Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Friday, 03 January 2014
The end of food
No, not a blogpost in praise of the Latest Faddy Diet™, seasonally inappropriate and Guaranteed To Fail. No pious writings explaining how I shall cut out all the food that gives my body energy just when temperatures traditionally plummet and during a month which only just exceeds nine out of twenty four hours as daylight.
I'm rather bored of the way that the puritanical and slightly disturbed have managed to mainstream their body dysmorphia and create feelings of guilt in normal people - and more importantly, in the young and impressionable - in much the same way that sexually dysfunctional priests have done in bygone eras.
'Diets' don't work. Embedding change into your lifestyle does work, but, like giving up smoking, should be done at the right time for the individual. In my experience, the people most obsessed by diets seem in general to be those that have the poorest relationship to food - mainlining junk, immature palates, nutritionally ignorant, and lazy in the kitchen, as well as suggestible about advertising, Royalist and open to brainwashing by the moneyed Elites against their better interests. Often seemingly sociopathic.*
(On Wednesday we served pan fried turbot on a traditional stir fry with packet noodles).
I have almost no idea why I started photographing my food almost assiduously over the Christmas/New Year break. Something about there being not much to photograph outdoors, or much incentive to go outdoors. Something about the Festival of Food and Drink. I'm now officially tired with it and won't photograph another bit of food until I eat out again or at least have something photogenic at home.
Okay, maybe the Christmas cake and the other box of chocolates when we get round to eating them.
And the chocolate biscuits, when we open them.
And a trifle, if we ever get round to buying one from Markles.
But - insert proud face symbol - I have resisted photographing leaf tea brewed in a china pot and served in china tea-cups.
Yesterday, I went for a book-guided walk around The City, West of St Paul's (more, in time) and finished off with a late pub lunch in The Harrow near Blackfriars. I don't know what it's like on an ordinary working day, or in the evenings, but I liked it - although I only saw the downstairs front bar. I wasn't greatly inspired by the food menu but plumped for a Gnocchi, tomato, basil, mozzarella & roasted aubergine. Turned out to be one of the tastiest and filling pub lunched I have had in a long time. Looking again at the food menu, it's perfectly pitched for a pub - fish and chips; sausage and mash; ham, egg & chips; chicken salad; (all described more poshly than that!) and veggie gnocchi, plus the 'special'. Jimmy had chicken and chorizo stew and declared it full of flavour. Definitely one to remember if we're in that area again.
* nothing in this paragraph should be mistaken for any type of expertise or insight. Just one blogger's opinion, based on anecdote and observation.
New Year's Eve
Ah, the unavoidable celebration of an arbitrary change in the date.
I don't remember New Year's Eve being that big a thing in my Youth. Another tedious occasion where the media and advertising demand that we enjoy ourselves, an order that almost compels me to be miserable. Along with Valentine's Day and Hallowe'en, it classes as the most meaningless and forced 'celebration'.
The middle of winter is not the time to make resolutions or to start anew. It's a shameless and ignorant disregard for nature, the seasons and the world around us. I would go so far as to say morally abhorrent - let's not tune into the natural pattern of events but instead invent a celebration. According to Wikipedia, in England before 1752, the first day of the year was Lady Day, a Christian takeover of the sensible New Year's Day, the Spring Equinox. I'm sure I read somewhere that Cromwell and the Puritans encouraged celebrating New Year rather than Christmas, because Christmas was essentially Pagan. Elsewhere I have read that 1 January was a Roman feast.
I don't know what I hate more about New Year's Eve, the fact that men you hardly know, some of them quite repulsive and many of them smelly, think they have permission to touch, hug and kiss me. No, get lost you loathsome creature. Hands off my body, or I'll do you for assault.
Or the fact that the BBC seem to think that there is no higher achievement in life than standing for several hours in the cold, a long way from a decent toilet, and even getting some sad delusional halfwit to say to camera 'it's the best thing I've experienced in my life' whilst clearly being on the edge of an episode. Seriously, your lifetime's achievements, joy and fun boil down to 10 minutes of filming a firework display on your unfit-for-purpose applephone? Imagine if she was at Brockwell Park for the entire 23 minutes on Bonfire Night. She'd need sectioning. Or maybe she thinks that advertising and hype are the equivalent of sage advice from a role model.
One can ignore New Year's Eve as a 'celebration', as many people sensibly do. Unlike Valentine's and Hallowe'en, I find this difficult, so in recent years have decided to salvage something, for example, early sitting in a good restaurant. We chose well this year and the food only cost £5 per head more than we were charged in a pub two years ago. On the other hand, dinner was half as much again as it would be at the same Michelin star restaurant, Chez Bruce.
Ultimately, it's dinner, and that's it. In itself, very pleasing, but in terms of excitement, it hardly matches up to a concert by a favourite singer, or a Cup Final, let alone anything you might do yourself, from great sex to sky-diving to passing exams. Perhaps these people who make a big deal out of New Year's Eve don't enjoy music, sex or personal accomplishments.
There is the need for careful food planning throughout the day. You mustn't eat too much, or too late in the day as to ruin your appetite. But you mustn't arrive at the restaurant with an empty stomach in case the opening glass of champagne goes straight to your head.
The restaurant was tastefully and delightfully decorated when we arrived. For each customer a hat - top hats for gentlemen and feather boas for ladies. I have a vague recollection that they asked the gender make-up of the party when I booked. This is an example of 'everyday sexism' that I am entirely relaxed about. I did see one woman wearing a top hat, and I'm sure the restaurant would have indulged any other gender-bending requests. Most people wore their hats for at least part of the evening, except for one table - middle aged couple with teenage son. They not only didn't wear them but they moved them well out of sight. I sort of sympathise, hating the pre-Christmas office party tradition that you cannot possibly be enjoying yourself unless you have a cheap ill-fitting paper crown on your head. But these hats were of a higher quality - I later found a couple of top models to pose in them!
With our opening glass of champagne, we had Creamed orzo with cèpe duxelle, parmesan and truffle.
We followed this with Lobster ravioli with scallops, warm bisque vinaigrette, basil and capers.
For the main course, Jimmy had Breast and ballotine of guinea fowl with roast foie gras, périgord sauce and chanterelles while I opted for Roast sea bass with champagne velouté, fennel, gnocchi and caviar.
We paused for a while before pudding.
I'd barely drunk half a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon (on top of the champagne) but I was quite squiffy. Perhaps too squiffy to give photographic justice to a sumptuous Bitter chocolate tart with salted caramel and honeycomb, so I finished with a pot of tea.
Back home by half nine with no mishaps and only one forced hug from a drunk acquaintance who forced my head into his vile-smelling coat and squeezed my stomach nearly ruining my entire evening, under some delusion that women's bodies are men's playthings. Ugh.
I also got an insight into human nature. We wore our silly hats on the train home (so this observation is balanced on a knife edge!) and total strangers greeted us like mates, finding common purpose because we were all celebrating New Years Eve. Is it a yearning for a sense of Common Purpose? Is it an inability to understand how many people exist and how common some behaviours are? Is it a feeling of relief that someone else is doing the same thing, endorsement of their own intentions? Very odd! Like football fans on a midweek evening who pass through Brixton or Clapham Common stations shouting (in effect) "We've been on a night out! We've been on a night out! You haven't! You haven't!" despite most other people being on their way home from theatre, dinner or drinking.
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
More food Days 9 -11
This isn't turning out exactly how I planned. But that's the fun in starting a 'project'. The whole Christmas break isn't exactly turning out how I imagined, to be honest.
Thoughts of early rising and brisk walks. In this weather? Ugh. Cold I can manage, but wet and windy? Not really.
I also had vague notions of swanning in and out of the kitchen and taking time to conjure up gastronomic treats, whilst also partaking in numerous Christmas delicacies. This hasn't exactly happened, indeed the past few days have largely been about eating stuff we would eat on ordinary days anyway.
Saturday: fish and scampi and chips. Sunday: salmon en croute. Both a bit too beige for photography, although both tasty in their own right.
The (shop bought) Stollen is endless and stodgy. We've not even attempted the Christmas cake yet.
Simple prawn curry yesterday. A couple of months ago I made a batch of curry base paste for freezing but, annotingly, I now can't find the recipe. Nevertheless, having a curry base paste or a basic curry sauce in the freezer is a great idea - you can make your own fast food without all the rubbish you risk from supermarkets or takeaways.
In this photo you can play 'spot the cider glass'.
This evening I'm out for dinner, and the menu looks amazing. However, the restaurant in question has dim light, and a polite but firm message asking people who must use camera flash (or mobile phone) to do so in consideration of other diners, so we shall see!
Monday, 30 December 2013
Boxing Day and after - Days 7 & 8
I started sneezing sometime before Christmas pudding, and I woke up on Boxing Day with a full on cold, feeling miserable and self-pitying. It still lingers when I write this five days later.
I decided several days ago what I would cook for the main meal on Boxing Day. However, I had failed to notice the bit in the recipe that said 'roast the onions for 8 hours at Gas Mark 1/4, and leave to drain over a sieve for 4 hours'. Who on earth does that on Christmas Day? So, the slow roasted onions were out.
The next part was salt-baked carrots. On reflection, these would have been better done with full proper carrots not Chantenay. Our consultant chef, a certain Mr Kerridge, suggested deep frying onion rings. Oh, but deep frying is such a hassle. I discovered that shallow fried onion rings don't work.
This leaves me with Poached plaice in a red wine sauce, which I can assure you is proper lush. Part of the trick, of course, is to reduce the sauce sufficiently. Got that right. Didn't really get the photo right. But that recipe will be attempted again, with a proper amount of attention to detail.
We followed up with cheese and biscuits. Definitely one of the highlights of Christmas. I know you're supposed to tastefully arrange chunks of various cheese onto the board, with a small selection of crackers, and some grapes, but, right, whatever.
Cheese and biscuits.
Still plenty left, of course.
I was always brought up to have cheese and biscuits after pudding - something about the cheese neutralising the effects of sugar in the mouth and the digestive system. But Jimmy says it's cheese and biscuits, and then pudding. I imagine people have divorced over less.
On the Friday we had fish pie. This has developed out of the Marcus Wareing 'ultimate' recipe and is now a standard in Gert Cottage.
The bottle of wine was finished, and I heard the port calling to me.
And the chocolates
This represents half of a communication breakdown. Jimmy bought these but didn't tell me before I went into Hotel Chocolat. I didn't mention to him that I was going there.
I also spotted this odd little Ginger fella in the fridge
The Poldark mine on a rainy day
There isn't really much to do on a miserable dark rainy day on holiday. A late leisurely breakfast in Deli, enlivened by watching the fridge engineers at work - or to be precise the younger man work and the Boss cadge food. The Deli manager came over to us and apologised for the disruption but I admitted I love watching other people work.
A trip into Helston for odds and ends. The weather didn't set Helston off in its best light. It has clearly suffered the fate of many a market town. A sign from the car park still points to Woolworths. It sustains a WH Smith (reportedly a fading brand, but one that still indicates something about the former standing of a town). I wondered what other shops the town had lost over the years, to be replaced by bookies, charity shops and the inevitable tat shops, along with a couple of shops - one for kitchenware and one for Swedish tableware - that hint at some local prosperity.
The highlight of our visit happened as we emerged from Car Park Alley. A ditch or semi-culverted river runs down the main street next to the pavement, where one would normally find a gutter. A driver, trying to park, drove his near front wheel into the ditch. Much comment from passers-by, including us. We were grateful we had gone for the Pay-and-Display - strangers to the town, we would be good candidates for making the same rookie mistake, in a hire car. Judging from the reactions of passers by, it doesn't happen often, which surprises me (you can get a sense by zooming into street view here - perhaps outside the Cancer charity shop - note the abandoned wheel hub).
Another highlight of Helston was the Party Shop. Hanging in its doorway was an automatic bubble-making machine. In blustery conditions, this resulted in dozens if not hundreds of bubbles blowing merrily along Meneage Street, adding to general jollity!
(Note to self: a routine visit to an unexceptional town in dark miserable weather is no excuse not to bring camera - two great photo opportunities missed).
Despite the impromptu entertainment, there was a limit to how long we could stay in Helston. But there was very little else that could be done in such miserable weather conditions. In desperation, I said, look, I've seen brown tourist signs pointing to Poldark Mine, let's go and investigate.
We seemed to be driving for ever along a minor road from Helston to Redruth until we found it. Jimmy wasn't keen on going in. I said there wasn't much else to do on a misty rainy day. He agreed to take a look at what was on offer. The offer included a tour of the mine, and there was a sign that listed all the reasons not to do the tour - medical conditions, being under 4, and wearing the wrong shoes - so I figured it might be worth the £10 admission. We would have to wait nearly an hour and a half for the next tour. In the event, that wasn't enough time to see the Audio-Visual shows, have a cup of tea and look round the museum. The tea was satisfactory - priced appropriately for a pot made with PG Tips teabags. Unusually, the milk jug rather than the teapot leaked.
The tour of the mine lasted an hour and was led by an excellent guide, Kenny, a mining engineering student. The mine officially dates from the 18th century and was closed in the 19th, and was accidentally rediscovered in the 1970s. 'Poldark' is not its historic name, but pays tribute to the TV series and the novels. Wikipedia says there is some evidence that the mine workings predate the introduction of explosives in the mines of Cornwall in 1689. Kenny said that recent findings by an Industrial Archaeologist suggest the mine workings may date back to Roman times.
During the tour we walked along new and old workings, including the mine shaft. Despite the electric lamps and torches, it was dark. It was wet, too. We walked down a metal staircase and walkway with handrails. It was logically very safe even though it felt scary, especially for those with vertigo. The dampness convinced you that you might slip.
Kenny explained that when it was a working mine, there was a straight up-and-down ladder, 110 feet. If a man lost his footing, he would fall. If he grabbed out for a hold, or if a workmate tried to grab him, the workmate would be ripped from the ladder, too. Before the mechanisation of access, the deepest mine shaft in Cornwall was 900 feet.
I'm not sure whether the visit to the mine could truly be called 'enjoyable' but it was memorable, informative and cause for thought. We agreed it is better to study history such as this rather than trail round stately homes admiring pieces of material. It is beyond my imagination to understand the hardships that these workers endured.
Too easy to be dismissive that they were relatively well paid for manual workers of their time - they got to buy their homes. Whoopee doo. Those that got truly rich were the land 'owners' who claimed the rights to the underground workings, irrespective of how ill-gotten 'their' land was. Nice they could build stately homes to show off their numerous pieces of material and jewellery (some of it obtained in mining conditions even worse than in Cornwall). The life expectancy of mineworkers was exceptionally low.
Tin mining is finished in Cornwall but represents a significant chapter in English history. Wikipedia: Mining in Cornwall and Devon gives some background.
Poldark falls within the Cornish Mining World Heritage site and claims to be the the only complete underground mine open to the public in Cornwall and Devon. I got the impression its financial future is uncertain, and it isn't important or unique enough to attract public funding (notwithstanding the numerous stately homes and Anglican churches funded by the taxpayer for no discernable public benefit). Although it sits on Duchy of Cornwall land, the Duchy has no interest in preserving the heritage of Cornwall. I would rate it highly among visitor attractions and would strongly recommend a visit if holidaying in West Cornwall. It would be a shame if it was lost.
There were no restrictions on photography within the mine, but given the dark and dampness, and my desire to keep both hands free, and my uncertainty that I wasn't about to walk into a rock, I decided not to make this a photograph trip.
Do read the brilliant It's all mine! ...... the holiday in Cornwall commences, from The Day After Yesterday - her photos capture the essence.
Also, Tin Mining in Cornwall from Regency Ramble and Free day in Carwinion from House to House.
Saturday, 28 December 2013
Christmas Day Food - Day 6
Big Day. And it's all about the food!
Naturally, I rose later than I should have, and realised there was quite some food preparation that probably should have been done the previous day. So I did my usual Christmas Day thing of rushing around and almost forgetting to eat breakfast. This leads to the first glass of champagne being drunk on an empty stomach and being sent straight to my head, which is a poor foundation for the rest of the day.
I did get round to having some scrambled eggs.
For our starter I had planned Scallop Ceviche but Jimmy was unsure he would like them this way. We compromised by ceviching one each and searing two each. I broadly followed this recipe and would highly recommend it: My favourite dish: Andrew Turner's scallop ceviche with avocado. Lack of attention to detail meant that I used all the avocado for the avocado purée, and, lacking light soy sauce, I used dark. I should probably have wiped the marinade off the ceviche but it didn't affect the taste. Definitely doing that recipe - and variations on it - again!
I'm not really into Christmas but I do like fancying up the table a bit and lighting some candles. The crackers were spectacularly poor - the present being 3 stickers with stars on them. an all-time low, I think.
The lighting didn't help photographing the food, and I was getting steadily merrier, so the one photo I took of the turbot was dismal. A pity because it tasted delicious. I used this Pan-fried turbot with champagne sauce, leeks and sprouts recipe but it needs re-writing - thankfully I noticed this a few weeks ago and didn't cook the fish until after the sauce had been repeatedly reduced.
We had great plans to stuff ourselves with all sorts of foods, but other than a handful of chocolates later in the evening, the only other food I had all day was shop-bought Christmas pudding. Life is too short to make Christmas pudding, especially when there is a Marks and Spencer in town.
I was served too large a portion and left quite a bit of it!
Tooting Commons in March
I went for a walk on Tooting Commons in March. I often go for a stroll or a short bike spin but don't always take my camera, or take my camera but don't use it, or take indifferent photos. So here is a set of fairly indifferent photos from what is, in some ways, my local park.
The ground was sodden, and in some places, waterlogged. This was no great surprise - I had found this in various places in precedeing weeks. In Dorset, I had fallen several times into a quagmire.
Later,a tree was to come down, possibly as a result of this. A few minutes walk away, one had already fallen.
In a soaked landscape, only the Ecology Pond was, as ever, dry.
I had a vague plan to find the elusive Streatham Pumping station, but instead wandered around Furzedown taking photos of random houses.
I have a photo album dedicated to Tooting Commons
Friday, 27 December 2013
Christmas Eve eating - Day 5
So, Christmas Eve. The eating goes on. I got up quite late and had my favourite indulgent breakfast, jam on toast. Pretty useless as a meal, does nothing except break the fast. Ideal for when one is feeling lazy. Still, it was sourdough bread and Hedgerow Jelly, made with Brixton Hill apples. Finished now.
I then tried again with mince pies, all the while declaring that if I never make a batch of mince pies again, it will be too soon. Odd, because I used to make them with ease as a schoolgirl. Admittedly, using ordinary shortcrust pastry and not really having an over-analytical concern for the end result. This time, though, I used Pâte brisée and suffered performance anxiety from having committed to photographing and blogging my food.
I felt in need of a revival and ate a biscuit I found on top of the cupboard. For a year we have had 'gourmet biscuits' delivered once a month but I have stopped. They are advertised as not being available in supermarkets, but they are available in delis. They are somewhat overpriced. I wouldn't mind paying a premium for a good service, but they delay deliveries because of 'problems with the suppliers'. However, they would take your money, and the website shows an estimated delivery date in the past. It was supposedly Royal Mail tracked, but there was no link to the tracking detail. When the delivery was delayed, they would switch to a courier that required a signature, but it was guesswork what day they would arrive. I added the security code for my dratted gate to my address, they arbitrarily removed it. After spending several hours chasing parcels, I decided that the biscuits weren't worth the hassle. This was ruined by being inelegantly splodged by some rather disgusting cheap imitations of Smarties.
I decorated the cake, which is always fun. Last week a colleague had gone into Sainsburys for cake decorations and only found one Snowman, the remainder were Easter bunnies and somesuch. Really maddening, and worse, in my opinion, than Hot Cross buns being on sale on Christmas Eve. An abomination.
Jimmy wondered why Santa was accompanied by a dog. I sighed.
In the evening we headed out to a restaurant where we had a table reservation, Boqueria Tapas. However, they were closed. I looked at their Twitter feed and at about quarter past four they tweeted they were 'now closed'. More than an hour after I had rung up to double check the time. And no suggestion of 'closed due to unforeseen circumstances'.
We had to decide quickly what to do. We didn't especially want to go into Clapham or Abbeville Village, and risk places being shut or full. We decided that Streatham was probably the best bet. Nowhere outstanding, but many places decent enough. I rang up one, but they said they were closed. The bus came, it was the bus that terminates at Brixton bus garage on Streatham Hill. We walked up Streatham Hill and asked in Ilili whether they had room at the inn. They did.
Ilili is a Lebanese restaurant, and like many, don't serve alcohol, but are entirely relaxed about customers bringing their own. Just a few doors away is a Sainsburys Local. From there we got a bottle of Sancerre, for £17. Seems a lot to pay in a supermarket for wine, but a lot less than we would have paid in another restaurant. And extremely good.
We started by sharing three hot mezzes. In future, I may order several more to share and call that a meal. Most delicious. We had cheese Sambosa (pastry filled with feta cheese and parsley), Calamari which arrived without batter, and all the better for that, and Foul Madamass- Boiled breadbeans, chickpeas, lemon, garlic and olive oil. The last dish was especially delicious, if a quite stodgy and filling. My photo doesn't do the combination justice.
My main course was Samaka Harra - Pan fried Seabass fillet served with spicy tahina on tomato sauce. I would happily have done without the seabass, although it was perfectly fine. The chips had a delightful crisp on the outside, melt-in-your-mouth on the inside. I could have eaten a plate of these with just the tomato sauce!
We decided to finish with mint tea, although oddly I didn't photograph this, nor the 'baklava for sharing' that the waitress talked us into. Delicious, too! so, thank you to Ilili for rescuing what might have been an unpleasant evening.
While we were eating a woman in her forties arrived and asked if they had a table for five. To her relief they did, and she brought in her teenage children, all of them looking fraught and tired. We considered it odd that a family would be so disorganised as to be needing a restaurant, unbooked, at half eight on Christmas Eve. We came to the conclusion that they had probably been travelling all day, or longer, having been caught in the storm, or its transport-related aftermath. Rather put our mild inconvenience into perspective.
Christmas reflections
Christmas Eve - people are so full of expectation! Pictures on the internet of utter chaos in crowded supermarkets. I remember in my youth when they were closed for several days over Christmas, as well as every Sunday and all evenings. So it was understandable that people rushed to the shops at the last minute. But what is the need for panic buying? Are they so disorganised from week to week that the idea of one big special meal requires extraordinary logistics?
It surprises me that people cling to the idea of doing the same thing over and again, relentlessly. I'm verging on the autistic spectrum, with slight OCD traits, but I get no comfort from mindlessly repeating a day into all eternity - although I understand the human need for ritual.
Why make a special thing at Christmas about things you wouldn't choose to do all year round. If having a meal with family or friends is so marvellous, why do not it more regularly (and yes, I know, many families have members who fly half way round the world for Christmas, but that shouldn't preclude the others getting together at other times)?
And turkey! If turkey was so great, why don't people eat it at other times of the year? You never see anyone naming their favourite food as turkey. People enjoy roast beef or chicken all year round. I have it on good authority that free-range turkey is pretty tasty, but I know that doesn't apply to dry, frozen supermarket battery turkey that feeds most people.
I'm not a fan of Christmas, and those aren't the reasons. Frantic consumerism revolts me, with its drive to spend yet more money on buying Stuff and Things. Empty gestures to Acquaintances you'd rather not give time to during the year. Parents compensating for their Guilt at not liking their children very much - easier to buy the hyped over-advertised toys once a year than to spend time - and money - giving them unforgettable experiences. I still have some of my toys and can remember who gave them to me, but I see people nowadays sending so many toys to children who don't know and won't remember who sent them, don't really want them, and don't miss them when they are sent to a boot sale. As for TV ads that advocate dumping, selling or 're-gifting' unwanted presents - these are downright offensive. If you don't want a present, say so. Save someone else a bit of money and energy - maybe they can donate it to a good cause. How rude and ungrateful is it to auction it off?
Thankfully, I have never been affected directly or indirectly but Christmas is a time when suicide, relationship breakdowns and domestic violence peak. How much is inherent - people who manage to avoid each other most of the year being forced together on cold dark days?
How much is brought on by the vulgar coalition of advertising and popular media creating unrealistic expectations? People who are content in their solitude the year round, or who seek solace in fleeting human encounters are driven to introspection at the belief that everyone else - as portrayed on TV - is part of loving supportive welcoming families. This is far from true, but I have never seen the other reality portrayed on TV, except as a butt of comedy.
You never see the people being visited by home helps and district nurses, the people for whom Christmas is no different from any other day as they care for a partner with dementia or a child that never sleeps more than an hour and has several fits a day. The media never portray people with eating disorders, or Spoonies for whom the extra effort and stimulus may lead to several days in bed.
Christmas can be great. It's the name that my culture gives to the ubiquitous celebration of lights in a time of darkness. We battle the cold with comforting high fat high sugar foods. We take a few days off from the daily routine, a break form builders noise, scam phone calls, the drudgery of routine chores.
Some of us take time off from paid work. Others may receive overtime, or travel to work in peace, or relish the thought of having time off when people like me will be working. Some may enjoy the financial benefits of seasonal employment. Many restaurants and theatres depend on the Christmas specials to sustain their businesses all year long.
I just wish more people would shop at local and independent shops, in order to ensure their ongoing existence, rather than turning to the chains who make super-normal profits whilst paying their staff so poorly - if at all - they require subsidy from taxpayers in order to take their place in consumerist society.
Thursday, 26 December 2013
Gunwalloe and Mullion Coves
After a dark and stormy Sunday, the Monday looked...promising. Classic British summer holiday weather - not entirely sure what it was going to do, so I packed all the clothes to cover every possibility. I decided we should explore Lizard peninsular, hopping from cove to cove. We didn't get far, only stopping three times. But it was vastly enjoyable.
We had barely left our holiday let when we saw two vintage Rolls Royces, one with an open top, not ideally suited for a sharp shower. Over the course of the day - and for a couple more days - we saw many Rolls Royces of different ages; even on our Saturday journey home we overtook a 1930s vehicle doing a steady 45 down the motorway. I suppose there must have been a rally but I never found mention of it. It would have been lovely to photograph them, but difficult on the open road!
Just past Helston is RNAS Culdrose. On the road is a sign warning of ow flying aircraft, Immediately, we were buzzed by two jets. I thought there would be no end of them, but despite several trips onto Lizard, we saw no more jets. Helicopters were a different matter, spending several hours hovering, as if they were the Sky News helicopter over Westminster on a day of political intrigue. (I initially wrote this on Sunday; on Monday night I read of the RNAS Culdrose helicopters searching for sailors lost at sea. I am grateful they were able to practice and train during our summer holiday).
Our first stop was Gunwalloe, with two coves - Gunwalloe Church cove and Dollar Cove. At least, I think so. The maps were less than clear and didn't entirely coincide with the guide books. Many shipwrecks happened round here, including a Portuguese ship carrying 2.5 tonnes of silver dollars. Not all of the silver has been recovered yet, and, yes, we did see someone with a metal detector.
We had fun clambering over some rocks and watching the waves crash on others, until a shower threatened and we briefly took shelter in the church.
Lovely little church, although I'm not much into them. St Winwalloe, dating from the 15th Century.
We stopped briefly at Poldhu Point
Our final stop was at Mullion Pont, a working and picturesque harbour. It's a bit of a trek down from the car park -and also a trek uphill again. I didn't find it a problem, but worth bearing in mind if you have limited mobility.
I enjoyed the spectacular waves breaking over the rocks and breakwater. You could edge out over an outcrop to sit and take photos. I found a particularly extreme example of the rubbish phone/rubbish camera phenomenom, two women with plastic sandals and wedge heels, barely able to walk, then sitting on the breakwater posting their photos to Facebook.
Next stop was the Porthmellin Tea Rooms. We ordered the large cream tea but probably would have been satisfied with the smaller version. Beautifully fresh crumbly scones, still slightly warm. An abundance of clotted cream and jam, and the jam contained real fruit pieces. Minus point was the sugar served in paper sachets - but neither of us takes sugar in our tea. Teabags were good quality and the teapot for two contained three bags, but was an 80s style metal teapot with a designed-in drip. Overall, an excellent cream tea.
We finished the day by buying copious amounts of cider in a place just off the main road.
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Monday eating, Day 4
An odd day, really. Some people have taken to calling it Christmas Eve Eve, to the annoyance of some other people. Not the weekend, not really 'Christmas', but not exactly a normal Monday, either. His workplace is closed for two weeks, so I decided to take the time off, too.
Breakfast was dull. A bowl of Disappointing Muesli from Marks and Spencer. Not up to the standard of Dorset Cereals. But a whole big bag that I suppose will have to be munched through eventually.
I made some pastry for the next attempt at mince pies but was totally lacking in enthusiasm. And I iced the cake. Every year, I say I'm going to be prepared and do it all proper, layer after layer of perfectly smooth icing. And every year, I leave it late and the Royal Icing doesn't quite work. It never quite stands in the requisite stiff peaks despite what seems like a lifetime of whisking. Perhaps a tiny amount of egg yolk crept into the egg white. Or perhaps I put in slightly too little icing sugar.
This was after the first layer. A second layer did follow.
For dinner I made what might turn out to be the best single meal of the whole Christmas break, based on Yotam Ottolenghi's Swiss chard, chickpea and tamarind stew. We couldn't find Swiss chard locally, so substituted in Red Kale, which slightly odd turned green after blanching. It works fine, but when I make it again, if I do it with kale, i'll just use the leaves, not the stalks. Jimmy decided to stew a portion of it separately and add chorizo, which struck me as a good idea. But after tasting he said it wasn't really necessary because the stew was so full of flavour.
We finished with shop-bought sticky toffee pudding in front of the TV and fireplace.
Tuesday, 24 December 2013
Day 3 of Eating (Sunday)
Breakfast was a Sunday Special, oven poached smoked haddock and poached egg. The toast was less warm than I normally like but I can't complain when my breakfast is being prepared for me!
Then I did the world's most boring task - marzipanning the Christmas cake - and I managed to completely bodge it. No worries, the icing will cover it. After I'd done it, I thought - I could have rolled the marzipan out much thicker, I was treating it like it was pastry, which needs to be as thin as possible. I also totally managed to bodge the world's easiest baking task - using 3" cutters for the mince pie pastry, as per St Delia, when the tins dictated I should have used 4". No photos.
Dinner consisted of a Nathan Outlaw recipe adapted. Supposed to be Baked Cod with Portobello mushhooms but we used hake instead. The carrots were added in, and actually needed to roast a lot longer than we allowed for.
Any rumours that some chocolate truffles may also have been consumed are entirely well-founded.
Monday, 23 December 2013
Streatham Common in March
I was watching an episode of the student sit-com 'Fresh Meat'. The character Kingsley claimed to have 'gone for a walk' - to cover up for his two-timing - and the amusingly odious JP said 'No one under 30 goes for a walk'. I identified so strongly with that. Recently I have had several conversations lamenting my failure to appreciate the localities where I have previously lived. As a student I never ventured to the river, only two miles away (who knew there was a river in Nottingham?). I rarely even walked around the University Lake. I lived in Westcliff on Sea for eighteen months, and only walked along the sea front when I had visitors.
I spent four years living in the heart of Streatham. I then moved a mile and a half away, making Streatham Common slightly less accessible. But I struggle to think of the times I actually walked on the Common in all those years. Once with friend L, and once with friend H, but other than that...!
I decided years ago that I would regret nothing in life, except where I had caused harm, especialy to people's feelings. I stick by that resolution, but there is a frustration that I didn't enjoy these simple pleasures - basically cost-free - more frequently. Instead of regretting this I must look to the future and remember how many pleasant strolls there are in easy reach of home. On a grey overcast drizzly December day it's hard to feel motivated, but these photos, with grey skies and a lingering mist, remind me of the simple sensual pleasure of a leisurely walk.
I'm not a 'Walker' in any meaningful sense. Health reasons restrict my range to four or five miles, at most. There are numerous articles about the health benefits of walking, tempered with the caveat that the benefit lies only in walking with sufficient exertion to be out of breath. Recently I was in a conversation with a slight acquaintance and she was witheringly dismissive, clearly she had made up her mind that I was not capable of energetic walking - and that that made me a bad person morally. (Another conversation, not involving me) made me realise she was simply an unpleasant person. I'm keen to encourage people with health or fitness problems to try some gentle walking, not strenuous, and hope they feel some of the pleasure I feel. As they build up their confidence and stamina, they will do more. They may take time to reach the required number of minutes of brisk walking so many times a week that would satisfy the Unpleasant Woman, but a gentle stroll helps the physical and mental health of most people.
One March day I caught the bus up to the 'top' of Streatham Common and walked round The Rookery. Schools were in session, so, only tranquility; just a few strollers enjoying the trail-end of winter. It was misty, lending an ethereal quality.
The Rookery is a formal garden, with pond and well.
In the 18th century, Streatham's Wells were renowned for their 'health-giving properties', having three times the mineral content of Epsom's.
A gate leads into the woods and barely noticeable is a small stream, a tributary of Norbury Brook, which flows into the River Graveney, which in turn flows to the River Wandle.
After strolling round The Rookery I walked briskly down the Common and along the High Road to Hideaway. Not a jazz fan, I have never been in the evening, but it's a great place to catch a snack lunch. Also reputed to serve the best breakfast in Streatham. I was happy with my roast vegetable pie.
My previous bloggage:
Streatham photo album
Other blogs:
Pleasure and Payne - from London Postcode Walks
Rookery - from Diamond Geezer
Pensive Moments in The Rookery, Streatham - from The World, Myself and I
Morning Walkies Streatham Common - from Don's Photography Blog
Sunday, 22 December 2013
Day 2 eating - Saturday
I got up really rather late on Saturday. So late that breakfast doubled as lunch.
We had a table booked in the evening so there was no point in having a mid-afternoon snack.
Dinner was at The Lido Café on the edge of Brockwell Park, Herne Hill. It got off to a slightly dodgy start when we had to send the tap water back - 'Can we have some that hasn't been lying around all day' 'It was only poured this evening' and left to lie around for a good hour if not more in quite a toasty room. Plus the two white English male waiters kept calling us 'you guys'. I did tremendously well in resiting my urge to call them 'Lassie' or 'Little Girl'. I'm sure they would have disliked that as much as I dislike being called 'Guy'. Halfwits.
Very good wine. And tasty olives, if somewhat out of focus!
I started with Severn & Wye smoked salmon, Dorset crab, avocado puree and fennel
My main course of winter squash stuffed with wild mushrooms, chestnuts, mozzarella, wild rice and caramelised onions was tasty but actually just too much, so I had to leave some
I finished with Christmas pudding and salt caramel ice cream and a glass of Pedro Ximenez sweet sherry.
Jimmy had an Ardbeg 10 year single malt, a whiskey not only of good repute but revered around the world. He found it horrible. I smelt it, it smelt of the overbridge at Clapham Junction station, which in turn reminds me of hospital disinfectant.
Pleasant evening out. I got quite drunk on half a bottle of wine and a sherry. Worrying!
Mackerel Sky, Penzance
I selected Mackerel Sky because it was top restaurant in Penzance on Trip Advisor. I looked at their website and liked what I saw.
We made a mistake booking a table for 6.30. We had to get a bus from Marazion before 6, wasting precious daylight hours. We then had time to kill and went into the Humphry Davy pub for a swift half (cider). Nice pub, although that evening we had a raucous group of ex-sailors being over-friendly. The barman said he'd only been on duty ten minutes and knew already it was going to be 'one of those nights'.
The main street in Penzance is called Market Jew Street, which made me double-take but apparently it derives - like Marazion - from the Cornish for 'Tuesday Market'. Mackerel Sky lies in an alley just off, close to a shop where Humphry Davy served his apprenticeship as an apothecary - he later became a notable chemist and is best remembered for his invention of the Davy lamp in mines.
As soon as I entered Mackerel Sky I liked the place. The welcome from the staff was warm and unforced, and I liked the decor and ambience. I didn't take any photos of the interior - I rarely do - but I liked the way it was arranged and decorated. This picture from their own website.
Having started on cider in the pub, cider seemed the way forward. I was on Clodgy from St Ives Cider, and liked it so much I later bought a consignment to take home.
For my starter I had salt and pepper squid with aïoli. I didn't quite see why they described it as such but it was very nice lightly battered squid, with none of the grease or chewiness you often get.
My main course was Cornish crab rarebit. A few months ago I printed a Nathan Outlaw recipe for fish rarebit but didn't get round to cooking it until after I returned from holiday. I can assure you that rarebit really works as a topping for fish, or, in this case, crab.
As you can see from the photo it doesn't really work as a decorative dish, but that's not a complaint. Mackerel Sky uses some tantalising taste combinations and presents them well enough without worrying overmuch about 'elegant' presentation. Wholesome huggy food.
Jimmy wasn't so lucky with his plaice, and raised this with the waitress. Jamie the chef came out to listen to Jimmy's explanation of the problem. Jamie explained that the plaice had come from the boat that day and even named the boat. He was entirely gracious, perhaps recognising that Jimmy wasn't trying anything on but genuinely had a fish with a taint. Jamie offered him a whole new meal, which Jimmy declined, but settled for some crab claws which made him happy. It would be tempting to criticise a restaurant when these things happen, but these things do happen - we've had tainted or off fish at home and you don't always know until you taste it. And the restaurant handled the situation with professional courtesy, which only added to my impression of it being a warm and professional establishment - friendly enough but not intrusive. Attentive without hovering.
My pudding of strawberry crème brûlée was delightful. Light and crispy in the right places.
When we left the restaurant we realised we had make the rookie/Londoners' mistake of not checking the bus timetable. The buses run late into the night but we had only just missed one and would have to wait the best part of an hour. So we got a taxi and spent some of the rest of the evening in Marazion's Godolphin Arms. I was very conscious that the pub was due to shut for a refurb in November, and, to be honest, it looked like it was needed. But the staff were friendly and welcoming, and the cider was good, and any other comments are irrelevant post-refurb. I was quite tiddly when we got back to the holiday let.
Saturday, 21 December 2013
Learning to walk - again
Most of us do this at about a year old and don't give it much more thought. I guess people who suffer catastrophic injuries relearn, but I think most of the rest of us just plod on in an extension of our toddling.
A few months ago I read an article where some ignorant sniffy journalist mocked the idea of learning to breathe. I learnt in yoga that I don't breathe properly - I pull my stomach in on an in-breath rather than letting the air fill my diaphragm. This is consistent with what I've learnt about singing, too. This sniffy journalist clearly hadn't experienced singing, playing a woodwind instrument, swimming, or sprint running, all of which depend on breathing.
A chance remark by Ruth on her Coastal Walk Blog made me wonder - she's a GP, so I'm inclined to trust her. Something about good walking technique means bringing down the foot underneath the torso. I was watching a TV programme fronted by Sir Tony 'Baldrick' Robinson, walking through historic countryside. He seems to cover some miles on varied terrain but looks ungainly and splay footed.
So I googled 'How to walk properly'. Google auto-completed it, suggesting it's a common search. Plenty enough articles, some of which look airy-fairy and don't convince me of their credibility.
Why walk? Many articles emphasise the health benefits. These can be overstated - as one commenter noted - are walkers healthier because they walk or do they walk because they are healthier? I try not to absorb 'facts' suggesting you increase your heartbeat by brisk walking for x minutes y times a week to extend your life by z years. On the other hand, I accept that walking improves 'general posture and muscle tone to prevent twisted ankles, calluses and long-term joint damage' from How to walk: A step by step guide in The Daily Telegraph.
I looked at several sites that seemed plausible and they were in consensus. Posture matters.
Fitness Walking Technique and Form from Walking Connection sums it up pithily - Head Up; Swing Your Arms; Use your Feet properly.
The Mayo Clinic has this useful diagram:
Useful, but a bit busy.
In yoga, my teacher tells us to root our feet, distributing the weight between the base knuckles of big toe and little, and heel. I can cope with the toes, but once I think about my heels, I feel as if I'm leaning backwards.
Whenever I walk more than about quarter of a mile, I am conscious of a feeling in the balls of the feet, which increases in intensity the further I walk - from ache to pain to 'Burning Feet'. It doesn't take genius to connect these two facts. My GP has suggested that five years of Yoga will strenthen my core muscles and help with my feet problem - which I think will then help with my knee, hip and back problems.
Walking is a great way to see the scenery, in wild country or an urban park. It is logistically easier than cycling, because of buses and taxis. It's better for photography. But I can't stand walking between A&B in a city, especially not when there are buses and trains. Bores me stupid and makes my feet ache.
I was in the back garden and practised this idea of bringing the foot down on the heel first, then rolling the foot forward to take off from the ball. It feels very odd. I think - I can't be sure, because scrutinising it leads to change in behaviour - that I habitually come down on the ball of the foot. Perhaps that is at least part of the cause of my bad feet (and ankles, knees, hips and back).
Now the question is, will I learn? Can I retrain my muscle memory to discard decades of bad habit? I think I can manage good posture. I suspect arm swinging will come quite naturally when i start to think about? But it's going to be difficult to learn how t come down on my heels. Not just when I'm out 'Walking' but even around the home and office, for example when walking to the loo or pacing around in pent-up frustration.
We shall see.
Blogging All the Food: Day One (Friday)
A stupid idea but when I have ever rejected ideas based on their stupidity!
On Thursday I finished work for the Christmas Break and won't return until 6 January, a delightfully surprisingly long break. It's ages since I've been on a 'Day Out' and basically have no current photos left to edit - although still a long backlog of 2013 Days Out to blog (as well as Cornwall 2013).
I thought, why don't I take photos of all the food that I eat, and then blog them? Indeed, the idea probably began its germination on Sunday when we had grey mullet with soused vegetables for our main Sunday dinner - adapted from a recipe in Nathan Outlaw's British Seafood
I do realise that blogging my food could make me open to criticism. So, here are the answers up front:
Nutrition:
It's Christmas, a festival based upon the millenia-old tradition of eating and drinking way too much to get through the long evenings around the Solstice.
I won't photograph every piece of fruit - or nut, chocolate, biscuit - I eat as a snack. I might include a photo of a groaning fruit bowl. Might.
Crockery:
Nearly twenty years ago I bought a cheapish dinner service, from Argos I think. Over the years all but one of the dinner plates have broken but most of the side plates and bowls are still okay, and some of the cutlery is serviceable. Therefore, these tend to sit in the drying rack and be used on a day-to-day basis, even though they're cheap and dated.
Recently the last but one dinner plate broke so ordinary dinners are served on a pair of plates obtained from Whittards about 5 years ago (with matching pasta bowls). I like them as a design but they're fairly hideous for presenting food on. It won't matter if they get broken over time.
Last year I bought a better quality dinner service from John Lewis. Plain white with a simple blue trim. If they get broken, they can be replaced with something almost if not perfectly identical. These are not 'best china' or 'posh dinner plates' but rarely get used for fear of breaking them. If nothing else, this exercise has hardened my resolve that these become more of an everyday set.
Completeness:
I won't just omit every piece of fruit, nut, chocloate or biscuit. I see little point in duplicating pictures of repeating meals - breakfast springs readily to mind.
And this is just for my fun. I like taking photos, I like editing photos, and this blog was started almost 12 years ago solely as an outlet in which to express myself.
Nor will I comment - positively or negatively on every piece of food I phlog. But this cod and chips was a bit disappointing. The second time recently we've got cod from small independent shops and it's been tasteless or watery.
This plum was nice, although I think the rest will taste better today or tomorrow.
Also, don't believe everything you read on the internet. I don't tell lies but sometimes change names, dates and places, just because.
Sunday, 15 December 2013
Beckenham Place Park
"I don't really intend to visit every park in South London. Nevertheless, when we have occasional access to a car, it's nice to discover the larger expanses of greenery that make up South London. The Green Chain Walk is a useful reference and, in theory, the entire chain can be walked in 11 easy chunks. But, like the Capital Ring, too much walking time is wasted walking between the parks and not enough time is devoted to exploring them.
We drove to Beckenham Place Park, the long way (and returned on a much shorter route).
It's not an unpleasant park and potentially could be extremely pleasant.
Beckenham Manor dates back to mediaeval times. According to Wikipedia:
"...Manorial rights passed to the noted Quaker and MP John Cator in 1773.
Cator, reputed to be friends with Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus, introduced many exotic tree species and a lake, which is now dry. Even today, there are reputed to be 60 species of tree on the estate."
Unfortunately, when the London County Council acquired the park in 1927, the golf course already existed, and it reamins a blot on the landscape. I have read recently that there is more land in England used for golf courses than housing. Much of the supposedly sacred greenbelt is golf courses.
This golf course is council-owned and pay-per-play and in theory less elitist than private golf courses. And yet, while we were there, the few people actually playing golf were exclusively white males of a narrow age range. "South London imaginary gangsters," I said. "Taxi drivers" said my South London white male of that age group. Snobbily. They stood on the verandah of their clubhouse in the surprising heat of a sunny February Sunday shouting their mouths off. Intimidating and off-putting to anyone else, and not good use of municipal green space. And, more to the point, the mown lawns, bunkers and flags spoil the natural landscape for the majority who are not golfers
It's definitely worth visiting, especially if you do your homework first. The Friends of Beckenham Place Park say
"The first time or occasional visitor to BPP may not appreciate its true extent" and their list of attractions include:
- Sensory and Ornamental gardens
- Ancient Woodland.
- Picnic and Meadow areas,
- Nature Trail and Riverside Walk
They provide a PDF for the Nature Trail or you can follow it electronically. We had a lovely stroll through the woods - once there you can barely hear the sounds of the golfers. We didn't explore the Riverside Walk, on the far side of the Railway line, but when we go again I shall be following the Nature Trail, and would recommend it to other people, notwithstanding the ghastliness of the golf course. I enjoyed my walk and was in an overall good mood but for some reason wasn't inclined to take photographs.
Saturday, 14 December 2013
Sennen Cove and Zennor
After leaving the Tourist Trap that is Land's End, our main priority was refreshment. I knew better than to even try the ghastly First & Last Inn, and decided instead to try Sennen Cove. Turn left off the road from Land's End. There's a quite well-known restaurant there (later featured on Tom Kerridge's TV show), but it was not the time for 'well-known restaurant' when we wanted coffee and a snack. Instead, we accidentally fell upon Little Bo café. A little gem!
It was pretty busy when we arrived and didn't get any quieter. I thought the staff did a sterling job, warning people how long they would have to wait, and scurrying around in surprising heat to fulfill orders inside the café and across the road on the Prom.
Inside the café were various groups of weirdos. Entirely inoffensive but as an exercise in people-watching it was hugely enjoyable. There were two 'normals' sat behind me, but, on reflection, they were so quiet they could have been quite sinister. The staff were reassuringly down-to-earth and the menu was reassuringly modern-verging-on-boho. Entertainment was provided by the Battle of the Door. Staff wanted the door open, both for ventilation and to make it easier for them to serve customers on the seafront. An elderly couple insisted on closing it every time it was left open. It was warm inside with the door closed. We desperately wanted it open. But I was too intimidated to argue with this determined couple.
I had a decent cup of coffee, once again stupidly eschewing the offer of a decent cup of tea well presented. We did have to wait a bit for our lunch/snack but no longer than we had been warned. It was worth waiting for.
It was listed as goat's cheese, walnut and apple salad, but as you can see, the addition of ripe juicy luscious figs turned this into a special salad, a salad that makes you despair at the nonsense that passes for salad in too many other places. It was the second time in a month and in my life I had had figs teamed with goat's cheese. As a taste combination, it's a 'keeper'!
We walked around Sennen Cove in glorious late summer sunshine and regretted not having our swimming costumes handy. Mind you, although there were plenty of people in the sea they all seemed to be body-boarders and were wearing wetsuits.
It's a decent small seaside town.
We had a look inside the lifeboat station and bought some fundraising souvenirs, so that was good but there wasn't much else to detain us, and we moved on.
Bad planning on our part as we had reserved a table for 6.30 that evening. If we had known the weather would be so fine, we would surely have booked later, or taken our chances on being a walk-up. I lost track of time as I suggested we call in at Zennor. "Picturesque village" it said on our Ordnance Survey tourist map. A regret was that we bypassed St Just, and, more importantly, the Levant Mine and Beam Engine, which would surely have appealed to my dormant Industrial Archaeology Geek.
We did stop at these abandoned mine workings. I have looked, and failed, to locate them on a map, and have concluded that such sites are so common in Cornwall they're not sufficiently noteworthy.
I fell into conversation with an earnest and eager young man who told of how the mine workings reached out two miles under the sea. He talked of how the Cornish mining industry was pivotal in Britain's Industrial Revolution. I vaguely recalled an engineer with a Cornish name - Richard Trevithick, he prompted me - who had more or less invented steam locomotion, and is less well known than George and Robert Stephenson.
Onwards to Zennor which hosts a curious 'Wayside Museum'. I browsed the bookshop whilst Jimmy bought an ice cream. The bookshop stocked an excellent range of Cornwall-related fiction and non-fiction, and eschewed gimmicky tat. The CD playing and available for sale was of George Lloyd's music. I had not heard of George Lloyd until this summer, the centenary of his birth; a work of his featured in the Last Night of the Proms the week before. His Iernin was performed by Surrey Opera in Croydon and Penzance this autumn. He had lived in the house which is now the Wayside Museum. We didn't visit the historic and well-reviewed Tinners Arms, nor did we visit the church with the picture of a mermaid on the bench end.
We tried to walk to the sea but the path was long and going nowhere. My watch was wrong, which meant we missed tea at the Backpacker's hostel and tea-rooms. It also meant that we had to dash back to Marazion to park the car, change, and catch the bus into Penzance for dinner.
Little Bo Café and The Beach, Sennen, West Penwith, Cornwall from Toast Tiffin and Tea
The Best Walks With Food – West Cornwall 2. Little Bo Cafe from The Cornish Way blog
Sennen cafe goes from strength to strength with plans for 2014 - Press Release published by This is Cornwall
Monday, 09 December 2013
Some random food photos
Not really worth a blogpost in their own right but I thought I'd post them!
Last year's Christmas cake. This year's is already made but not iced. The decorations will be different this year because a mouse got into our miscellaneous kitchen drawer, and nibbled various things, included Christmas cake decorations. We binned the lot. Some champagne candles remain, in the candle bag.
We went for a casual dinner in Beyrouths in Streatham. It was nice and quite inexpensive. We went a second time with the nephew and we agreed that, although it was okay as far as it went, the chips were too salty. I wouldn't rush back but if I was in Streatham and looking for a cheap and cheerful place at an awkward time of day I'd go again. I liked their way of serving tea.
I had my birthday dinner at Chez Bruce. I remember it being absolutely lovely; we went back for Jimmy's birthday, and we're going again just after Christmas. However, I did have slightly too much to drink, so can't remember the details, and the light was low and I was too tiddly properly to compensate.
Mackerel rillettes
Trout
Mille Feuille
I made some Baklava at home. I don't think the filling was moist enough, and I'm not sure I put enough butter between the layers of filo pastry. but it tasted bloody good, if I say so myself.
Sunday, 08 December 2013
The Wandle - Colliers Wood to Hackbridge
It's easy enough to get to Colliers Wood. We started this walk with a row. I can't remember the genesis of it, and it had no lasting consequence. He declared that we must join the Wandle Trail at Colliers Wood. Take me there, then, I hissed. He didn't know how, by public transport.
Then we wanted coffee and a snack, and the only choice seemed to be the café at Sainsburys. (We had forgotten the existence of the William Morris pub).
We passed the Water Wheel at Merton Abbey Mills. I keep doing this, photographing water wheels to convey the motion, but this never comes across in stills photography.
Merton Abbey Mills is forever associated with William Morris, the Pre-Raphaelite textile designer, artist, writer, and socialist, and with Liberty & Co. There was a railway station there for a relatively brief period.
The day we walked was London Open Garden Squares day and Deen City Farm, which is usually open Tuesday to Sunday with free admission, had nevertheless laid on a special - not least by putting out signs inviting us in. We'd always passed by: it's a City farm, it's for kids.
We looked round their gardens, and looked at their animals, although many of my photos were not worth keeping sadly, they were mostly turkeys.
My absolute highlight was getting to stroke this tame owl, called Edna. I've never stroked an owl before!
We also watched some small children displaying their basic dressage skills
From the City Farm, the riverside path leads to Morden Hall Park, but first we must pass the tramline. At this point the trams go pretty fast - it's not like crossing them in central Croydon. You have to have your wits about you. I know, this photo would be better with an actual tram, but when you know another opportunity will arise another day who can be bothered to hang around!
We normally head along the path directly to the Mansion but for a change we took the path through the Wetlands. It's promoted as haven for wildlife, but I rarely see anything of interest anywhere. Too little patience and I've not trained myself to spot things!
We rejoin the main path by the stone bridge.
The heart of the park is busy, many people have a picnic or are snoozing or strolling in the sun. A dog plays in the river.
We follow the Wandle Trail through the Hay Meadow, looking glorious, and nearly impossible to photograph. It's only later that I realise we have been here many times and the Wandle Trail does not go along the Wandle, which meanders through a rose garden and arboretum. We don't join it again until we cross Morden Road and enter Ravensbury Park. Ravensbury Park includes a conventional municipal open space. The children's play area was audible although not intrusive. I'm sure it is invaluable in serving the local community.
But the Wandle Trail-ist stays close to the River Bank. I envy the people whose mundane suburban semis have gardens that fall down to the river. Some appreciate it more than others.
We are rarely far from reminders of the Wandle's industrial past or how the river was diverted to serve that industry.
We continue along the path and enter the tranquility that makes me love Ravensbury Park. For a few moments you are totally alone. The passers-by are few, and seem self-absorbed. Do they see what I see and try to photograph?
The coots are irresistable, if tricky to photograph.
Crossing London Road we achieved something we hadn't previously achieved - finding how we walk alongside the Wandle without trespassing into the Watermeads Nature Reserve, which is closed to the public. (I'm not frightfully bothered about 'trespass' but desperately want to respect 'Nature Reserve'). There is a narrow path running to the left of the car park at Tooting and Mitcham Football Ground. Radio Jackie were broadcasting live from the car park to a crowd of nearly dozens, and although I retain a fondness for Radio Jackie, I did think they were unnecessarily loud - perhaps audible throughout their entire catchment area without an intermediary transmitter to help. Also I pondered that a ground like T&M's lies empty for most of their time, with an average attendance of less than 200. The local council site does note that it has 'community and mixed sport facilities', nevertheless it does seem such a waste of space to see a sports ground not available for sports even on a fine spring Sunday. Wikipedia writes about the The KNK stadium/Imperial Fields:
The former Chelsea, Crystal Palace and Brentford training ground is adjacent to the River Wandle into which many footballs were lost over time.
For people who 'do' the Wandle Trail end-to-end, the area near the Watermeads is a favourite location to post photos saying LOOK, LONDON, INNIT. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? LONDON!
I am no exception!
It is a stunningly lovely place to walk. The greenery provides shade, the river is tranquil. Relatively few people walk along this path and the aroma is soothing. But it's really boring to photograph. I have looked through my photos from this gorgeous day out, including the ones I'm not blogging, and they're endless unstoppable green green green. The walker (stroller? saunterer?) in me is deeply grateful that south London is so green. The snapper, not so.
And we reach Poulter Park. No doubt a perfectly pleasant park, but the habitat of The Dog Couple. The woman sat on the lawn while the dog bounded around. The dog ran up to and threw itself at me, paws all over me. "Get that thing off me!" I said. The woman just sat their on her arse and with no conviction mumbled "Flopsy, here!" Flopsy ignored her and ran back and forth, attacking me twice more. It is entirely conceivable that I may have sworn when I said "You should keep that thing under control".
We returned to the Riverbank where we encountered the husband fishing - notwithstanding signs saying it was the Close Season - and sneeringly he said that the dog had never attacked anyone before so what was I worried about. Given that neither of them looked like they had ever walked a dog - or done anything that resembled exercise - in ten years (and I'm being kind) I don't know how he could possibly assert his dog was harmless. And its history was irrelevant - it had attacked me. No actual physical harm done, but I am far from alone in being quite terrified of stupid little lapdogs launching themselves at me. Scumbags seem to think they have some absolute right, and I have no rights, whereas I think they have some rights, but those rights do not infringe on my right not to be molested.
Fortunately, we soon encountered more ducks on the river.
The next stretch of the trail is a bit boring, as you are separated from the river by industrial units. We paused in a strangely deserted - and thus slightly intimidating Watercress Park - and took the Easterly fork of the divided river towards Hackbridge.
By now, we were not far from Wilderness Island and could have continued to Carshalton, but it's best to know when to call it a day, especially when you are near a bus stop, and a bus in due in less than ten minutes.
That bus took us to The Sun Pub. Decent enough pub for travellers wanting refreshment and one I wouldn't hesitate to use again when on the Trail. Decent ale and proper attention to non-alcoholic refreshment. I also liked the poster I saw on the door of the women's loos but was disappointed it didn't have an equivalent for the men's loos. I would like to see more, similar signs in other pubs, but would also like an environment where pubs don't need to state what should be basic common sense!
Merton Abbey Mills from Miss Immy's London
Morden Hall to Colliers Wood, Walk (part 3)Merton Abbey Mills and Colliers Wood - Urban 75
Environment Agency Report on Merton Abbey Mill
Sunday, 01 December 2013
Lands End
We aborted our first attempt to visit Lands End because of fog. On the middle Saturday of our holiday we tried again, in glorious late summer weather. I felt over-dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt.
It costs £5 to park at Land's End; most people head straight for the visitor's centre. My guide books both warned against this, with words like 'over-priced' and 'tat'. In any case, one's instinct would be to turn left and stroll along the South West Coast Path.
The cliffs and views are spectacular. The path is rugged but perfectly passable in the right footwear. We passed several but not many people: a couple with serious camera gear and sensible shoes - I was disappointed they weren't bird spotters, but they had seen a seal earlier; a group of four twenty-somethings, men in Converse, women in fashion wellies, looking bored and wanting to know where 'the sign' was; and a few other pleasantly forgettable people.
Being out on the cliffs for an hour or so was a surprising highlight of the holiday. Fresh air and sunshine, able to see for miles. Looking at the gorse, bracken and heather. It was amusing to think how many vehicles were in the car park and how few people there were to spoil our tranquility. Although I did invent the psychological condition of 'vicarious vertigo' - being more bothered about your companion venturing close to the edge than you are about yourself.
We walked back towards the car park. He told me that he had been looking at people's footwear. So had I. People with stout shoes headed out purposefully along the cliffs. People in shoes intended for mooching shopping malls looked confused. We saw a coach unload its human cargo. Most were in flip-flops, some in new shiny trainers, bought especially for their trip to the country. They took photos of each other posing in front of the sea. From the edges of the car park, it could have been any sea, nothing would say 'Land's End'.
We walked to the visitor's centre and our spirits fell. Some people seemed not to know why they were there. We went for coffee in the self-service restaurant and asked the assistant if there was a 'proper' coffee machine. They said helpfully, "I wouldn't bother."
We didn't bother. We glanced at the 'fun attractions' - videos, to tell people about the world, when they don't want to look at the world outside. We walked to The Sign, but they didn't have Brixton (or Streatham or Clapham) on their list, just London. Because 'London' is specific enough for 8 million people. We strolled more and looked at the cliffs that stretched away to our right. The café with outside seating was closed, because how could they have known there would be visitors on a warm sunny Saturday in the first half of September.
We looked at the tourist tat shop. The goods were similar to those on sale throughout West Cornwall but with a special Land's End mark-up to reflect the location. I thought the person who walked past me smelt of poo, but Jimmy said they were eating a Cornish pasty.
We returned to the car, having ticked Land's End off the list of 'Essential Tourist Sites to See Before You Die'. I wouldn't really recommend going - the South West Coast Path many open air clifftop wild plant strewn spaces - but it is Land's End.
Cornwall photos gradually being added to Cornwall photo album
Saturday, 30 November 2013
A trip to the Lake District, South Norwood
Lake District name claim by South Norwood tourist group 'Bassenthwaite is the only lake in Cumbria actually called a lake'
The true Lake District? The day I wandered lonely as a cloud... in South Norwood
Residents of ‘beautiful’ South Norwood defend plan to claim Lake District title from Cumbria
Lake District urged to give up its title by South London wannabes: A self-styled “tourist board” in a run-down suburb of South London has demanded a Cumbrian authority stops calling itself the Lake District because it has a better claim to the title.
These startling news stories date from April of this year, but we had already begun our Lake District odyssey last summer. I had an idea that I should visit every park in South London. We had started our excursion at Beckenham Cemetery and Crematorium, admiring the roses, so much lovelier than the ones we had paid to see at a National Trust property the previous day. We proceeded onwards, pausing only to purchase petrol at Elmers End, and drove to South Norwood Country Park, which has a fascinating history. Unfortunately, despite being July, it was almost dark in early afternoon, and wet and miserable, so we went home, failing to enjoy the wildlife of SNCP's wetlands.
Undeterred, seven months later we went to South Norwood Lake
It is a lake, lying between South Norwood and Anerley National Rail/London Overground stations, and not too far from the famous Selhurst Park stadium, with the legendary Crystal Palace transmitter (one of them) clearly visible.
Trains run past, indeed just a couple of weeks ago, I was on a train from Streatham Hill to West Croydon, and glanced out of the window, and saw people in rowing boats or pedalos, enjoying the lake.
On the day that we visited in February, there must have been engineering work on the main railway line, as I saw a Gatwick Express, which normally runs on rails somewhat to the west of here.
We walked all the way round the lake and reached the playing fields, which were startlingly waterlogged after an exceptionally wet winter.
I was able to conclude that this is a very nice green space for people who live locally, but I don't think it will warrant a second visit from travellers such as I, coming from afar. I wonder if every park in south London is actually worth travelling to see.
The South Norwood Tourist Board will rename the lake in the Country Park after Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, but I'd have to look through the website to see if they have naming plans for this lake. They are also planning guided walks of the area.
FIRST SEEING SOUTH NORWOOD COUNTRY PARK LAKE COMPARABLE TO BALBOA’S DISCOVERY OF THR PACIFIC
South Norwood Lake: A mini Oasis
Friday, 29 November 2013
Ben's Cornish Kitchen
When we booked to stay in Marazion we did so in ignorance of the existence of Ben's Cornish Kitchen. But this restaurant is so good it's worth visiting Marazion especially to eat here. And we ate here twice.
Just the other day, Jimmy commented that there were two stand out restaurants this year, Wild Thyme in Chipping Norton, and Ben's Cornish Kitchen. We booked to go on our first Friday and decided almost immediately that we must book again for the second week. In my diary I wrote 'utterly utterly brilliant'.
Ben's is on the main road through Marazion. A fairly small downstairs room has been augmented recently by opening an upstairs, where we didn't venture. They are very clear on their website there is no dress code. The tables are set fairly well apart so it shouldn't be possible to overhear other parties' conversation. Unfortunately, on both visits we were sharing the space with a table of people who included at least one person who was either hearing-impaired or was needy of attention, which tempted me into one of my favourite pastimes - making up background stories about total strangers (see below).
Food wise, I can barely fault the place. Some dishes had a wow factor, others were merely 'very good'. When you savour outstanding food it's sometimes disappointing to taste the merely excellent. But mere nit-picking on my part! Good wine selection - the menu suggested a matched wine for each dish, a nice touch.
The waiting staff were mainly young. We had a nice conversation with a young woman who was going to an open day at Bristol University Medical School. She will have an excellent bedside manner as a doctor and she was lovely as waiting staff; nevertheless, Sixth Formers, however bright and charming, are different from experienced full-time front-of-house staff. My main criticism of Ben's was that the pre-dinner bread seemed to be rationed to one roll each. Minor niggle, I'm sure you'll agree.
On my first visit I started with Seared Falmouth Bay Scallops, new season parsnips (I'm not a parsnip fan but these were surprisingly delicious), roasted chervil root, basil and tamarind garlic. Every mouthful had a different taste.
The next week I started with Mushroom parfait, with cep custard, pine oil, hazelnut crumble, salsify twigs, parsnip bark, micro herbs and cep powder.
A very strongly flavoured sauce, with hazelnut as a strong and surprisingly effective partner to mushroom. I'm not sure I'd have it again, although that's about my individual taste, not a criticism. I wasn't entirely convinced by the vegetable crisps that were neither crisp nor chewy.
First week, my main was Roast dayboat Turbot with a warm salad of roasted squash, Newlyn crab, Lobster and chard herb salad (out of focus shot).
It was perfectly cooked and presented with a perfect flavour combination, and one of the best main courses I've had all year, but, ultimately, it lacked the wow factor I'd experienced with the scallop starter.
In week two, I had roasted hake fillet, Newlyn crab and Cornish Langoustine risotto, lobster and brandy bisque sauce and saffron mayonnaise. My diary records "Absolutely bloody fantastic, especially the risotto which packed a punch with its flavour"
The pièce de résistance was my first week dessert, somewhat of a signature dish, reportedly by Toby, Ben's brother. Curry. Yes, that's right, curry for pudding! Mango curd, spicy rice, coconut puree, spiced caramel, ginger jelly, cardamon ice cream, coriander, poppadom.
I had never previously experienced a sweet curry, but I now demand every good restaurant includes it in its repertoire. Tasted like the most exquisite curry and worked perfectly as a pudding.
I was tempted to try it again in the second week, but decided that variety is important. I opted for a cheeseboard - Helford White, Helford Blue, Comte and Ragstone's goat cheese, with 'homemade' biscuits. It was everything I expect and hope for from a cheeseboard, and just what I wanted at that point. I sort of regretted not ordering the Triple Layered chocolate brownie, pistachio milkshake, and chocolate and pistachio macaroon which was Jimmy's choice but I'm generally disappointed by chocolate brownie.
On the first visit, I decided that one party were two couples who had met prior to 'wife-swapping' - they were explaining their occupations and what had brought them to live in Cornwall (they'd ruled out Hampshire as being too close to her Mum and Dad, to gales of laughter, including on my table) yet they were happy to share a quite-pricey dinner. I was delighted I guessed her occupation correctly - doctor's receptionist.
The next party to arrive was a 70-ish man, and two women of 60ish and 50ish. I decided married couple and her lover, whom he tolerated. I was desperately disappointed when a second man arrived presumably from having parked the car. They were probably long-standing friends or relatives, with no offbeat sexual practices involved.
A middle aged couple arrived with two twenty something men - son and boyfriend, I decided, without any evidence to support or refute this. In the window was sat the token 'normal' couple. I felt I was sure I knew the man from somewhere, and, indeed the next morning he said 'Good morning' in the Town Square. I'm fairly sure we work in the same building, but one can't ever be sure in a building of 3000+ people
Do take a note of Ben Prior as an up-and-coming chef - see these accolades in the Food Magazine South West awards - runner up with Michael Caines and Nathan Outlaw to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall as Local Food Hero; Best Restaurant; and Runner-up as Best Chef. Listed by The Times as one of the Top 30 restaurants by the sea and appearing in the Waitrose Good Food Guide. A foodie blogger's view: Saffron Bunny
I probably won't return to this part of Cornwall soon - it would be nice to see scenery elsewhere - but if there was one reason to return it would be this restaurant. Outstanding.
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
A Wandle in May
Train from Streatham Hill to Carshalton. A short canter down the hill, and into The Grove, the muncipal park beside Carshalton Ponds. We ignored The Ponds, and the remains of the headwaters to their south. I was soon attracted by a heron. These photos will never win a photo competition; I think to get proper wildlife pictures you need infinite patience and time, and be prepared to venture away from a popular public park.
This was the Sunday before May Bank Holiday, and the coldest Spring for fifty years finally seemed to be blooming.
The waterfall is always worth a photo.
We followed the Wandle Trail path out of the park. A child of 7 or 8 fell off his three-wheeled scooter at speed. Dad lectured him "Tarquin, that is exactly why you must wear your helmet on your scooter, you would have been hurt without your helmet" Tarquin (not his real name) had landed on his hands and knees, which will never be protected by a helmet. Tarquin would have been better off, more stable and less likely to fall, on a proper bicycle. Especially given that he was way past being a toddler.
We barely passed a soul as we headed to Wilderness Island. I love how the Wandle threads through densely populated residential areas.
Bluebells grow on its banks
If I had to live in a flat I'd like one beside the river. Barely a soul was about; they take for granted the river that flows below their windows feeding the mighty Thames.
The path diverts from the river to pass the railway bridge on Mill Lane, but at the far side is a beach!
We reach Wilderness Island. Shall we carry on and attempt to walk to London, or should we enter the island? Always enter the island.
Places have names that evoke something they are not. Wilderness Island, sandwiched between Carshalton and Croydon, a stone's throw from Hackbridge. But the name actually suits. The 'watersmeet' has been a Local Nature Reserve since 1990 with several ponds, and osier beds (osiers are willow saplings, grown for basketmaking). Throughout the history of the working river, the waters have been diverted to suit industry.
We spent nearly an hour strolling round Wilderness Island. Very little information exists about it on the web, but Bob Steel's River Wandle Companion is invaluable. Natural England has a basic listing.
It's not a place that photographs well. Nothing can quite capture the still and quiet, nor can a blog ever convey the smells and sounds of a wilderness in suburbia. We encountered very few people; those that we did were clearly enjoying the near-solitude as much as us.
As ever with The Wandle, alongside the nature reclaimed, is always the industry, quiet on a Sunday afternoon.
One moment you're practically on a residential street, the next, you're in the country
We walked on from Wilderness Island, over Hackbridge Road, and taking the Westerly route through to Watercress Park. We decided to call it a day and walked to the Goat pub - I don't think we'd do that again. The staff were polite and warm, and my bitter shandy tasted fine, but Jimmy's pint was iffy and some of the locals were quite scary. We finished our walk at Mitcham Junction and my tracking app measured 3.83 miles, which was just enough.
I don't know where I took these photos
Sunday, 24 November 2013
A Gloomy Day in Mounts Bay
We tried to make the most of the day. Big full Veggie (for me, at any rate) breakfast in Delicious in Marazion, and quite some shopping. Odds and ends you end up buying on holiday. I spotted some slippers in the window of a shop called The Rigging and ended up buying a hoodie, too. They also stock Weird Fish t-shirts, with some great punny designs eg The Prawn Ultimatum, The Rocky Horror Pilchard Show, Cod's Army (Don't Tell 'em Pike), and The Brill (You're Nicked). They made me chuckle.
Near where were staying was a little 'vintage' shop, which only opened a few hours a day. At first I had been quite sniffy, using words like 'over-priced tat'. But my eyes kept being caught by the china. I suspect that if I had unlimited funds and storage capacity I would buy lots of 'shabby chic' mismatched dainty china. It's hard to resist dust-collecting clutter.
But one piece had truly drawn my eye. So we went in, and had a look round, seeing some nostalgia-evoking items from childhood. I even found a Ladybird Book of birds, to help me learn to identify birds. We got chatting to the owner, who seemed delightful and really quite down-to-earth. and I bought the item I had fixed my sights on.
Exquisitely dainty and too small to be considered 'clutter'.
I thought we should visit Porthleven. Unfortunately, the main road is on elevated ground and was extremely foggy. As we descended into Porthleven, the fog cleared but the rain was wet and miserable. It's a lovely little town, but the weather didn't do it justice and I didn't take any photos. But Jimmy bought a hoodie from the The Vault, and we had a snack in the Corner Deli. Nice but not as nice as Delicious.
On the drive back we called in at Praa Sands, and were lucky enough to catch a break in the rain. I just stood in the car park and took snapshots. Not a great day for photography.
Fortunately, we had a table reservation at the well-reviewed and highly recommended Ben's Cornish Kitchen to look forward to.
See also Porthleven to Praa Sands from Ruth's Coastal Walk
Saturday, 23 November 2013
Kos Boat Cruise
On the final full day of our Greek holiday, we went on a boat trip. We did it the easy way, buying from the rep in the hotel rather than at the Quayside. That way, we got transport to the harbour, and were booked on a boat aimed at English-language tourists. Our boat was filled with mainly with Brits and Dutch, and one Italian couple who were very out of place. He spent much too much time on his phone, almost certainly talking business. She was dressed impeccably - for a restaurant - even with full make-up and heels, and looked disapprovingly at British and Dutch women in our shorts and flip-flops.
The boat chugged out of the harbour and seemed to travel for miles. Nothing much to see but open sea, the occasional tourist boat and one or two islets.
I put my camera away. I don't wish to labour the point, but while I love the blue of the Aegean Sea, the arid landscape does nothing for me.
Eventually we arrived at our first island. It was a slightly misleading description, for we anchored off the coast of Platti and were encouraged to dive into the water. Off with the t-shirts and shorts, under which most people had their swimming togs. Some people dived in; I did it my way, gingerly down the ladder backwards. What utter joy! Swimming is nice. Swimming off a beach is joyful. Swimming off the back of the boat is an amazing sensation.
Sitting near us were a mother and daughter (50s/20s). What a palaver they went through so the daughter could change out of her bra and knickers into her bikini and back again, with Mother holding up a towel and glaring at anyone sitting nearby. The daughter was flat-chested and it wouldn't have looked odd if she had worn her bikini beneath her tailored blouse. Women with actual boobs were doing so under their t-shirts or beach dresses.
We were served a 'barbeque' but there was precious little - bread and tomato - for those that didn't eat meat. The meat was pork. Jimmy said it was pretty horrible, and made him yearn for the buffet at the hotel which we had otherwise become bored of.
Our next stop was Kalymnos, the Sponge Island. As we approached, we passed the island's cement works, a major source of cement for the Dodecanese. I'd read the tour leaflet, and told Jimmy, who hadn't, that we were going for a tour of the cement works. He was somewhat dismayed, so I had to tell him we weren't.
We were encouraged to visit the Sponge Factory and buy large quantities of sponge, but we took a coffee, strolled round the harbour, took another coffee, strolled some more and returned to the boat.
I thought it was a nice little town and it seemed to photograph better than I thought at the time. But it did drive home to me the futility of these trips. It's great to be out on the boat, on the open sea, getting the chance to swim. And I understand why they stop in towns. People go into cold sweats if they can't shop all day, and, more practically, it gives us access to more food and drink than the boat can provide. It seems disrespectful to local people to show such superficial interest in their culture, snap-snap, there's my photo, doesn't it look picturesque.
I liked the statue near the harbour , depicting different aspects of local life and myth
Perhaps inevitably, a statue of Poseidon was not far away.
Our final stop was Pserimos,for some off-beach swimming and to enjoy beach cafés. The strange people continued to act strangely.
The mother-and-daughter-with-towel show repeated itself, only for daughter to wade out knee deep and no further into the sea. Mother was later seen to be rinsing off the daughter's bikini - in the sea, which made no sense to me.
Meanwhile the Italian woman removed her high heels and let her feet go into the water. Suddenly, I pitied her. I couldn't tell whether she was enjoying the sensation and wanted more but didn't dare, or she felt nothing but acted a wriggle to convey the joy she had learned from other people. Meanwhile, her husband fastidiously brushed off sand that had dared to encroach onto his impeccable trousers and matching shoes.
One of our more gregarious companions engaged the barmen in conversation. At first it seemed a charming way to show interest in them but soon became clear it was a way for her to regale them with the epic story of her holiday. She and her husband were here to celebrate their thirteenth wedding anniversary. Their anniversary was in March and they had gone to Amsterdam (thus being more knowledgable about Amsterdam than Dutch people) but in September they were celebrating their anniversary - by going on holiday with her parents. (Sub text, look how loaded we are). Mother, meantime, got anxiety attacks if she wasn't shopping, and yet shopping also caused obvious stress. At least I found out who buys all that jewellery and ornaments made of shells in tourist resorts!
I couldn't quite work Pserimos out. It has a population of 130 and we saw one old boy who I imagined had lived there all his life and his ancestors for generations before. Where we landed was pretty, but had no anthropological interest. I think the buildings round the bay were holiday lets, probably for prosperous folk fondly imagining that they were living hippy alt culture for two weeks before returning to their bonus-heavy city jobs.
We sailed back to Kos town. I enjoyed the day, there really is nothing like it. Lots of fresh air, open seas, swimming, people-watching. Splendid day and a great end to an holiday which had been better than the sum of its parts and much better than I've conveyed in these blogposts. But we won't be doing All-Inclusive again any time soon.
Other blogposts on my Kos holiday:
Tuesday, 19 November 2013
Battersea Park in winter
There had been a fair amount of snow in January, even to the extent of there being at least one 'Snow Day'. At the end of the month was an early - if false - hint of Spring. At the time this felt good. But March was harsh, and Spring seemed to be late. Actually, 'normal' not premature like many recent years. And this was good because it led to stronger and more plentiful produce.
We thought we would take a moderate stroll and, that, more or less was what we did. Simple bus journey to Battersea Park and a pleasant hour or so walking. I thought I knew Battersea Park fairly well, but everytime I visit I find something new. Partly because they have introduced new aspects but mainly because there is so much to explore.
We had the obligatory walk around the lake which was partly iced and partly thawed.
The rowing boats were beached for winter.
The reflections in the lake didn't quite materialise into the photos I had hoped for
The Pumphouse, a Gallery and Venue-for-Hire loomed like an aristocrat's folly in the woods.
In the distance, a Barabara Hepworth
This is Single Form (Memorial), and is a replica or copy, by the artist of Single Form, her largest work, which stands in the United Nations Plaza in New York, in memory of Dag Hammarskjöld. See also Two Forms (Divided Circle), which I snapped in Dulwich Park, before it was stolen.
Closer at hand was Henry Moore's Three Standing Figures.
Read more about Battersea Park Sculpture
More photos near the lake
The Sub-Tropical Gardens in Battersea date from 1863, but were abandoned in World War II when many gardeners went to war and the land was turned over for much needed food production. They were recreated and reopened in 2004. Winter is not the best time to see them.
It was only when I got home that I learned that a Winter Garden was opened in 2011. Perhaps this should be on my To-Do List this winter! According to this map it's tucked away by the Sun Gate, on Albert Bridge Road, at the furthest end from the river.
A Guardian article: The winter's tale: It is the season too often neglected but a newly planted Winter Garden in Battersea will be a beacon in the dark.
BBC News: Battersea Park unveils £150,000 winter garden
We walked to the river where all was desolate and frozen. I had never seen these installations before but I believe they've been there some time.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of not going back the way we'd come, so I ended up having a long and increasingly painful walk down Albert Bridge Road and Battersea Park, neither exciting nor salubrious, in order to catch our bus back home.
Just because they're not worth a blogpost of themselves, here's a couple of shots of my garden, taken 6 days previously.
I have a small photo album dedictaed to Battersea Park
Blogposts from others
Battersea Park from Girl With a Dog and Good Shoes
Battersea Park, London from Sapphire City
Battersea Park, without a Boris Bike from Sunny in London
Battersea Park from Alisha Magic
Saturday in Battersea Park from Sas Petherick
Balade dans Battersea Park (In French but Google translates it)
Battersea Park from Karen Pas Grand-Chose (in English!)
A Walk Through Battersea Park from Ham Life
Sunday, 17 November 2013
A foggy day in Penwith
If you go on holiday to West Cornwall, the law dictates you go to Land's End.
The day started warm, followed by a brief shower. We were in no hurry to get out, needing a rest and a lie-in after several relentless days. It felt that the weather would clear up. So, Land's End it would be, thirteen miles away. No need even for SatNav.
We turned off onto the by-road to take us to Porthcurno. Magical Porthcurno, highly recommended as one of the best beaches on Cornwall. Down narrow twisty lanes, up and down steep slopes in gathering mist. We passed the Porthcurno Telegraph Museum which was closed. It's based near where the Transatlantic submarine cables came ashore.
As soon as we arrived in the car park, the skies opened and torrential rain fell. We waited the obligatory ten minutes in the hope that it would clear. It did, and as we got out of the car and carried out the necessary faffing that all holidaymakers do, we noticed several other car loads emerging.
I had thought we would have the beach to ourselves, but no chance - there was upwards of two dozen others. I found the sloping dry sand quite hard going. But it certainly was a lovely little beach, although I imagine it gets very crowded on hot days in high season. The weather wasn't great for photos but it was good to get the fresh air and leg stretch.
There was an interesting rock formation forming part of scramble up the cliffs to the Coastal Path. There were some walkers on the path and I suppose we could have walked round to see the legendary open air Minack Theatre.
Instead we drove on towards Lands End but the fog was not improving. It seemed a bit much to pay £5 to sit in a car park and gaze out to a foggy sea. By now I fancied some refreshment and we made the mistake of stopping in the First and Last Inn in England. I was so incensed by the mockery of a cup of tea I took to Trip Advisor to moan. I accept that one will pay higher prices in popular tourist locations, and I don't mind that if it's for a decent product. But I hate it when English tourist places can't even get a cup of tea right.
As we descended from the ridge the fog cleared but it still wasn''t a pleasant day. We parked up in Penzance and went to the The Old Lifeboat House Bistro. It was mid-afternoon and they had a sign that they were open for scones, cakes and beverages. Jimmy asked if they could do us a sandwich. Yes, they said. Which was nice of them, I thought. And sensible, business-wise.
It was a lovely example of how to do things well. In a sense perfect. Not exceptional or outstanding but as you would really like to expect places to be - but they rarely are. Clean fresh bright surroundings. Pleasant paintings by local artists on the wall. A crab sandwich with tasty proper bread filled with the sweetest tasting crab imaginable. The tea was made with Clipper teabags in a pottery teapot, served with cups and saucers, with real milk in a pottery jug. If you use good quality teabags, such as Clipper, you don't need to use leaf tea. China pots are great for purists but I'm happy with a decent pottery one. A light late lunch I really savoured. We never went back for dinner but I would have had faith on the basis of the quality and service we received.
In the evening we went for dinner at the Victoria Inn in Perranuthnoe. A highly reviewed restaurant, and one that several locals had recommended to us, it appears in the Waitrose Good Food Guide. The chef/owner trained with Raymond Blanc and Michael Caines. Suffice to say we booked to return the next week, too. People travel a long way to eat here, and it's worth it.
I started with tempura of fish and seafood with a coriander dipping sauce.
It's pretty easy to do, but quite difficult to do well. They did it well. Not a hint of greasiness in the batter, and the fish and seafood were fresh, tasty and beautifully cooked. The salad was good, too - crispy and flavourful.
My main course was roast cod with champ potatoes, and, as I wrote in my diary, 'other stuff, with a creamyish sauce'.
They got it absolutely right for pub food. No compromise on the quality of ingredients, and some good flavour combinations, bringing the art of the kitchen to the plate. A chain pub could have done something broadly analogous but there would be no comparison. They didn't make the food over-fancy: there's a place for that but not in a pub. My main criticism would be that the portions were generous, leaving no room for pudding.
Other people's blogposts include:
118 Lamorna to Porthcurno to Land’s End - she's walking the coast of Britain, and she writes well. I'll have to go back and read some more of this - especially as she's already walked most of the stretches that I know - see also 117 Perranuthnoe, Penzance to Lamorna Cove
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- Lambeth Politics
- Language
- London my London
- Mozart
- Music: Classical
- Music: Miscellaneous
- Music: Rock and pop
- Northumberland
- Old Diaries
- Old pictures
- Opera
- Opera Stars
- Opera: Other composers
- Paris
- People
- Photography
- Placido Domingo - my hero!
- Proms 2004-2010
- Puccini
- Questions & Answers
- Religious nutters
- Rolando Villazon
- Romney Marsh
- Scotland
- Search requests
- Sex
- Site building
- South London Parks
- Spare rib
- Sport other than football
- Strauss
- Swimming
- Tchaikovsky
- Television and Radio
- The British
- Theatre
- Things my fiance and I argue about
- Transport
- UK Politics
- Valencia
- Verdi
- Villajoyosa
- Wagner
- Warbling Barbie
- Weather
- Wild Women
bookmarks
February 2024
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