Bermondsey demonstrate, they may not be fit and proper custodians of our history.

April garden

Throughout March, the sun shone and the temperatures were hot, hotter than they should have been.

I took some photos in the garden. I wish I had a story to tell, but I don't. I just went into the garden and took some photos.

Crap park cafés

I like to walk in a park, find a nice café and sit down, have a cup of coffee, maybe a cake, maybe even a hot meal. If you have a café in a park, you're sitting on a goldmine. Effectively, there's no competition. Customers generally don't have anywhere else to go. Even if there's another café somewhere else in the park, or on a neighbouring street, the customer has to walk there. Easier to go to the park café.

In prosperous areas of South West London, and, I daresay, elsewhere, good or adequate park cafés are great social places for 'types' to congregate. Lonely 'yummy mummies', dogwalkers, pensioners can meet up with similar people to talk about what they have in common. Other people can break off their walks and enjoy the fare on offer. Couples can go for an escape from the rat-race.

On Saturday we went to the café by the Windmill in Wimbledon. We should have seen warning signs. A huge place, but no one was sitting down indoors. Most outside tables were unoccupied. The dog walkers sat alone with their dog, not in groups of regulars. It did not seem familiar territory to the small children demanding ice-creams.

An appalling place, that really should be ashamed of itself. We'd walked quite a way, and this was the first eating place we had passed in an hour and a half. We went in. I decided I would have a cup of tea, and, ooh, why not, a scone! 

The manager - straight out of Jennifer Saunders or Victoria Wood - asked if I wanted a fruit scone. Ooh yes, I said. We then had to move along and instruct one of 'the girls' what we had ordered, whilst the sit-com woman instructed 'no more than one girl on each thing' (filter coffee machine, teapot, microwave) - she was having to micro-manage schoolchildren. The cup of tea was pushed at me, with a mere mention of milk. No oppotunity for topping it up with further milk. And the scone, butter and jam were presented on a paper plate.

Note the lack of fruit in the fruit scone. Note also the plastic pack of strawberry 'jam' - jelly with seeds, never seen a bloody strawberry.

What this photo can't show you is stale saltiness of the cheap scone, mass produced in a factory. Or that the tea was stewed. It's not really too much to ask, is it, to have a cup of tea made properly, to be able to add my own milk without being under suspicion of wanting to steal it. And a scone that was made this month? Last time I had tea and scone, the tea came in a pot. The crockery was crockery: cup and saucer, plate, milk jug. The scone was big, bobbly, rustic and fresh. The jam had pieces of fruit in it, and along with the clotted cream, was served in a little ramekin. Apparently we can't expect such luxuries in Wimbledon.

It is entirely possible that tourists might come to Wimbledon. A town that is famous around the world for its tennis and its Wombles, an Olympic town. Disgusting.

On Clapham Common is a café called Oasis. Someone sat down one day and thoughtfully designed a chilled place. Inside, cushions on benches round a central table. Outside, picnic tables on decking. We should have been alerted on arrival by how empty the decking was - this photo was taken as we left, this woman's man had just gone inside. Don't know if they stayed.

An attractive-looking menu, with mint tea and green tea, with paninis filled with crayfish or mozzarella and tomato. 

The amiable but dim server tried to charge immediately after we (two people) had ordered just one drink. Neither Jimmy's espresso or my latte actually tasted of coffee. Several Clapham types came, took one look, and walked away. They seemed to be doing a roaring trade in selling chips and fizzy drinks to the kids in the new, nearby skate park. Which, by the way, is great. The kids looked happy, and occupied, and I'd hate to see a café that turned kids away for being, well, kids. 

The cushions smelled.

What a waste of a great location and a good concept. We didn't dare eat, didn't have confidence that the current management knew the first thing aboout food hygiene - no certificates on display. Would you buy a crayfish panini in a café that smells as if someone's been sleeping there?

It's increasingly an irritation to me. How do these people get away with it? How have they got the franchise or lease to run these places? There are so many people with a passion, the drive to make a success out of business, understanding of customers, who could make these places a destination, but are denied that opportunity by these complacent dullards who are happy to serve up crap from te 70s, or  who mess up a good idea and drive people away?

Reviews by others:

Windmill Tea Rooms by Wimbledon People

This place provides the sort of customer experience which I thought had disappeared along with Communism!...A cup of coffee and a rather overcooked flap-jack came to over £4...Overall, a disappointing experience which I won't be paying to repeat.

Windmill Café & Tea Room - Virtual Tourist

She had pre-warned me that she hadn't had very good experiences there in the past, so I wasn't expecting much.

links 05/20/2012

• Open Squares

  9-10 June. Advance tickets £9

  tags: london

Posted from Diigo. The rest of my favorite links are here.

Dinner at the Lido

Last month was the first time we'd ventured to the Brockwell Lido café for dinner. It was interesting to see how they transformed the place from a spot for coffee, snack or casual lunch to somewhere to eat an intimate dinner.

Most obvious change was to décor: bare wooden tables transformed by table linen. Candles and dimmed overhead lighting. The play area removed. And a different menu.

We went on the third Saturday of April. It already felt like it had rained for ever, and yet it seems so long ago. Because of the forecast rain, we did the two bus trick, change at Windrush Square. We didn't want to risk a drenching walking across the park - who would - but, actually it didn't rain. Part of me was a bit sad about that, because I had already planned to blog or tweet "Dinner looking out as the rain pours into the pool. Just like being on holiday".

The dinner menu is fancier than at lunch time. They change it every month to reflect the seasons, although some items appear to be perennial, and not every single item seems to change every month.

I very nearly ordered Smoked salmon with pickled beetroot and rye bread as a starter but, in the nick of time, realised this wasn't the wisest starter for my preferred main. I always choose my main first. The starter must fit round that. Instead, I had smoked haddock fishcake, creamed spinach, sorrel and a poached egg. Perfect dish in itself. I could happily live on poached eggs, except that making them myself is so hit and miss. always great to order one when out, and this did not disappoint. I'm also a big fishcake fan, having loved them when I was a kid. They seem to have gone out of fashion for a long time, so it's great to see them back on menus.

For my main I had Sea Trout with crushed Jersey Royal potatoes, White Wine herb sauce and Spinach. Which of course means that I had spinach for both courses. A fate I could have avoided by having both salmon and trout. I see in May's menu, one could have either a pea starter or an asparagus starter, and then an asparagus and pea risotto. Not so much a criticism as an observation. It doesn't bother me in practice as it does in theory!

I couldn't fault the taste or presentation of either dish. I think they have a a splendid combination of elegantly presented fresh food that nevertheless veers to the accessible, rustic or homely - in a good way. It's not pretentious or poncey, and the prices are modest. The prices for alcohol are less so, but I have absolutely no problem with places that hike up the booze prices to keep the food reasonable.

I finished with Almond and pistachio tart with orange and cardamon. This was perfectly fine, with no cause for complaint. But, having declared in February: 

I feel my future lies in roaming round Brixton eating almond cake

this almond cake felt like a poor relation to the ones I had tasted in Brazas or Boqueria. But it didn't detract from the evening, and was at most a minor quibble. I no longer recall the eminently quaffable wine I enjoyed with the first two dishes, but I do recall I started with a Manzanilla, and enjoyed a Pedro Ximénez, as recommended. Service was fine, and ambience was pleasant and relaxed, and far more intimate than one would ever imagine from what is essentially a cafeteria attached to a 1930s municipal swimming pool.

It is entirely possible we ill return to sample May's menu. If not, flaming June!

Amaretto amaretti cheesecake

I bought the book impulsively. When one of your favourite authors writes a book on baking, you buy it, don't you? And, of course, having bought it, you have to use it, don't you.

To summarise, Marion has suffered from depression for years and has tried all sorts of different treatments. But, almost by accident, she discovered that obsessive baking somehow has worked.

Now, I like the book. It has some lovely ideas in it and some gorgeous photos, so it seems almost churlish to be critical. But I do have a major question. Apart from the recipes she describes as having been handed to her by her in-laws, what is the source of the other recipes. Sure, once you've grasped some basics, it's easy enough to experiment. It's easy enough, even when baking, to mix and combine elements of several different similar recipes, and, in effect create something new. But I have read nothing that suggests she experimented. So, I'd rather appreciate a credit to the source of the recipe.

She recommends using muffin tins with an 8 cm diameter. Mine are only 7 cm - at the top. less at the bottom. In retrospect I should have followed mu instincts and made more smaller cakes rather than trying to squeeze all these ingredients into six cavities just because it was convenient.

Other than that, it's very smple to make, but you do have to make it the day before.

Take some amaretti biscuits and bash them into submission, mix them with melted butter, and squash them into the muffin tins. Bake them blind, them cool and then refrigerate for an hour.

In one bowl mix cheese, egg yolks and sugar. In another, beat egg whites.

 

When the egg whites are in stiff peaks fold them into the cheese mixture

At this point, you must remember that you should have added the amaretto to the cheese mixture even before you'd added the egg whites.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No worry, though. Just dollop the resulting mix into the biscuit base. At this point I realised that my earlier instinct was right. Too few muffin tins (or sufficient too small muffin tins). I was just piling the mixture into greater and greater piles, a precarious balancing act entirely dependent on it being fairly stiff as a result as the beaten egg whites.

Bake them in the oven for 40 minutes, then switch off the oven and leave the cheesecakes in there for two hours while the oven cools down. And refrigerate them overnight.

 

 

 

The finished article shouldn't overflow the sides like this
Althugh in practical terms, this really isn't a problem . You just get mushroom-shaped cheesecakes rather than ones suitable for food porn.

And if you want them to look neat, just trim round the edge, like so. But remember to co-ordinate the camera settings and ambient light, like I didn't!

Very very nice. I shall make them again.

Meanwhile, my trusted assistant shows how theu should look!

Strolling around Ashton upon Mersey

An Easter visit up north for daughterly duties. For various reasons, complicated and trivial, it was wise to stay at the Premier Inn rather than Chez the Mother. Not least because it gave us the freedom to wander down to Ashton Village, one of the more interesting parts of Sale.

I don't have many nice things to say about Sale, so perhaps I should say them now. It is well situated in the Mersey Valley, perfect for cycling the TransPennine Trail - just a few yards from the Premier Inn. It's pretty much without hills, but there are views of the Peak District if you know where to look. It's handy for the motorway network, which takes you quickly to the airport, and handy for the tram into Manchester. Also, it's not as smug as Altrincham. Partly because, alongside the sleek over-priced villas and the complacent semis are council estates and other vaguely affordable housing. 

The Local Government Act of 1929 merged Sale and Ashton upon Mersey. Historically, Ashton was the more important place, but the canal and then the railway were built further East, diminishing Ashton's importance. And yet, Ashton Village still has the feel of a village, and we experienced genuine warmth in the pubs and the Co-Op. Both village pubs are worth a visit, with CAMRA Hulme and Trafford splitting their April meeting between the Plough and the Buck.Even pre-recession, the village was reported to be blighted by the arrival of the ubiquitous and destructive Tesco Express

 Unfortunately, it rained a lot when we visited, and in between relatives, we didn't have much time to get out-and-about, making the best of it while we can.

Buck Lane used to be cobbled when I was small, but it isn't now. Some attractive cottages, this one in particular displaying a well-loved garden.

We were heading beyond the village, to the village church, which unusually, lies a considerable distance from the village. Comfortable walking distance, though! I'm no expert but I can't think of anywhere else I've visited where the ancient Anglican church doesn't form the epicentre of the village.

A stroll down Church Lane, which coincided with work by British Gas contractors!

As I took this photo, I realised that someone was banging on the window of the extension, not visible to the right. I wasn't intending to intrude, be it the private home of a reclusive celebrity, or an institutional home. My apologies for seeming to intrude, when all I wanted was a shot of notable local building.

I was amused to see the village stocks. They date from 1836 but repairs and refurbishments sponsored by Sale Civic Society were unveiled by then Mayor Lydia Burton in 1992. And frankly, I couldn't think of a more fitting candidate to sit there and be pelted with rotten fruit. 

Oops, did I say that out loud!

Wandering along the lane was like being in the country, hardly surprising as we were right on the edge. If we'd walked further along, it would have been just fields (and Ashton on Mersey golf club). And, in the distance, there was snow on the hills, probably somewhere like Glossop.

And so, to St Martin's. Locals believe that there was a church here back in the 9th century. This sort of sounds impressive until you consider it was two centuries after Bede and the Synod of Whitby.  And Ashton is not actually mentioned in the Doomsday Book. Wikipedia says the first church was built in 1304 on the site of an old Saxon burial place. But this was destroyed in the Great Storm of 1703, which forms the basis of some fascinating reading. The most severe storm or natural disaster ever recorded in the southern part of Great Britain. Some extended reading December 1703 windstorm - 300 year retrospective (pdf).

The ancient edifice had not many claims to architectural features, and was exceedingly plain in its proportions. The interior, owing to the arrangement of the pews, was very inconvenient and uncomfortable, and in the aisles at one time was placed a continuous bench for the Sunday Scholars, which had to be stepped over by each worshipper who entered the pews.

Altrincham & Bowdon : with historical reminiscences of Ashton-on-Mersey, Sale, and surrounding townships

A new church was built ten years later, perhaps reflecting its relative unimportance in comparison to other post-storm re-building. Some of the beams from the current church are thought to have been in the original church. Unsurprising, considering that it was a storm, not a fire, and new materials would have been at a premium. The tower and the lychgate were added in 1887, at about the same time that Sale was embracing Methodism. The church is Grade II* listed, the lychgate Grade II. 

It's a nice little church and I think the stained glass window is very pretty. We were kindly met at the door by one of the ladies of the parish, who helpfully explained some of the history. They had received a grant from English Heritage to repair the tower, so are obliged to open the church to the public for a set number of hours per week. It seems from their website that the works were more or less completed by Christmas.

As I say, it's a lovely little church, but despite their best efforts it's pretty much moribund. They are without an incumbent vicar, and their dated-looking website has received less than 900 hits. There was a Parish magazine on sale, but no evidence of this being available online. I can see the attraction for people to hold their wedding there, but a church wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event. There is no school associated with the church, so I can't really see any reason for young people to attend. St Mary Magdalene's is just a short drive away and seems a lot livelier and has an associated school.

We wandered round the graveyard, which contains an impressive War Memorial, which I previously didn't even know existed. That having been said, War memorials are all over the place. I don't know if there's an actual distinction between 'official' - where civic dignitaries lay wreaths on Remembrance Sunday  - and 'unofficial' ones, which serve their local community - or if it matters.

In the distance, you can see the spire of All Saints RC Church (1959). Their car park was packed for Good Friday service*. All Saints' Primary School is rated 'Outstanding' by Ofsted. Pity so many of them can't walk.

I'm not sure what this building is, but it looks as if it was once agricultural buildings, now converted to desirable suburban residences, literally a stone's throw from the golf club and riding school.

We walked back to the village. Jimmy popped into the betting shop, while I photographed the Old School House. It was the school attached to St Martin's church, but never in my memory. And if I recall, the Church Lady, who was probably fifteen years older than me, said she had been to Wellfield Primary School. It is currently used as office premises. Pity they can't be bothered fixing the clocks. It was quite amusing that as I walked round snapping shots, several people paused. I wasn't sure whether they were wondering if I was maybe from some property developers, or whether they decided just to take a longer look at something they drive past every day without noticing!

  

 

 I also decided to take a photo of the side wall of what is now a beauty parlour

and on the way back to the hotel I couldn't resist this picture of this fairly expensive house, with a view of Sale's only tower block of flats!

We got back to the hotel just before it started raining. That, for April, is what we regard as a victory! 

* not Mass.

Bubba's Restaurant, Tulse Hill

We went here in mid-April, a month after it opened. I don't go to first nights, for restaurants or for operas. The critics cast their judgements and this becomes the accepted wisdom. I don't fully trust professional critics, anyway. I read a review of this restaurant which suggested that the customers were 'uncomfortable' with the 'formal setting'. A restaurant that is owned and managed by Black people, with a Caribbean-influenced cuisine, and, going by both their own photos and what I noticed when we visited, quite a lot of Black customers.The professional critic thinks Black people are uncomfortable in formal surroundings. Hmm.

Location. Challenging for professional food critics. With no parking. It's converted out of part of Tulse Hill Station, even having a ticket machine outside. But once inside, I didn't hear any trains and forgot I was near a station. Just along the South Circular from us, but too far (for me) to walk. So we bussed it, because loads of buses pass nearby.

Bloggers who had been before us made a big deal of the blue light. A blue light that makes photos of the food look either washed out or strangely, well, blue. I would say my biggest criticism is the blue light. It's not just about photography; it tinges companion and food (less obviously) with a slight but disorienting blue rinse. If I had one piece of advice, I'd say, get rid of the blue light.

Otherwise, I liked the decor. Clean and crisp and clear. It even smelled of new-ness. Lights that were optical illusions and looked like they were small alcoves with a distant vanishing point. I've been to restaurants where the decor is tasteful, modern and crisp - and bland and impersonal. Take away the blue light and Bubba's would verge on this. I prefer some details or touches that give it individuality and personality. There again, I don't like places where the decor becomes the dominant statement. It's a fine balance to achieve.

I'm not familiar with Caribbean food despite my decades living in South London. Jimmy, on the other hand, claims to be an expert. And this is where I made a mistake. He ate jerk pork and curried goat. Classic dishes with a 'fine dining' twist. Being that I don't eat meat, I didn't have those, but I should have stayed close to what I am familiar with.

We started with cocktails. I had a Gin Smash, which was luscious. My starter was Black sesame, kidney bean camembert fondants with plaintain smalls and glazed boad beans, elegantly presented and interesting to taste. I really liked the taste, but bizarrely, I'm not sure I'd necessarily have it again. A lot of complex flavours battling with each other, satisfying but perhaps rather heavy-going for a starter. Jimmy declared his jerk pork belly with apple and nut crunch and apple and cinnamon puree a great success.

Service was of a high standard, perhaps veering towards the deferentially subservient. The front-of-house manager and the waiter both introduced themselves, but didn't then give their life stories or attempt to engage in unrelated chit-chat. Attentive and prompt, without hovering and intruding. We'd booked for 8pm but arrived closer to 7.30pm, when there was only one other party. By 8.30, the place was full, with a good lively buzz. I've read reviews praising the RnB soundtrack, but I can't say I noticed, which is good, because RnB is one of those genres where I can get very quickly annoyed at the mediocre formulaic offerings.

I made a mistake with my main course. I saw the word 'crab' and pounced, not noticing or processing the words 'soft-shell'. And I have to be honest, I didn't like it. I think that was me, not a criticism of the restaurant. I liked everything else on the plate but really struggled to eat the crab. I just felt that it was a lot of salt water. So many other things on the menu I could have chosen. But I loved the plaintain chive mash and rustic tomato sauce. I ordered a Singapore Sling, but I don't think the drink that turned up actually was. In a fog, I'd recognised the phrase 'Singapore Sling' as something I like but not being able to remember what it was or what I liked about it. (And, no, I'm not stupid. the fog is a side-effect of fibromyalgia; not only does it occur, but it also diminishes one's confidence so you doubt you're remembering properly).

Jimmy was very pleased with his Authentic Caribbean curried goat in a roast petal tuille basket served with avocado puree and plantain rings. The goat was tender and well-flavoured. He didn't eat the filo basket, but, looking around, nor did other people. It makes for attractive serving, but I'm sure isn't really intended to be eaten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jimmy finished with a selection of exotic ice creams. Yet again. He loves ice cream, almost invariably picks ice cream as his dessert and, more often than not, the ice cream isn't what he expects, and he's disappointed. I'm sure everybody else who likes ice cream would love these, but he only cares for ice creams made from organic unicorn tears and the noble perspiration of passionate artisans. This wasn't!

 

 

 

 

I had carrot cake with carrot and rum sorbet and spiced puree. The carrot cake was beautiful, dense yet light. Too many carrot cakes are stodgy; this was melt-in-the-mouth but substantial. I also enjoyed the trimmings. But the sorbet wasn't for me.

So, I am definitely going back to Bubba's and would urge other people to go, too. Remember, right next to Tulse Hill station, and close to a plethora of buses. And a cab office just round the corner. Next time I go, I shall opt for dishes that are closer to my comfort zone.

I think I concur with several other bloggers that there are a few hesitations about the place, but I feel that these are inevitable when an establishment is clearly ambitious and wants to be innovative. If you want to avoid this go to a chain restaurant or somewhere that has been cooking the same old same old for twenty years. 

Other blogposts:

Noshable

The Picky Glutton - special thanks for photographing the menu

How to Cook in High Heels

Hollow Legs

The restaurant has its website but as I write it's not really up and running. They are active on Facebook

A meander round Greater Battersea

It seems so long ago now, and difficult to believe, but the weather in March was glorious, the third warmest and sunniest March on record. Difficult to remember, considering that April was the wettest April since records began

Fortunately, we took advantage of a glorious sunny Sunday at the very end of March, actually the first of April, and set off for a leisurely bike ride to The River. Rather than treating it as a sporting test of stamina and speed, we decided to treat it like a walk, but easier.

We hadn't gone far when we took a stroll round our local park, Agnes Riley Gardens.

Frederick George Riley gifted 'Oakfield House', and surrounding lands, to London County Council on the proviso that it made the site into a public open space, and name it Agnes Riley Memorial Gardens. Work began to develop two acres in 1937. But World War II intervened the two acres used for allotments and occupied by the military. In 1952, and against F.G. Riley’s wishes, the LCC decided to drop the word ‘memorial’. In 1954 the whole site was laid out as a small park.

I've never actually been in before. It's a nice little park. Not one you'd travel to see, but epitomising everything a small-ish local park should be. A highlight is the ornamental pond:

 

 

It's an interesting design, and very new, so I was concerned that the planters seemed neglected, uncared for when someone should have been watering them.

Similarly, the Community Garden looked a bit dried. Still, I think it's a  great use of the space. Handy for people living in the nearby flats, and good for people like us, just walking through. Hopefully it connects children a little to plants and the origins of their food.

 

 

 

I was a bit perturbed to see the following sign. It has a  very simple message to convey. A message which is important to people who have English as a second language (if that) or have poor literacy skills. I am steeped in the language of bureaucracy but read it twice before I got it. The most important thing should be at the top. Nobody really cares about 'the interest of all user groups and the sustainability of Lambeth sporting facilities'.

If you run a sporting group you must book this pitch in advance. Call this number to make regular and one-off bookings. You cannot book this pitch on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays after 12 noon. For more information about Agnes Riley Gardens call ...between 9am - 5pm (and don't just list the number of the Council switchboard)

We continued our bike ride to Wandsworth Common. But Wandsworth Common holds no appeal. It is a nice park, well, it has a nice pond. But it's just a staging post en route to the rest of the world.

It's nice to cycle along the Common, avoiding the heavy traffic on Bolingbroke Grove. This is supposedly a cycle route, but Wandsworth Council need to learn that 'cycle route' requires more than painting a bike on the road. We thought we'd have to take to the road in heavy Sunday morning smug traffic, but instead, we discovered St Mary's Cemetery. I don't recommend cycling through this or any cemetery, even though we were the only people there, and its burial lands were exhausted in the 1960s. It's actually quite sad to see a cemetery entirely deserted on a Sunday, even though I personally never visit people's graves.

It was also sad to see graves that had seemingly been vandalised. I only hope that whoever did this will one day have a loved one buried and realise with horror what a mindless act they committed for the lolz.

Nice weather vane on the chapel, incidentally

 

It's curious walking round a graveyard. I seem to be fascinated by them and I can't really say why. In some ways, it's a way of remembering people, but in other ways it just serves as a reminder of how forgettable most lives are, unless we leave a great work for posterity.

You do get snippets or vignettes of lives. Enid lived almost fifty years as a widow after the death of her husband, and yet is for ever defined by him, her body lying with that of her sister-in-law. Perhaps John Rayner Sidney King is her brother, otherwise he seems a cuckoo in the Hellings grave.

I have stated above that I don't go to visit graves, but I know a lot of people do. That they do is none of my business. My opinion should be of no consequence to them.

However, I am entitled to express my opinion and I do find something mawkish about frequent family visits to a grave, almost as if the relatives can't let go. 

Merdy died when she was 40. I imagine it was a cancer, perhaps it would have been curable now. Her family visited her grave on Mother's Day, two weeks before our visit. They left her a Mother's Day card, and flowers in a vase marked 'Nan'. I doubt her grandchildren were alive when she died, but the ritual of visiting her grave continues. Death is part of life; it seems cruel to say 'get over it'. But she's been gone almost as long as I've been alive. She died the same year as my grandmother.

George and Blanche get visited, too.

It wasn't a pleasant cycle from there. Traffic was at a standstill on St John's Hill, and we had to play 'Dodge the rail replacement buses' as well as the arsehole drivers who think they own the road. But we reached the river via the Candle Factory, where Jimmy' mother worked when she first arrived in London, and before he came along.

I love the sight of abandoned rotting jetties and groynes. This seems especially picturesque juxtaposed with the gleaming modern 'apartment' blocks that overlook the river.

 

 

 

 

 

Especially the unbridled wealth that is Chelsea Harbour

A bit weird, because it was fairly busy on our side of the river. Cyclists, ramblers, dog-walkers, toddlers on scooters. And on the Chelsea side. No one. I got excited at the thought that someone was actually alive in Chelsea Harbour. then I realised she was someone like me, just walking through and photographing. Mind you, the Yuppie flats on the Battersea side were pretty deserted, too. I hope they'd all gone out for lunch.I hope these complexes aren't just second homes for people with mansions in the provinces. Taking up valuable land that could have been used for affordable and social housing.

The Thames Path has to divert away from the river so that people don't walk or cycle through the heliport. It's slightly strange, because out on York Road are discreet hints of being near an airport, most noticeable being the green 'RVP' signs one more often sees in deep countryside. I was quite impressed by this helicopter, thinking it was from some exotic location such as Macedonia or Mexico. I was a bit disappointed to find it is from the more prosaic (and closer) Isle of Man.

I'm not sure what to think of that block of flats. I like the design and the brash colours. I like the ceiling to floor picture windows. But there are no balconies. Understandable next to the heliport. Perhaps a condition - they couldn't have people standing on the balconies hurling things at helicopters as they take off. But who'd pay a fortune to live in a block of flats and not even have a balcony!

I seem to have got into a habit of photographing the Thames's abandoned power stations. Often Battersea, about which so much has been written so often, but also Lots Road.

The Lots Road Power Station was built at Chelsea Creek between 1902 and 1904, to power the District Line and then most of London Underground. LBC and Capital Radio were transmitted from the towers from 1973 to 1975. It closed as recently as 2002, and London Underground is powered from the National Grid. There was a massive failure of the National Grid in 2003 affecting much of Central and Inner London. Coincidence? I wonder...!

Its longterm future is undecided although the building has been stripped out and cleaned up. Some folks actually broke in and photographed it between 2006 and 2009, I would guess. Impressive, but don't try this for yourself. And some more break-in photos here, from November 2011. Okay, I'm officially envious of these extreme phloggers! Brief history.

We cycled towards St Mary's church, which has a rather nice beach in front of it. It was a noticeably low tide when we visited. 

St Mary's Church dates from the 18th century, although they claim to have had a church on the site since Saxon times. Back in 693, it was known as Badrices Ege and in the Domesday Book, Patricesy. I feel that the parish history is somewhat clutching at straws. For the sake of argument, I will accept that there was a church on the site since 800, but the current church only dates from 1775. It's Grade I listed, the only such church in Wandsworth. But I'm afraid I have to give it a great big 'so what'?. It tells us nothing of the people that lived in Badrice's Ege/Patricesy/Battersea, how they lived, loved, worked and died. Just that a great deal of money was spent to build a church, seemingly paid for by 'rich city merchants'. It tells us nothing about the rise of non-Anglican Christian worship, including the development of Methodism and the revival of Catholicism. So, historically unhelpful and verging on the pointless. Also, it seemed pretty deserted for a Sunday! Certainly in comparison to St Phillips Battersea which we saw last week teeming with members of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church that now uses the building.

As far as I can tell, the cemetery we visited earlier was purchased by this church in the 1860s when its own churchyard ran out of burial space.

Still, it's a nice beach

In front of the church are moored some houseboats. I've always had a secret liking for houseboats. I'm slightly jealous of a journalist I was at school with who occasionally writes about her houseboat. It's often struck me as being a bit Bohemian. I overheard a woman saying to her boyfriend 'Ooh, I wouldn't like to live on a houseboat', and it stuck me. It's not that people choose between luxury yuppie flat or houseboat. Although it can be expensive in Cheyne Walk, elsewhere it's a lot cheaper way to be an owner-occupier in Central London. All mod cons, too, including satellite TV.

We passed Chelsea Wharf, presumably where they landed the coal for the Power Station

and also the mouth of the River Westbourne, which I recently blogged about

We then cycled to and through Battersea Park, which has been visited and photographed before, and on to Battersea Park Station. I've been through this hundreds, if not thousands of times on a train but have never previously used it as a station.

According to Wikipedia, 

The station remains effectively unmodernised since its construction in the Victorian era. It has an attractive polychrome brick Venetian Gothic facade. Access to the 5 platforms is via steep wooden staircases, and (as of October 2003) it is unusable by infirm or physically disabled travellers. Platform 1 is made completely from wood and Platform 5 is rarely in use, with through Southern and Gatwick Express services passing towards Clapham Junction.

However, because of weekend engineering works, they were running only a half-hourly service to Streatham Hill - from Platform 5, which has signs warning of the steep stairs 'Take care'. With two minutes til the train we practically ran, carrying our bikes (and me, the rucksack with water bottles, camera, pump, tool-kit etc) up the daunting stairs. Ironically, it was the first time I broke sweat all day!

And nice to get home, shower and eat a deliciously tasty late lunch.

Der Freischütz, Barbican

Der Freischütz (usually translated as The Marksman or The Freeshooter) is an opera in three acts by Carl Maria von Weber with a libretto by Friedrich Kind. And, as far as I can tell, it is rarely performed. I like it, I like Weber. I once read a description of him being the link between Donizetti and Wagner, which I think has a plausibility to it, even though it probably wouldn't stand up to scrutiny, and is probably quite meaningless anyway.

This was a concert performance, at the Barbican and I attended it over two weeks ago. I suppose I should have written my blogpost at the time, in order to capture and reflect upon nuances, memorable moments. But, in truth, I don't think I have lost anything by being slow. It was a lovely and enjoyable. But memorable, no. In a good way and a not so good way. It was a concert performance, for all the advantages and disadvantages that offers. Advantages being that it actually gets to be performed, and isn't ruined by a dull, over-literal stage production. Although, on the way in I overheard someone say that they had seen it and there was an actual wild boar on stage, so no production I ever see is ever going to live up to that!

Another advantage is that they can  get exceptional singers like Christine Brewer and Simon O'Neill to perform. I don't believe I've ever seen either of them in staged opera, but by all accounts Simon O'Neill isn't a natural actor, and Christine Brewer, well, her stage demeanour is constantly one of disengagement, even though she usually sounds divine. The disadvantages are, well, opera was written to be performed on stage; concert performances, like audio recordings, are a compromise. Limited rehearsal time signals a lack of familiarity with the interior of the score - although, conversely, works performed frequently can sound routine and thoughtless.

Falk Struckmann was scheduled to sing the other main role, but withdrew due to illness after the programme was printed, and replaced by Lars Woldt, whose circulated biography listed no previous appearances in the UK. I think I probably enjoyed him most of all the singers; presumably he was engaged due to his familiarity with the role, ironically.

As I say, it was an all round enjoyable performance, with nothing standing out either as being profoundly moving or unfortunate. The LSO Chorus were in top form, and it was wonderful to see Colin Davis's lively conducting, at the age of 84. He sat down to conduct, but obstinately refused well-intentioned good mannered offers from both Simon O'Neill and Marcus Farnworth to assist him up and down the stairs to the stage. To be honest, Christine Brewer, nearly thirty years younger, had greater mobility problems. I was sat in the extreme left wing of the hall, just a few rows from the front. One notices these things.

Musically, it's a lovely work. Afterwards, I remarked in jest that it only has one tune. Of course this isn't strictly true, but, nevertheless, there is one theme that dominates again and again. And it's a tune I love. The story could be seen as being very silly - being a folk myth and supernatural, but I think the librettists carries it off, and the music makes it worthwhile.

All round sound vocal performances, although I felt Christine Brewer didn't sound as solid as I normally hear her, and Simon O'Neill's voice, though pleasant to my ears, didn't move me. But, ultimately, they just stood there, with no attempt to portray the characters, move around or interact. Which was a shame. But did not spoil the musical performance.

Telegraph Review

tacky sound effects... struck an incongruous note and achieved a great deal less, one couldn’t help thinking, than the decision to dim the lights a little might have done.

One did think that, and thought the attempt at a thunderstorm compared unfavourably with that offered outside by Nature!

Intermezzo

Classical Iconoclast

Guardian

Capriccio at Bach Track