teacups, cupcakes

Sunday Afternoons

2012-02-12T17:16:00.000Z

This time last week I'd just built a snowman.

January

2012-02-10T20:26:00.000Z

January came and went surprisingly painlessly. Normally I find that it drags, slowly. Skiing for a week took a big chunk of it. Hard to feel low with the wide open sky and snow covered mountains. So that was part of it. But, also, January was filled with good things. Bloody Marys on a Sunday, a walk in Stoke Newington cemetery, pub roasts and dear friends. New friends too, river walks, post work drinks, tea rooms in old pet shops. Maltby Street market with one of my oldest and bestest, then the new White Cube gallery in Bermondsey. Friday nights out with the uni crowd, tapas then tiki, or in with spaghetti and friends made a year ago. Ceremonials pretty much on repeat on the ipod (And I am done with my graceless heart, so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart). A breathtaking exhibition of the Scott Shackleton expedition photography, taken in too quickly one lunch break. Columbia Road flower market, which never disappoints. Walking home with the fattest bunch of Dutch tulips. Brunch at The Breakfast Club, pancakes stacked and syrup smothered, and at Dean Street Townhouse, Eggs Florentine, velvet covered seats and wonderful service. Cinema trips (Shame, The Iron Lady) and discovery of brilliant North London pubs.

No, January was not so very bad at all.

Mountains, snow

2012-01-29T23:20:00.001Z

We got the Eurostar from St Pancras, to wake up in the mountains and the snow. Sounds romantic, is actually less so when you factor in the upright, uncomfortable seats, fellow passengers playing Eminem through speakers at 3am, the never-dimmed lights, waking every 45 mins because your back is seizing up (me) or not sleeping at all (M and the others).

But.

All of this does not change the fact that on a Friday night at 7pm you are boarding a train post-work at St Pancras, and Saturday morning at 7am, still dark, there is the crunch of snow under your feet and the cold, fresh scent of it in the air. And that by 11am you are on the slopes, a million miles away from the artificially lit-office and the post-Christmas, post-New Year blues.

I'm not a particularly hardcore or adventurous skier. I can get myself down a mountain, mostly, and sometimes even with some elegance. But I've never been a first lift up, last run down sort of girl. I like the breathtaking views. I like the peaceful moments on the chairlifts, sun on your face, the soporific swoosh of skiers down below. I like rushing down a slope you know well, fast, thinking about nothing but the moment, then stopping for a hot chocolate. I like the end of a good days skiing, peeling of the layers, toes slowly thawing, stepping into a hot shower, warmth and water enveloping you and an evening of good company and card games ahead.

There were six of us. We mostly skied together, sometimes skied apart. Developed in-jokes and nicknames for each other. Ate lunch on the mountainside. The snow was fantastic, the weather glorious. We took it in turns to cook in the evening, drank snow-chilled beer and wine and cider from the balcony. On the final night ate our weight in melted cheese and could barely move from the restaurant. I practised my poker face, worked my way through a trashy novel (oh Jilly, how you kill me with your similes!), re-read Atonement, tears streaming. It was a wonderful week, and it took a big chunk of January, which let's face it can otherwise be miserable, with it.

London Love: Bill's

2012-01-25T18:52:00.001Z

St Martin's Courtyard off Longacre, WC2E 9AB

Bill's is good for breakfast. I have also been assured by friends that it is good for lunch and dinner too, but I started with breakfast, and it was goo-ood. Eggs Florentine, full English, porridge, French toast, juice, smoothies, Bloody Marys, take your pick, everything we ordered (and there were six of us) looked and tasted delicious. Okay, so we didn't order the porridge, it was a Sunday morning and a birthday breakfast for chrissake, but everything else was delicious and I am sure the porridge would have been too, had we been feeling a little more restrained.

Bill's also sell grocery items, and it is worth a visit for the beautifully stacked and wonderfully colourful shelves alone. Also, branches in Brighton (the original I think, never been but told it's fab), Cambridge, Lewes and Reading, so if you are not a Londoner you can still get your fix.

Happy New Year Everybody

2012-01-23T21:40:00.000Z

(Belatedly)

So, 2012. Here you are, wholeheartedly so. Aware that we are well into the New Year, that once again the photos are stacking up on my hard drive, the words tumbling over each in my head. But posting about things chronologically maintains some sort of order, so here you go.

New Year's Eve. What was meant to be a quiet dinner for stragglers turned into a party of sorts as numbers snowballed. There are always more stragglers than you anticipate at New Year. Always. We drank bubbly with rose petals, punch from the latest Bompas and Parr. Ate the food I had spent most of the day cooking, homemade hummus, baba ganoush, beetroot and walnut dip. Spanakopita. Ottolenghi's winter vegetable cous cous. Nigella's gleaming maple cheesecake.

At half past eleven, bundled on coats and scarves, sensible shoes, headed up to Primrose Hill for the stroke of midnight and the fireworks. Always my favourite moment. Not for me the the overcrowded London club on New Year's Eve, but rather this open space high above it all, city below, sky vast, horizon erratically lit up by fireworks, not just those on the river, but elsewhere too, people all over the city celebrating. Champagne from plastic cups, sparklers distributed to gloved hands, mud underfoot and grass slick with earlier rain.

In the morning, New Year's Day, just M and I, blueberry muffins, bagels. A long, long walk up to Hampstead Heath, spying a woodpecker in the trees and later, some of London's parakeets. Back down past Parliament Hill, Kentish Town, Camden, discarded Christmas trees looking sorrowful. Getting caught in the rain, running for the bus, holing up in the flat with soup and toast and television.

Happy 2012.

Christmas

2012-01-02T16:17:00.000Z

Oh Christmas. Dreamt about for weeks, sitting at my desk, longing for the last day at work, boarding the train, heading home for a week of doing very little but eating, drinking, spending time with the family. And now it has been and gone, always over so quickly, and I am at my desk, drinking hot chocolate, a whole new year stretched before me, work tomorrow.

But before the memory of Christmas fades entirely, whilst I still have Christmas chocolates uneaten and the Christmas Radio Times still waiting to be recycled on the coffee table, a few words and pictures from last week.

Arriving late at night to a surprisingly mild Norfolk. Making lists of all the food to be bought, doing the Christmas supermarket shop with my sister, vegetables from the market with Mum. Decorating the house, ivy from the garden woven up the staircase, wreaths hung, Christmas tree decorated. (A word on our tree: bought earlier in the year, pot bound, bushy. A summer in the garden and it had shot up but not outwards and was somewhat lopsided, which caused my sister and I some distress - wanting things to be perfect we almost went out and bought a bigger, finer, specimen, but then...then...we decided to see what it looked like once brought indoors and mounted on a chest. Decided that it wasn't going to be the size or the shape or the relative uprightness of the tree that made Christmas, decided that it was nothing some glass baubles and fairy lights wouldn't fix, and in the end, it did look rather elegant, at least from certain angles.) Wrapping final presents. Sinking into sofas to watch some excellent television, Dr. Who, Poirot, Great Expectations, Downton Abbey (*spoiler alert* Matthew and Mary!! Hurrah!! *end spoiler*). A Christmas Eve dinner with flickering candlelight and rising bubbles in the Champagne. Walks in the countryside, hurrying home before dusk fell, and on Boxing Day morning a walk in the beautiful sunshine, blue skies, dry heather. Preparing Christmas Day lunch with my sister, peeling mountains of potatoes, measuring nuts for the nut roast, Puppini sisters blaring out into the kitchen. Visiting family friends, some with warm kitchens and sleepy cats, others with gorgeous wide-eyed, small children to coo over. Coming back to London, bags heavier and more numerous, feeling happy, rested.

Hope you had a good one chestnuts!

December misc.

2011-12-24T14:22:00.001Z

Suddenly it was December and the leaves on the trees had been replaced with lights. Movember moustaches had been shaved off and the fast approaching Christmas period was never far from anyone's thoughts. My December so far has been good, but busy, hence the lack of posting. So here for you all, before I log off for Christmas, a December miscellany.

****

There have been cocktails in downstairs bars tucked behind the lights and bustle of Regent Street. There was the fondue night, great fun. Walks through the park, trees mostly bare. Cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate at the Nordic Bakery. Champagne tasting at The Hide Bar. Craft fairs with the Shoreditch Sisters, learning to crochet my first granny square at one of our knitting and craft evenings. A queue and then success getting into The Long Table, Dalston's food night market. Dinner followed by Pina Coladas on a wet Monday night with uni friends. Brunch in Southwark, poached eggs and sweetcorn fritters. Mulled cider in North London pubs. Lots and lots and lots of Snowballs (because 'tis the season). Decorating our little tree with favourite baubles and a few new ones. An office Christmas lunch that turned out to be a huge amount of fun. Late nights and struggling through work the next day. Multiple Christmas parties, scattered across London, tube journeys and night buses. A plethora of ugly Chrsitmas jumpers, seems to be a recurring theme for parties this year (I made the Christmas Tree one for M, impressed?). Bowls of clementines and baking trays of cheese straws. A quiet supper at one of my bestest's, just before we all went our separate ways for Christmas, lights twinkling in the tree, glasses of bubbly and dark night outside.

****

Now I am in a slightly damp Norfolk, home for Christmas with the family. I am going to be cooking, taking photographs when I can, going for long country walks when there is daylight and watching films and practising crochet when there's not. Spending time with loved ones.

Wishing you all the very best for Christmas my dear readers, may it be peaceful and magical and full of joy.

Fondue Night

2011-12-23T17:44:00.001Z

Saturday December 3rd. A few friends, a couple of jugs of Snowballs, and a lot of melted cheese.

London Love: Happiness Forgets

2011-12-07T23:56:00.000Z

8-9 Hoxton Square, N1 6NU

I am almost loathe to share this next one, because it was just so very lovely. But, it is Christmas (well, nearly), a time for sharing, and it may be that you are looking for the perfect spot to sit and sip a cocktail with a friend or two, cocooned from the dark night.

We visited Happiness Forgets in November, when the waiters were still sporting elegantly twisted moustaches, and the nights were inky black and misty, but still warm enough to venture out without gloves. We didn't get in first try, so the four of us went and drank margaritas elsewhere, leaving them with M's mobile number. Not too long after, we got a call back, returned to Hoxton Square, down the metal steps, to a table saved for us. Glasses of chilled water were brought over without having to request them (such a fan of this tradition from across the pond), then menus, and then wonderfully mixed cocktails. Friendly staff, not at all pretentious, the space not overcrowded, quiet enough to talk, whilst still maintaining a healthy buzz.

And the clincher? The 'no wallies' door policy, so very rare for this side of town.

The Last of the Autumn

2011-11-30T13:24:00.000Z

{or, how many different types of fungi can you spot on a single walk?}

M and I walk up to Hampstead, Saturday morning two weekends ago. Grab a flat white (him) and a hot chocolate (me) from Ginger and White then head onto Hampstead Heath.

It is as though the autumn is giving a final fanfare, going out in a blaze of glorious colour and light. And the mushrooms! So many mushrooms, in such a range of colours and shapes. We visit the pergola first, beautiful as ever, with its creeping vines and views over the treetops. Then we cross the road to the bigger part of the heath, and walk and walk, and take photograph after photograph of fungi, brown leaves, sunlight falling between the trees. I feel like I have stepped into the pages of a book, Lord of the Rings, or Hansel and Gretel, where the trees are huge and ancient, and toadstools sprout overnight from damp leaf mulch. For most of the walk we are alone, spotting dog walkers in the distance perhaps, or hearing the shouts of children between the trees, but mostly just the two of us. I am reminded again how lucky we are to have these vast green spaces in the middle of our city.

We finish the walk with cider and a pint in the Dickensian Holly Bush, and in the evening eat at the Chiswick Franco Manca where the pizzas are tasty and the bill always reasonable. Later, a house warming in a beautiful flat in Baron's Court, all tiled fireplaces and high ceilings, drinking perry and catching up with university friends.

***

Last weekend was a hasty visit to Norfolk to see my sister in a play (she rocked), then a dash back down to London for the Bust Christmas Craftacular, selling jams and 'Sisterhood' tote bags next to the amazing Rob Ryan. Photos from that will go on the Shoreditch Sisters WI blog at some point.

So, last of the autumn posts done. December I am ready for you.

Autumn weekends V

2011-11-27T22:39:00.000Z

Then we are into mid November and everywhere you look men are growing moustaches. We go to some engagement drinks near Fleet Street, then afterwards on to a Ocean's Eleven (1960 version) party in London Fields, walk past the city of tents outside St Paul's Cathedral on the way between the two, dressed in jewels and furs, the juxtaposition is strange. Saturday breakfast at Made in Camden, a recent discovery but a good one, spiced chickpeas, saffron yoghurt and eggs, banana buttermilk pancakes, poached strawberries. Another discovery is Goldhawk Road where I go to buy fabric for upcoming Christmas craft fairs - so many fabric shops on such a short stretch, but they just blow me away with the variety of colour and pattern. An afternoon spent crafting at an old school friend's in south London, we sit and stitch, eat buttered crumpets, watch 'Singing in the Rain' (which I hadn't actually ever seen before), dog at our feet. Just what I needed after a manic week. In the evening it's out east for Vietnamese on the Kingsland Road with some friends, then to a bar for margaritas before making it to the most wonderful cocktail bar, hidden in a small basement, great atmosphere, quiet enough not to have to shout, cocktails delicious, barmen all sporting very dapper moustaches. I'll post about it soon. The night air is misty when we finally emerge. A Sunday walk across Primrose Hill and Regent's Park, the farmer's market, another afternoon needle and thread in hand. In the week, craft nights, returning to my old work for another colleague's leaving drinks, baked Camembert for dinner, and I am reminded all over again why this is my favourite season.

****

I am trying desperately to catch up on all my autumn posts before we slip into December. Today the Shoreditch Sisters were at Bust Christmas Craftacular sharing a table with the legend that is Rob Ryan (he is amazing!!), and so already feeling the Christmas twinges, need to get all the browning leaves, laced up boots and Hampstead Heath fungi out the way before things get too festive round here.

London Love: Mien Tay

2011-11-25T16:18:00.000Z

122 Kingsland Road, London, E2 8DP

Second up for my London Love posts had to be food related, this time heading out East.

I only discovered the string of Vietnamese restaurants on the Kingsland Road last year, but I've been a frequent visitor ever since, and Mien Tay has to be one of the best of them. Less glossy than some of the others perhaps, but the food is what we go for, and the food is goooood. Crispy spring rolls, or translucently wrapped fresh rolls, clay pots with Vietnamese curries thick with coconut, stir fried morning glory, peppered squid, bowls of pho. Prawn crackers to start and orange segments to finish. It is BYOB which is another bonus, especially pre-night out in Shoreditch.

One word of warning: it gets very busy on a Friday or Saturday night, so either book ahead or be prepared to queue. (Or go to M's homeland and visit the recently opened branch in Wellingborough, which apparently is just as good, and far less busy)

Autumn weekends IV: Bonfire Weekend

2011-11-23T23:57:00.001Z

Then suddenly we're into November, the clocks have gone back, and there are explosions in the night sky. I take a long weekend for Bonfire Night. Head to Norfolk on Thursday after work drinks with some of my now not so new colleagues, happiness bubbling up inside at the thought of the upcoming weekend, but happiness also that I love the new job, and the people I work with, and that the treading water feeling of being the new kid on the block is fading.

I take the train with Dad and we arrive to the smell of damp leaves, and fine drizzle. Drizzle that turns to rain on Friday morning and a sinking of hearts that Saturday night's party will be a wash out. But it's not. Oh Bonfire Night, how I love it. Even more so when surrounded by some of my bestest. M arrives Friday evening, then Anna on Saturday morning so we can hit the charity shops, plundering them for china brooches and dog eared C.S. Lewis books before heading back to the warm kitchen for an afternoon cooking. My sister arrives later, driving from uni, fresh from rehearsals. I realise it is rapidly getting dark and I haven't yet picked any flowers, grab her for the company in the darkening garden, gather handfuls of still rain-wet chrysanthemums. Then S shows up from London with a box of his Mum's brownies, then V, fresh with tales from NYC, and then finally a jumble of family friends who live locally and who come bearing sparklers and bottles of wine and bags of marshmallows. Mulled perry is served and people shuffle to the bonfire, cradling the warm cinnamon scented liquid. There is the ever risky do-it-yourself fireworks display conducted by over enthusiastic Dads, rockets shooting off in haphazard directions amongst the brassicas, which can't quite compete with the display at the local cricket ground just spied over the neighbours' hedge. There is roasted pumpkin soup in mugs by the fire, then everyone piles back into the house to load plates with food. Coleslaw and potato wedges, mushroom pierogi and spinach and cheese pasties, chutney and this cheese and pumpkin cupcakes and two types of brownie, all eaten in the candlelit conservatory. Back out to the bonfire then, still no sign of rain, for sparklers and toasted marshmallows.

Past midnight, cheeks flushed and hair smokey, those that are staying the night pile inside and watch old Disney movies in the library. In the morning there is a late breakfast, Anna's muffins, orange juice, scrambled eggs and cooked mushrooms, and later a walk at the nearby fen, grasses tall and whispering, skies grey.

On Monday, out of the tube and walking through the park to work, my gloves still smell of wood smoke.

****

From the book I'm currently reading (wonderful), American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld, a sentence which I read and re-read as it summed up so perfectly, although not talking about 5th November, why I love Bonfire Night:

I hoped it fell below seventy-five degrees on Saturday so they'd build the bonfire at Fred's party and I could stand next to it, braced by that wall of heat against my body, watching the leap of the flames, being reminded, as I always was by fires, that they were alive and so was I.

Halloween

2011-11-20T21:47:00.000Z

Halloween weekend. Lots and lots of pumpkin. In pies, in cupcakes, in boxes at Maltby Street market. A Frida Kahlo themed night at the ever fantastic Ms Marmite Lover's, tamales, salsa, black beans, nasturtiam flower decorated flan. Coconuts dropped onto patios to reach the white flesh within, huge juicy watermelons. I went with some of the WI girls, we brought self portraits, drew on mono-brows, stuck flowers in our hair. Love to dress up. More about it here and a recipe for tamales - still a bit fuzzy on what these actually are, but damn they were tasty. Then, nearing 11pm, a journey west on the tube in carriages filled with zombies, vampires, wicked witches, who despite their garb still stared funnily at my mono-brow, to a house-party at M's, where his housemates had really gone to town with the decor. Fake cobwebs, carved pumpkins, motion sensor skeletons, tombstones in the toilet. White wine from the bottle, accompanying the boys on their trip for late night fried chicken (plus pumpkin cupcake), streets dark, deserted. Waking up, and only a cooked breakfast would do.

London Love: The Hide Bar

2011-11-17T18:02:00.001Z

39-45 Bermondsey Street, London, SE1 3XF

A new feature I'm going to trial. Each week, or more likely a bit less frequently, a little snapshot of London, my beloved city. A track of all the places that I visit in this city, newly discovered but also known and loved for years.

***

So, first up...starting as I mean to go on and pushing all my North London bias (as a born and bred North Londoner) out the window, I will begin with a bar that's south of the river.

The Hide Bar. Discovered, as with many things, through Time Out London, but what really caught our eye were the Tuesday Tastings. Every few weeks, on a Tuesday night, for the bargainous price of £10, Hide Bar run a themed tasting session. Seasonal cocktails, wines from a particular region, a single type of spirit, and with a little food to match. When we visited it was for the tasting of the new autumn wine menu. I'd not been to a wine tasting before, but it was all very down to earth, and surprisingly interesting to be talked through soil type and growing conditions and how these affect flavour. There were two white wines and three red, with fish based canapes to go with the white and meat based for the red (and I was impressed that they arranged a cheese board for vegetarian me), and all in all it seemed like hugely good value for a whole evening's entertainment.

Of course, once the wine tasting was over it seemed a shame not to sample a cocktail from the menu, which was less along the austerity autumn theme that I'm trying to stick to, but the cocktail tasted of liquid gold, and was so very delicious, that it felt justified.

Bring on the December Champagne tasting....

"Angel Face: Quince infused Bermondsey gin, Belneroy Fine Calvados and apricot brandy. A classic from The Savoy cocktail book from the 1930s, this has an exceptional balance between the delicate flavours, held together with a Gin backbone. "

Cheese, Beer, Toast

2011-11-15T18:32:00.001Z

Thursday 27th October. Drizzle and wet leaves on shiny pavements. A Cheese and Beer Tasting evening at Toast, Notting Hill branch. Inside, warm and dry and welcoming, a contrast to the night outside. Light from beeswax candles, flickering. Cheese supplied by Trethowans Dairy , including their own, delicious, and award winning Gorwydd Caerphilly. Bread from St John, spiced fig jam, Toast's own. Beer from London's own Kernel Brewery. I'm usually not a beer drinker, but these beers persuade me, so varied, so complex, one has after-notes of chocolate, another smells of grapefruit, and just like that, I'm converted. And all around us, Toast's beautiful, beautiful clothes, which I lust after every time one of their wonderfully styled catalogues drops through my letterbox, but which are even nicer when you can touch the soft wools, the sumptuous velvets.

That weekend we go to Maltby Street market to buy a box of Kernel Brewery beer, then walk on to Borough Market where Ned, who ran the cheese tasting, is selling the Caerphilly. I buy a huge chunk to take my my parents' for our bonfire party, where it hardly lasted five minutes it was liked so much.

Autumn weekends III

2011-11-13T18:13:00.000Z

Still working my way through October photos...we seem to have had such beautiful weather this autumn that I have hundreds and hundreds of photos, capturing the light through the turning leaves, all the more precious because I know that it won't last, that winter's darker, colder days are ahead.

Another October weekend. By chance, I discover that it is the annual Apple Day at Camley Street Natural Park. A small, wild, green space tucked behind Kings Cross, where we wander down dirt paths, duck under low hanging branches. Marvel at all the different London heritage apple varieties. Drink still cider, watch a outdoor cooking demo by Clippy of Clippy's Apples. Walk home along the canal, past Camden Lock, up through Primrose Hill, collecting leaves. Friends for dinner, a seasonal supper, with Brambles to start, an Ottolenghi quince and dolcelatte salad, a Nigel Slater mushroom lasagne. Sunday brunch at Bill's.

Autumn weekends II

2011-11-04T12:35:00.000Z

Mid October. A gloriously sunny Saturday. We breakfast on these raspberry and ricotta wholewheat scones, then decide to get out the house and actually do something, go somewhere. We head to Richmond, half an hour on the overground, but a different world. The river, younger, than we are used to seeing at our usual haunt of Southbank, populated with rowers and canoeists, leafy banked, sunlight sparkling. We walk in Richmond Park, beneath trees and through browning bracken, startling deer. Later, Petersham Nurseries for the first time, for tea and cake. Lemon and poppyseed (me), carrot cake (him). I long more than ever for a garden. In the evening, dinner at H's. She serves pan after pan of the most delicious food, spiced aubergine, sag paneer (with homemade paneer!), daal, pilau rice, raita, popadoms that crack under thumbs. We drink beer then head to pub in Kentish Town, the sky clear, the air cold. On Sunday, a trip to the Tate where Anna and I try but fail to get into the Gerhard Richter. We settle for the Tacita Dean in the Turbine Hall instead, and a walk by the river.

***

I've got a long weekend this weekend, Bonfire Night in Norfolk, mulled perry and sparklers. Anyone else got plans?

Autumn weekends I

2011-10-29T13:58:00.000+01:00

A Northamptonshire weekend just as the air began to feel cooler, and the leaves began to turn. The structurally beautiful arches in St Pancras, leaving the capital past the canal and buildings and glimpses into other people's back gardens. Endless cups of tea. Nigel Slater's double hazelnut cookies, made with hazelnut butter AND toasted hazelnuts, so crumbly and nutty and delicious. An afternoon at the rugby, chips, cider, and a win. Walking with the dogs, blackberries in the hedgerows, teasels by the lake, geese.

A recipe reproduced below for my cookie of choice so far this autumn. I have taken them to WI meetings, to my colleagues at work, served them for dessert crumbled over Green & Blacks vanilla caramel nut ice-cream. They are so good.

Nigel Slater's Hazelnut Cookies, from Tender II

100g butter at room temp

50g light muscovado sugar

50g golden caster sugar

60g toasted hazelnuts, roughly chopped

100g hazelnut butter (this is like peanut butter but with hazelnuts - I find mine in Health Food Shops)

100g plain flour

half tsp bicarbonate of soda

half tsp baking powder

Set the oven at 190 degrees centigrade.

Cut the butter into chunks and cream with the sugars for several minutes until very pale and smooth. Mix in the nut butter and most of the chopped hazelnuts.

Mix in the flour, bicarbonate of soda and baking powder, stirring gently to form a soft dough. Spoon heaped tablespoons onto a baking sheet lined with baking parchment (no need to flatten). Scatter over the remaining hazelnuts and bake for 12-14 minutes, until the biscuits are pale gold and just dry on top. Remove from the oven and let them cool slightly before transferring to a cooling rack.

Makes about 12

"What did I do wrong?!"

2011-10-19T18:31:00.000+01:00

...wailed my minimalist, modern design loving father when I brought this kitsch beauty home (carnations added by me - but I think they complete the look, no?). It seems opinion is a little split on my latest charity shop purchase...

***

But, if you are, like me, on the enamoured side of the fence, I've just spotted that Leona has a couple going in her fabulous shop (here and here).

Ice lollies in October

2011-10-17T23:34:00.000+01:00

I'm sitting tucked up in bed, duvet on for only the second night, but window slightly ajar as I like the breeze, the freshness. Outside the air is cool, and the days have been crisp, but here, for memory's sake, a post about the Indian summer we enjoyed just a few weeks ago.

****

The last week of September, lunch time escapes to the park, propped against a sunny wall for an hour, hidden behind a flower bed, reading Murakami. Friday night dinner at a friend's in North London, he cooks us dosas with potato filling, tumeric stained, dollops of fresh coconut chutney. We drink cold beers and enjoy the warm evening air through the open balcony doors, the arches of Wembley not quite visible in the distance.

The first of October, a Saturday, I wake early for a lift to Norfolk to see my family. It's hot, very hot, so what else to do but head to the coast? Lunch in a pub garden, lemonade and lime, peeling paint and panting Labradors. Passing the crab fishers, walking up to the dunes and nestling amongst them with out books and sunglasses. Later, scones and whipped cream in a courtyard garden, sparrows flitting for crumbs. On the Sunday we drive to my sister, the new term has just started. We take her a laundry basket and extra mugs, a spare lamp and a bunch of flowers I've picked that morning from the garden. We go for brunch then on the walk home, because of the heat, succumb to ice lollies from the Co-op. We suck on them in her small walled garden, savouring the sun, our bare feet, knowing it will probably be the last time for awhile.

Provence II

2011-10-05T18:40:00.002+01:00

It was a family holiday. My parents, M and I went out first, opening the shutters and ousting the scorpions. My sister arrived a few days later, sleep deprived from volunteering at Bestival, full of tales to tell. Family friends joined for a few days in the middle, and M and my Dad left earlier than the rest of us. So, changing numbers and changing dynamics, and we never truly mastered the hire-car sat nav, but it was lovely to have a much needed week away from work and London, one last bit of sun (or so I thought, until the Indian summer kicked in) before the onset of autumn.

***

A few visits to a lake in an old quarry, clean and cold, and wonderful to swim in, imagining just how deep the water must be beneath our kicking feet. Lines of plane trees and the light-dark-light-dark flicker of light as we drove between them. The constant creaking of cicadas. The postcard-perfect market in Aix-en-Provence, artichokes, plaits of garlic, glossy aubergines. Haphazard bunches of zinnias, sunflowers, Michaelmas daisies. Stocking up on Sephora products in their chic black and white packaging. Green olives and yellow quinces, hanging from the trees in the garden under a blue sky. On the one day it rained, Almodovar films and our childhood French favourite, Banania hot chocolate.

The scent of lavender, ever present.

***

Anyone got any favourite quince recipes? I brought a few home with me and am uncertain what to do with them - or rather, which of the quince recipes in Nigel Slater's Tender Vol. II to try...?

Provence I

2011-10-01T18:59:00.002+01:00

We seem to have been blessed with an Indian Summer here in England, so it seems timely to get my holiday photos up before the feeling of sun on bare skin becomes just a memory.

***

France, for ten days, September. A house in the hills of Provence. Blue skies, hot days. Breakfasting outdoors. Ripe peaches, buttery brioche, apricot jam. Snails, bleached white on stalks of grass, plant stems, the cyprus trees. A tea dance in the local village, the smell of candy floss on the air, the sound of an accordion. Olives groves and dry-earthed vineyards, grapes black and heavy. Lying in the sun for hours, reading, dozing, sticky with sunscreen. Lunches in the shade, gazpacho from the Moro cookbook, local goat's cheese, fresh baguette. The anticipated pool, leaking and drained. Sweat behind knees, between shoulder blades. The hose pipe, rainbows in the spray, and iced drinks, clinking, providing much relief. A trip to the coast, swimming in the sea, salt crystals on our skin for the rest of the day. Cassis (blackcurrant) sorbet in Cassis, seemed appropriate. Scorpions on whitewashed walls, or woven bathmats, near misses. A chartreuse striped, mustard spotted caterpillar resident on a fennel plant. In the long grass, one field down from the pool, sections of a discarded snakeskin, translucent, papery, pieced together, over five foot long. At night, in the trees above the outdoor table, an unidentified mammal, spotted by more than one of our group. Tiger striped spiders, and a wasps' nest discovered amongst the lavender stalks. I am fascinated by this all, and feel like I am twelve again, an aspiring Gerald Durrell, devouring My Family and Other Animals with a passion. Pétanque between the almond trees at dusk. Pigeons in fountains and sunflowers in buckets.

Another set of photos still to come...

Lille, Braderie

2011-09-10T10:52:00.002+01:00

Lille last weekend for the Braderie. Hot sunshine, meals eaten outdoors. A storm on the Saturday night, heavy rain. Geraniums in window boxes, leafy streets, lined with plane trees. A city taken over by market stalls, selling all sorts of junk, old, new. Wandering and wandering and wandering, picking up bargins in some places, sadly walking away from items in others because the cost was just too high, or, in the case of a beautiful forget-me-not blue formica table, because I couldn't have got it home. Stuffed foxes and antique prams. Stoning plums for a clafoutis in a dusky garden one evening. Eating runny cheeses, drinking chilled white wine. Saturday night, before the storm, a sixtieth birthday party, tables and chairs set out on the street, bowl after bowl of moule and frites brought out to guests.

****

PinkCatJo asks when I have the time to do dull stuff like washing...the answer is sometimes I don't. This week has been another manic one, a trip to see War Horse (just wonderful), Dr Faustus at The Globe (very imrpessed), the book launch of this very fabulous book, a very very belated (by about six months) birthday dinner out, and last night, Crazy For You at the Open Air Theatre (fantastic). I have been waking early before work to put on speedy washes and catch up with internet banking, and feel pretty sleep deprived!

Still, off in about an hour for a much needed holiday...reading, eating, swimming, soaking up the sun, so will be back in a week hopefully feeling much rested. Hope everyone else is having a lovely September so far!

Edinburgh

2011-09-01T00:25:00.001+01:00

So in love with this city. I had visited once before, also during the Fringe, loved it then, then loved it from afar watching L'Illusioniste (twice), and more recently Kate Atkinson's Case Histories on the BBC. This visit was just for the one night, to see my sister perform, but we packed lots in, and despite the sometimes heavy showers I managed to walk round much of the city.

The train rides, there, back, all the more luxurious for being in First Class, with endless tea, coffee, food, other drinks, all the more brilliant for having been bought at a bargain. The most Northern part of the journey, nothing between the train and the sea but a thin strip of land. Dropping off bags in a flat at the top of many flights of stone stairs, a flat filled with student girls, one boy, hair straighteners and kirby grips, discarded clothes, empty Heinz tomato soup cans stacked in the kitchen, a guitar in the hallway, a wooden cross too. The Royal Mile, performers, musicians, dancers, balloon animals, face paint, crazy costumes. Posters stapled onto posters, layer upon layer, flyer after flyer pressed into hands. A play, and then another, and then another, taxidermy in a house on the edge of a cliff, women in a hospital ward, believing themselves to be others from history, a mob hideout, in Soho, in the sixties. Three plays, all different, all good. Laughing at my sister at comic moments, silent at sombre ones. An a capella group , wow. In between all this, exploring the city, charity shops and vintage shops, formal parks and cobbled streets, unexpected rainbows and sudden views. Walking through the dark city at night with my sister, arms linked, a chill in the air, lights strung between trees. Helpful tweets from a couple of lovely ladies, and as a result, a delicious breakfast at Toast. Avenues of trees and impressive terraces of grand stone houses. The roof terrace at the National Museum of Scotland, not quite the views from Arthur's Seat (which I have never climbed), but a pretty good compromise. The energy and life of the city, constant, appealing. I'll be back to this city again.

***

A few other things:

I have just seen One Day (often funny, sometimes awkward, and, ultimately, a little bit heartbreaking), which starts in Edinburgh, so this post seems apt.

I left a paper bag with some written, stamped postcards on a table in a cafe, Peter's Yard (AMAZING cake) and only realised at the train station. One of the postcards has arrived already, so a big, virtual, thank you to whoever, staff or customer, found them, and posted them.

The discovery of vegetarian Percy Pigs in the train station just about made up for presumed lost postcards.

***

This weekend: off to Lille for the Braderie, and so very excited!

Norfolk, August

2011-08-18T22:44:00.001+01:00

Norfolk last weekend. Heavy rain that made rivulets down the aged glass of the conservatory. Blazing sunshine that allowed us to eat outdoors and walk barefoot on the grass. Double yolked eggs for breakfast cooked by my sister. Roses, sweetpeas, in mugs, vases, jugs all over the house. In the garden, dahlias, in sunrise colours, hiding coyly behind fronds of the asparagus plants. A half-collapsed apple tree, collecting the sour cookers early, packing into boxes. Ladybirds, everywhere. Picking tiny alpine strawberries at dusk, clambering between the young raspberry canes for the first of the season. Digging up potatoes, earth under my nails. Blackberry picking, which always makes me think of the Seamus Heaney poem in my GCSE English anthology. Gorging on peaches.

After the week that was, it did feel good to get out of the city.

London, joys

2011-08-14T10:31:00.003+01:00

And, because what I like most of all is the positive, the joyous, the uplifting, here are a few London joys from the past weeks.

Days off in between finishing old job and starting new, meeting friends for lunch in Bloomsbury for Bea's piled high salad plates or on Exmouth Market for veggie burritos wrapped in silver foil. Lazy Sundays in Regent's Park, hidden in a secret garden behind a gate, electric blue peacocks and flowerbeds tumultuous with colour. Soft set, barely frozen gelato on Marylebone High Street, deliciously honey-flavoured, honeycomb studded. Fela at Sadler's Wells, the music coursing through me, the sheer, overwhelming desire to dance with abandon. Sweet lassis and rava dosas in a bhel poori house behind Euston. On a random Wednesday, air hot and heavy, an East London rooftop bar, views of Canary Wharf in the distance. Pizza on Primrose Hill, the views, the lights. Field Day festival in Victoria Park, live music, guitars, tambourines, a brass band in a proper bandstand, pear cider, paper bags of doughnuts, burritos (more) the size of small babies, dancing in packed tents or under a darkening sky, bumping into so many familiar faces. Pub lunches in beer gardens, rain part way through, British summer. Lemonade and lime, grey t-shirts with pigeons, bird of this city. Brioche french toast on a Saturday morning, syrup, strawberries, icing sugar. The Globe Theatre midweek for The Globe Mysteries, standing in the yard, imagining a time gone by. Green Park in the early morning sunshine, deckchairs still folded, stacked.

***

What struck me most of all last week was how many friends, colleagues, others, were still saying, determinedly, despite it all, I am still proud to be a Londoner, still proud this is my city.

London skyline pic, also by C

London, burning

2011-08-12T22:59:00.001+01:00

Last Friday night five of us take pizza and beers up to Primrose Hill, sit, look out across the city lights, debate our favourite London building. C says he wants to move to the country, I say, what, no, and give up all this?

The next night the riots start. We wake to the news Sunday, disbelieving. Sunday night there are more, elsewhere. Monday, reading the papers, the disbelief, the shock is still there.

After work M and I go for a run, run to the top of Primrose Hill, lungs bursting. It begins to rain, heavily, but there is sun too, and a double rainbow. We pound back down the hill. At home we follow the news all evening, increasingly stunned at what we are seeing, eventually force ourselves to bed.

I have no words, really. Or, I have words, but they are confused, half formed, not ready to commit to print.

I will though, say this: London is still, to my mind, a wonderful city. Still my home. Still has my heart.

****

C took the photo last Friday night, I think. Camera balanced on pizza empty pizza boxes. I like it. Unfocussed, it sums up a little how I feel.

Suffolk, Yurts

2011-08-02T00:02:00.001+01:00

On Friday afternoon, a week into the new job, I quitted the city, headed for the Suffolk countryside. One large and one small train later I was met at the station by one of our group and driven the short final stretch to our destination, Suffolk Yurt Holidays, just outside Woodbridge.

I am not quite sure what I was expecting when a weekend away 'glamping' with some girlfriends was mentioned, but this was above and beyond. The beauty of the campsite took my breath away. I arrived later than the others, head still reeling from the overload of new information and unfamiliar acronyms the first week of a new job always entails, but within a few moments of being there all that had slipped away. The barbecue had been lit and the others had prepped salad and opened tubs of dips, olives, made homemade burgers, marinated chicken, stuffed peppers with cheese for us vegetarians. I was shown the shower room, complete with an eco-friendly, sustainable waste water system, the shared kitchen, with provisions of olive oil and sea salt, and a very comprehensive recycling system, and then the yurts themselves, which were beautiful, hand-crafted wooden inner structures made from local wood, wooden floors, domed ceilings, futons made up with clean white sheets and plumped duvets. All lying within the most stunning meadow, thick with wildflowers, daisies, buttercups, clover, cow parsley, and many more that I do not know the names of. Gently waving grasses, and the background hum of crickets. The sun was setting, hitting the everything with glorious light, causing the yellow flowers to turn golden. We ate, drank chilled white wine, talked. Later, moved to the campfire area, set a fire going, poured some more wine, talked some more. I felt so wonderfully relaxed, so far removed from the city, from the stresses of a new job (I am loving it, but being the new girl can be tiring). We stayed, sitting in a circle on the logs, until the fire had burned down, only glowing coals remained. In the yurt we lit the hurricane lamps and a small fire on the wood burner to take the slight chill off, got into pyjamas, brushed out teeth, blew out the lights, clambered into bed.

In the morning I awoke to natural light, stepped outside for awhile, took a few photographs, then got back into bed and dozed until late morning, door open onto the meadow. Later we breakfasted on toast and raspberry jam as chickens clucked around us in the grass. Idyllic. I had to be back in London later that day for a friend's birthday, so left, sadly, shortly after, with time for a quick dash round Woodbridge before my train, picked up a bunch of scented sweet-peas. I know the others went for a country walk and pub lunch, then on Sunday made it to Walberswick which is one of my favourite beach locations, not too far from my parents'.

I will be back, one night wasn't enough.

The Big Feastival

2011-07-10T18:41:00.002+01:00

So. The Big Feastival. The most amazing of weekends. Three days in the WI Tent with my Shoreditch Sister girls on the grass of Clapham Common, mostly blue skies, hot sunshine, some cloud, but thankfully no rain. Jam sales, lots, all the gooseberry and elderflower jam gone by the end of the second day. Pina colada filled pineapples, party umbrellas, coloured straws. SISTERHOOD badges, worn proudly. Crocheted blankets and union-jack cushions, draped over an iron bedstead, a hammock with a stripey toweling blanket. Fellow tent buddies: amazing vintage style hair and make-up done for us by Hair and Make-up Dept, subversive cross-stitch from Urban Cross Stitch, brownies from The Beehive Bakery, clothing and jewellery from Lucy in Disguise, nails from WAH nails, want-to-buy-it-all thrift from Leona Thriftola. Talks from Tara Starlet, Tracy Edwards, Gizzi Erskine, Willie Harcourt-Cooze, Matt Carroll, a cocktail workshop from the guys at Milk & Honey, a quilt making session with our founding member and past president, Jazz Domino Holly who has a craft related book coming out soon. Musical bingo and Lindy hop sessions. Dinners and lunches from pop-up restaurants, eaten off sustainable source palm leaf plates. Hula-hooping demos from Marawa the Amazing, who really is AMAZING, and morris dancing from The Belles of London City. Filming sessions with Jamie Oliver (not me, alas, he was cooking sticky ribs so no vegetarians needed). Making friends with members other London Women's Institute Groups, the Borough Belles, East End WI, Brixton WI, Clapham WI. The cake competition, cakes to look like other foods, fish and chips made from marzipan, cake iced to look like cheese, the winning entry, deservedly so, a three tier Victoria sponge covered with an icing 'table cloth', laden with a lemon and kiwi 'quiche', chocolate 'cocktail sausages', gingernut 'scotch eggs'. Crafting with visitors in the craft area, knitting, crochet, collage. Meeting people from all over London (some familiar faces), all over the country, courting potential new members, answering questions about the WI. Music from the main stage reaching us throughout the day. Smoke from barbecues, the tantalizing smell of sausages (yes, even for a life-long vegetarian). Sugar dusted doughnuts, bright sunflowers in jugs. Bunting and fabric scraps.

At the end of the three days, exhausted, but 100% keen to do it all again next year.

Some pictures by M, some by me, I lose track of which...

Weekend, misc.

2011-07-05T23:04:00.002+01:00

Okay puppies, so I've been awol again. But last weekend was Big Feastival, three days of fun and madness and hardly any sleep. Lynne has been far more organised than I and got a post up already here, mine will be a couple more days at least, but in the meantime, here is the week/weekend before last, also a scorcher.

There was cricket at the Oval, cider and smooth grass, but no cricket whites. Dinner at Riding House Cafe with my parents, gin, elderflower and cucumber cocktails, figs and goats' curd. Brunch at a friends then, later, juice and slabs of cake at Jak's in Knightsbridge, air hot and sticky, crates of oranges glimpsed through windows. An evening spent in North London, dinner at some friends', we drank our own version of a gin, elderflower and cucumber cocktail, ate Nigel Slater's peach and blueberry cobbler for dessert as the sky darkened and swallows (or swifts?) dipped in and out of the gables of the house opposite. Watched Coldplay perform at Glastonbury on the BBC, reminded me of being a teenager, owning their albums. Sunday we hit Southbank, drank iced drinks from Dishoom pop-up, sat on the rooftop garden of the Queen Elizabeth Hall, melted and melted, enviously watched the children screeching and running in the fountains, then escaped to the air conditioned Hayward Gallery with J and H to see the Tracey Emin. I actually really liked most of it, didn't think I would, but I did. The quilts especially.

Sunday night M and I took ourselves up to Primrose Hill with a couple of takeaway pizzas from Marine Ices, a few bottles of beer and a picnic rug. Sat and talked as the sun went down, to the background chatter of other visitors to the hill, and the chords of a nearby guitar.

Jam

2011-06-23T14:14:00.001+01:00

And after all the London-ness of the last few weeks (I forgot to mention Afghanistan at the British Musuem, the most beautiful, goldest of gold jewellery, and Cria Cuervos at the BFI, a wonderful film, that lingered), there was last Saturday and Sunday in Norfolk. Cheese from the market, tiny, fiery home grown radishes. A much needed haircut. Ladybird books and china flower brooches from charity shops. Bursts of bright sunshine blanketed between thunderstorms, over-flowing water butts (welcome after the drought status that East Anglia had just been given), sowing carrot seeds in the damp earth after the rain. Agatha Christie's Miss Marple in the evening, a repeat, but I like the chance to ogle the costumes rather than focus on plot twists. A father's day lunch in various shades of early summer greens and creams; broad bean (from the garden) risotto made by my sister, elderflower fizz, gem lettuce, followed by the most heavenly gooseberry and elderflower fool. Sweetpeas on the dining room table, roses in the kitchen, hydrangeas on the drive. Somehow the rain-damp air makes everything smell so much more divine.

And jam. Lots of jam. So much jam making, all in anticipation of the upcoming Big Feastival and our Women's Institute tent. Sterilising of jars, boiling of fruit, bag after bag of sugar. Strawberry jam, strawberry and vanilla, peach and raspberry, strawberry and redcurrant, gooseberry and elderflower. Phew.

This weekend coming is my last free one for an age before festivals and weddings and trips away kick in, so I'm planning on taking it easy, dinner at some friends' Saturday evening, Emin at the Hayward on Sunday, a pub quiz Sunday night.

What are your plans?

London, recently

2011-06-20T17:48:00.001+01:00

London these last few weeks. A documentary about Japan, and beetles, in a cinema in an old horse hospital near Russell Square. Discovering sherry, afterwards, in a tiny bar behind King's Cross. The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, paintings, prints, photography, architecture, a mix of famous names and unknowns. The rest of that particular weekend spent indoors, prepping for an interview. The interview itself, the weight lifted of it being over, the utter longing to be offered the job in question. Dinner in Wahaca to take my mind off waiting for news, horchata and salsa. Another full day and night waiting, waiting, in which I go to the wonderful Prick Your Finger with the WI ladies to do some knitting, remind myself that there is so much more to life than employment. A phone call on an otherwise mundane Thursday morning, being offered the job. A weekend floating on air (still am, a week and a half later). An opera in a warehouse in Hackney, very enjoyable, engaging, and I am a complete Philistine when it comes to music. Discovering The Hackney Pearl accidentally beforehand, half wishing I lived nearer, just so it could be my local. Slutwalk London with the Shoreditch Sisters, with M, with my mother. Empowering, inspiring. Flowers in my hair like Frida. A party in North London, catching up with friends who are soon to be married, drinking gin and elderflower fizz, night bus home, a spring of jasmine plucked from over a garden wall in my hand. Giving blood at work, managing the whole amount (better than last time) but fainting afterwards, feeling a nuisance. An evening at the Open Air Theatre, picnicking in the park before the play, spanakopita made by me, cookies made by C, strawberries, late afternoon sunshine. The play, Lord of the Flies, is very good, and as the sky darkens and the shadows of the trees encroach the atmosphere is savage, sinister. Cheap pizza at Italian Coffee Company near Goodge Street, a late night opening of the Wellcome Collection, where we look at the permanent collection which we haven't seen before. Friday just passed, The Architectural Association's end of year show, to see a friend's work. Bedford Square in the rain, so different from last year. Inside, packed, dripping umbrellas, stepping on people's toes but J's work is beautiful. Later on, a bar through a fridge, speakeasy style, where we have ask furtively for Henri (when we find him he tells my friend ''it's Ian actually'', which somewhat ruins the tone) to be admitted. The cocktails are good, very good, but it is busy, and the music is too loud, which I feel detracts from the atmosphere. But I think I'd go back, for the basil and St Germain cocktail alone. Later, the four of us head to Rosa's for late night Thai, drink beer, crunch spring rolls. Breakfast the next morning, golden raspberries and juicy cherries, feeling virtuous.

Oh London, you do keep me busy.

(Phew, hope everyone feels sufficiently caught up! A note on photographs, the fuzzy ones are from my phone as my big camera hasn't accompanied me on all of these excursions, and M took a couple of the Slutwalk ones: Shoreditch Sister banner; me with Snog afterwards; geranium in my hair)

Elderflower, Strawberries, Piebald Mares

2011-06-07T23:53:00.001+01:00

Oh my little pinto beans, I have neglected you. I have not read any blogs, I am another week behind on this one, have hardly tweeted on my newly set up Twitter account. But, I had an interview I was preparing for, and now that is out the way, I can write.

The Bank Holiday weekend. Black beans and rice on the Thursday night, Mexico and The Lacuna and Frida are still inspiring me. Too many parties on Friday night - goodbye drinks for a colleague at work, darling Anna's birthday party, to which I take peanut butter cupcakes, peonies wrapped in brown paper, Saipua soap, a copy of The Lacuna for her to get lost in. East London line up to Highbury and Islington, third party in Finsbury Park, housewarming. Nightbuses home, witnessing a fight in Camden opposite The Lock Tavern, police cars, torn t-shirts, glad M is with me.

Up to Norfolk, to celebrate my sister's birthday, present unwrapping and Italian food. Elderflower hunting in hedgerows, making bottles of elderflower cordial, elderflower fizz, hoping against explosions. Punnets and punnets of strawberries, all to be hulled in preparation for jam making for our WI tent at The Big Feastival. Following a caravan down twisting lanes. A visit to some friends and their chickens again, eggs, freshly laid, stuck with bits of straw. Honey from their bees in my Bircher muesli each morning, I can taste the honeycomb. The Mellis Common, prolific daisies, piebald ponies and their foals. In the garden, the ground is hard, dry, but the poppies are still blooming, petals like crumpled skirts. I take some home with me to London, peonies and roses too, put them in vases on my bedside table and dressing table, wish I had a garden.

Monday night, it rains, M and I take our brollies and head to Spuntino, no queue, because of the time, perhaps, and the weather, perch ourselves at the bar (on the 'lovers' seat we're told - a double width barstool), eat all things deep fried and delicious from enamel dishes (deep fried stuffed olives, SO mind blowingly tasty), sip at cocktails (Clover Club, wow), watch the umbrellas go by outside.

Swans, Shakespeare

2011-06-01T14:57:00.001+01:00

Another of the lost weekends from last month. A windswept drizzly day, grey skies, heading to Bermondsey to meet the Borough Belles WI, discuss plans for the Big Feastival. Chatting over hot chocolates in the back of a bookshop, finding out that one of them is a blog reader (I'm very chuffed). Heading to Stratford-Upon-Avon to visit my grandma (Hi Nana!)(she now reads this blog via a very kind friend and neighbour of hers who prints it out for her), catching up over boxes of Thornton's chocolate and cups of tea. On Sunday, walking with Dad by the river, clouds threatening rain. The newly refurbished theatre, impressive, a bookshop on a barge, a barge with my name. Swans, dragon boat racing. A churchyard with ancient trees and mossy tombstones. A ferry across the river, a brass-rubbing centre.

Underground Night Markets, Brixton Pizza

2011-05-29T13:26:00.001+01:00

In all the New York posts, there were a couple of weekends that seemed to slip under the radar. So, here's the first. The Underground Night Market hosted by Ms Marmite Lover. The hall, the bedroom, the living room, the balcony, the garden, the summer house all fit to bursting with stalls. A dumpling demo in the kitchen, a campfire at the bottom of the garden, an ice cream van (lavender ice-cream, delicious) in the drive. Cocktails off an ironing board. Nice to see some familiar faces in the form of Lynne from Tea for Joy selling her wonderful Papermash goodies, and a couple of friends we'd made when we'd come to one of Ms Marmite Lover's supper clubs, and to meet Lisa from Me Old China. Our first ever trip to Franco Manca in Brixton for pizza. Oh boy. So. Good. A wander round the market, picking up limes and lemons, cherry tomatoes and peppers for dinner that night. Marine Ices on the way home, a new mural by the Roundhouse where the Banksy, then the leopard used to be. Friends over for dinner, Ottolenghi's vegetable paella, made by me, broad beans, peppers, artichokes, cherry tomatoes, flat leafed parsley. Nigel Slater's lemon posset for dessert and a couple of jugs of cold, strong margaritas made by M.

A weekend largely spent eating, but a good one.

I didn't slip, I wasn't pushed, I fell

2011-05-27T13:05:00.006+01:00

Okay, let's give this a go. On the advice of a dear friend, after years of resistance,

I am now tweeting.

@beckyteacups

(but probably, most likely, mainly following the exploits / tips / advice dispersed by others)

See you there?

London. Love.

2011-05-24T23:33:00.002+01:00

M was in Japan, I had just sent off a job application that had been keeping me locked to my computer all week, and as I skipped from work on Friday afternoon London stretched before me, promising.

London, by way of Bombay, Tokyo, Hawaii as it turns out. God I love this city.

Friday, drinks on the Southbank at the Dishoom pop-up (Hannah and I both, twin shadows, flitting through the city, visiting the same places, sampling the same menus, usually within the space of a few weeks, sometimes within the space of a few hours, crazy!). Icy cocktails in shades of coral, taken up to the roof garden of Queen Elizabeth Hall as the early evening sun slanted across the Thames. Later, the sun lower, a walk across the bridge, up into Chinatown to meet Anna for dinner, Tokyo Diner, plastic sushi clock, no tipping just tell your friends policy (so here I am, telling you), simple, delicious Japanese food. A wander round Fopp, searching for Frida. I am reading The Lacuna, feeling inspired. The bright pink peonies and purple stocks on my dressing table help, the colours are vivid, vital, as I imagine the colours of Mexico must be. On the way to the tube, stopping for bubble tea on Shaftsbury Avenue, the pair of us getting into a conversation with the girls behind the counter, being given tasters, loving this mad city.

Saturday, baking, white chocolate and raspberry cupcakes, a friend's Hawaiian birthday party, flower garlands, ukuleles, Pimms, watermelon, ripe, juices dripping down fingers. Walking back from West Hampstead, dusk, roses tumbling over garden walls, the first fuzz of lavender flowers, still green.

Sunday, a day trip, boarding the Clipper at London Bridge, whizzing down to Greenwich, spray in our hair, a wander round the market, a long lunch in a pub garden, interrupted by the briefest of rainstorms, but otherwise glorious sunshine, blue skies, some scudding clouds. Fish and chips. Beautiful houses with tastefully coloured doors, more roses, spilling over brickwork. A walk through the park, through a rose garden, past a game of cricket, cricket whites, the smack of ball on wood, up to the observatory, city stretched beneath us. Another pub garden, the four of us sitting and chatting and soaking up the sunshine, the fleeting quality of Sunday afternoon.

Maybe I'll want to move away from this city in ten years. Heck, maybe I'll be fed up in five. But for now, there is nowhere, nowhere, I would rather be.

New York Part VII

2011-05-17T22:08:00.001+01:00

And finally. We hop, skip across to Brooklyn for the Brooklyn flea, never have I wanted to buy so many things. Luggage restrictions apply though so I leave with a glass cocktail shaker, the less elaborate $5 one as opposed to the cut glass $35 dollar one which might break my heart if it shatters in transit, and a couple of lovely milk glass vases which I have been searching for in vain in English charity shops. Crinkled poppies in sunrise colours, crepe paper petals. Worn leather cowboy boots, coloured glass cake stands, boxes of fabric, patterned tea towels. Brunch with mimosas, bacon donuts, sliders, eggs in a nest. A walk through Williamsburg, vintage shopping, just like being in London's East End, hipsters not trendies, but what's in a name? Music on the subway. Dinner with an old family friend, reminiscing about a childhood holiday when we visited them in Connecticut, sailing, grilled cheese sandwiches on the beach, sweets that turn your tongue blue, a couple of much loved dogs. She takes us for pizza in the East Village, sparkling red wine from tumblers, blistered dough, molten cheese as the rain pours down outside, again. Hurrying under inadequate umbrellas to a basement bar, sitting on stools drinking Hendrick's based cocktails, slivers of cucumber, floating. Brunch at Prune, we arrive early, get in on the first set of covers, but if we hadn't, it would have been worth the wait. A Dutch style pancake, thick, pear studded, toasted English muffin, scrambled eggs, bacon. We are blessed with a gloriously sunny final day. Wander round Central Park with my Diana Instant, wander and wander. People watching, boat watching (life size and model), dog watching. Dive out to buy a deli lunch, take it back to the park to eat. The Neue Galerie, a first time visit for me, but I love it, small and elegant, Klimt, Schiele, other Secessionist artists and designers, wonderful. Drinks, later, at another Speakeasy style bar, through a metal gate, down a dark alley, up some metal stairs, door opened by a huge bouncer. Inside, chandeliers and oil paintings, cocktails served in teacups (admittedly rather chunky), music that prompts a pair of fellow drinkers to rise, clasp hands and dance gently round the room. Honey vodka / basil / grapefruit juice, elderflower liqueur / champagne / lemon. Afterwards, walking a few blocks North, almost missing an Italian restaurant that had been recommended by a friend, entering its dimly lit interior, ordering plates of pasta, fresh spinach and ricotta ravioli, simple tomato sauce.

Last morning and we squeeze in pancakes, the Guggenheim, a couple of slices of New York pizza, paper plates, napkins to mop up the grease, so good.

New York Part VI

2011-05-16T16:50:00.001+01:00

More walking, wandering. Vintage shops in the East Village, lusting after Verameat jewellery, purchasing Saipua soaps (we never made it to the Brooklyn store, more's the pity). Kitchen shops and stationery stores. Bagels, cream cheese stuffed, wrapped in greaseproof paper. Sitting in small parks on wooden benches, a couple of saxophonists playing soulfully nearby, making cocktail bar reservations on my mobile. The Museum of Modern Art on free Friday, far too many people. The most delicious Mexican at La Esquina on Kenmare, blood orange margaritas, tacos, yucca root fries. A queue to get a table, but most definitely worth it, shout out to slowdownapproaching30 for the recommendation. A bar hidden behind a telephone booth in a hot-dog joint, a couple of cocktails that tasted of cough syrup, worse. Nice stuffed bear though. Late night Dunkin' Donuts, just because.

New York Part V: The High Line

2011-05-15T15:42:00.002+01:00

Breakfast at Cookshop (delicious) then up some stairs to explore The High Line, a stretch of disused elevated railway that has been converted to a public park space, complete with art installations, viewing areas, sun loungers. Trees emerging from between railway sleepers, railway tracks emerging from concrete. I thought it was FANTASTIC. Wished my Dad (who is an architect) could have been there too, because he would also have loved it.

New York Part IV

2011-05-14T16:03:00.002+01:00

And so the sun comes out. We meet up with a colleague of M's who was also evacuated from Japan, head to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, contemplate what has brought us here, under the cherry trees which are blossoming in abundance. Clouds of pink and white above green grass, beneath blue skies. Magnolias with creamy white petals, black branches. An exhibition of bonsai, small, perfect. Humid hothouses, stone pools with orange goldfish, terrapins basking in the sunshine. Walking and walking through Brooklyn, soaking it in. Pizza, later, in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, red and white checked tablecloths. Afterwards, we say goodbye to K, and M and I walk together over the bridge, back towards the lights of Manhattan.

Brooklyn Blossom

2011-05-13T22:55:00.002+01:00

We got our blossom in the end. And it was beautiful. Heartbreaking too. Because of where we should have been seeing it, and why we weren't.

Two months on, thoughts, still.

New York Part III

2011-05-11T17:22:00.003+01:00

Central Park, one afternoon, after the rain. Dampness lingering, moisture-filled air. Mist disguising where trees ended and skyscrapers began. Boating pond, still, a green mirror, reflecting branches. The Alice statue deserted. Burgers with fries, Happy Hour Margaritas, vegetarian chilli. A piece of cake larger than M's head, which he can't finish, first time for everything. One of the best cocktail bars I have ever, ever, been to (post to follow). The City Bakery, breakfasting with purposeful looking New Yorkers, muffins, one blueberry and cornmeal, one monkey bread style, thick, dark hot chocolate, too strong for me. Balloons, randomly. Washington Square Park in the sunshine, big dogs, little dogs, a man doing Tai Chi. Bleeker Street, Perry Street, Carrie Bradshaw's stoop, Magnolia Bakery cupcakes (vanilla + vanilla frosting, Devil's food cake + mocha frosting), eaten from the box, overlooking the Hudson River. Tree lined roads and frothy white blossom, but many trees still bare. With the sun finally out, streets of beautiful brownstones, it truly sinking in that we were in New York City, together.

New York Part II: The Met

2011-05-10T18:54:00.002+01:00

The Metropolitan Museum of Art. You could spend days here, get lost amongst the Pollocks and the Hoppers, the Modiglianis and the O'Keeffes. Samurai armour, Ringo's gold drum, Tiffany stained glass, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. We only spent an afternoon, though I have in the past visited on an A-Level art trip, but still, just the tip of the iceberg. Gutted that we missed the Alexander McQueen retrospective, Savage Beauty, by just a few weeks.

New York Part I

2011-05-09T18:04:00.001+01:00

Let's start with a monkey. It didn't start with a monkey of course, it started with a very late night arrival, a collapse into bed, then a venture out the next morning for breakfast - brioche french toast, pumpkin pancakes, lots of syrup. But we'll start with the monkey skeleton, just because he has a certain je ne sais quoi to him that I find appealing.

New York, New York.

Syrup drenched breakfasts, bottomless coffee, orange juice that tasted of California. The American Museum of Natural History, dinosaurs and taxidermy elephants, zebras, penguins, a flamingo mural, the aforementioned monkey. Art students spread out on the floor sketching old bones, the twist of an antler, the lines of a hoof. Drinking fountains promoting NYC tap water. Times Square, billboards, bright lights, shops full of Hershey's and M&Ms. Jolly Ranchers from a news stand - remember those? Macaroni cheese in the East Village as the heavens opened, soaking us. A jet-lagged collapse into bed. Breakfast at Cafeteria, Mexican style for me. Union Square in the drizzle, a farmer's market. Radishes piled high, tubs of salad leaves, maple cotton candy, flowers so vibrant in contrast to the grey skies. Honey and cider, baked goods, cookies, muffins. Crates of apples, pears. Bunches of tulips. A silver Andy Warhol, raindrop diamanté covered. Barnes & Noble Bookstore, familiar titles, cover images so different (why is this?). Giant inflatable rats advertising pest control - on our final night I see a live one on the subway, huge, understand why they might be a problem. Grilled cheese sandwiches, pickled cucumbers, cherry cola, ice cream floats. Bar stools, collections of Coca-Cola bottles dating way back. Lightning hitting the Empire State Building, steam rising from vents in the sidewalk.

The Experimental Cocktail Club

2011-05-05T18:08:00.002+01:00

(or, when in a Ghost Town, make the most of it)

Last week, with a London emptier than I'd ever seen it, M and I finally made it to the Experimental Cocktail Club. I'd tried to reserve a table on a couple of occasions, tried for one of the tables that were reserved for walk-ins on others, but to no avail, yet last Friday night, the streets still humming with the last of the Royal Wedding aftermath, but most of London apparently still out of the centre and enjoying their 11-day leave, we walked up to the door and were shown right in.

Let me say this, the wait was worth it.

Hannah has already blogged about it here, in excellent detail and with much better images, (p.s check out her newly added London pages - fantastic) so I won't go on too much, but the cut-glass glasses, the beautiful sounding ingredients, the dim lighting, flickering candlelight, velvet seating, mirrored ceiling, view of brightly coloured strings of Chinatown flags fluttering in the night breeze through the windows, were all perfect, and the cocktails, M and I firmly agreed, some of the best we'd ever tasted (and we have tasted a fair few). I can't remember the exact concoctions that we drank, but one of mine had papery blue cornflower petals floating on top and another, gin based, was infused with Bompas and Parr cucumber and quinine jam, and both went down like a dream.

Our little jaunt also had the added bonus of helping to beat the post NYC blues, I had fallen in love with one of the cocktail bars we visited in particular, and was mourning the fact that I wouldn't be back anytime in the near future, the realisation that we have the wonderful ECC (almost) on our doorstep, has done wonders for my spirit.