Sir John Betjeman's Cornwall

The British Poet Laureate 1972-1984 described the beauty of Cornwall at Camel estuary along the now disused 260-mile rail line on the final 6.5-mile stretch from Wadebridge to Pastow. He subscribed to the romance of the North Cornwall Railway until this final stretch served by Bodmin trains closed in January 1967. It's now re-opened, operating as a heritage railway between Wadebridge and Pastow. It's also a gorgeous hike/cycle/horse trail known as The Camel Trail. I'd really love to return to check that out on a hack.

The golden and unpeopled bays/ The shadowy cliffs and sheep-worn ways/ The white unpopulated surf/ The thyme-and-mushroom scented surf/ The slate-hung farms, the oil-lit chapels/ Thin elms and lemon-colored apples

Everyone's making the best of the last bits of the English sun before mid-autumn flops in wet and windy. So yeah, sitting outdoors is certainly a thing here at 17°C. No mozzies too. Lovely to have a meal and drinks looking out across the water, although I still don't advocate downing a few drams before noon.

The gentle rolling hills and all that blue. Something about coastal towns and their vibes. As bleak as those cliffscapes can be, they're breathtakingly magnificent. Nothing stark or dreary about it this season.

Cocooned in Time, at this inhuman height, / The packaged food tastes neutrally of clay, / We never seem to catch the running day / But travel on in everlasting night / With all the chic accoutrements of flight: / Lotions and essences in neat array / And yet another plastic cup and tray."Thank you so much. Oh no, I'm quite all right". 

At home in Cornwall hurrying autumn skies / Leave Bray Hill barren, Stepper jutting bare, / And hold the moon above the sea-wet sand. / The very last of late September diesIn frosty silence and the hills declare / How vast the sky is, looked at from the land. 

~ 'Back from Australia' by Sir John Betjeman, 1974

An Autumn Wedding

The stark and beautiful St Mawes Castle on the southern coast of England.
It's an artillery fort built by Henry VIII in the 15th century that continued to be used as such
through the 18th and 19th centuries, and World War II.

Isn't it just a ridiculous number of weddings scheduled this year? Well, the ones attended are friends whom I see often and am close to. They've seen me through dark days; for whom I've long set aside the quota for their weddings and quietly waited/wait to be invited, if they so choose this path, and we still keep the friendship. :P

All those Skype conversations. The instant R said, "I want to hold the wedding in a castle-like fort, but not that sort of castle. Do you know what I mean?" Oh yes. Of course I do. We've been friends since we were six years old. I passed those modules on Shakespeare and English history because you summarized them for me till I fell asleep. There're only a few venues to choose from since she didn't want to hop out to Scotland. Two specifically- Polhawn Fort built by French POWs to discourage Napoleon from invading the country, and St Mawes Castle. No prizes for guessing what R chose and what her then-husband-to-be R, a military history buff, agreed on. Never mind how the House of Tudor's Henry VIII wedded six wives, divorced two, and beheaded two, and one death that wasn't on him. R and R were totally tickled by those facts.

The love story between R and R is epic. Ups and downs. Ten years in the making. Two incredibly talented and headstrong individuals. The chemistry between them today is sizzling. The understanding and space they've established in this partnership. Loads of hugs all around. It was a superb party. All that dancing!

Warmest congratulations, R and R! You're awesome hosts.  Much love, oldest girlfriend. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you happy. Here's to a wonderful start to the new chapter. xo

Plaice Aplenty

Outside of Singapore, I try to eat as much fish as possible, especially the species that are difficult to find at home or only imported frozen. Haddock and halibut can be found quite easily. Surprisingly, John Dory and sole too. Plaice, not so much.

Turbot is in season. Had plenty of those. Skipped fish and chips. So much fresh fish available. Forget the fried and battered stuff. Love plaice. Pollack is good too, but I'm not quite in the mood for that. Plaice is usually on many restaurants' menu, be it the 'catch of the day' or a regular staple.

In UK, the European plaice is found at many restaurants. It's a diamond-shaped right-eyed flatfish. It comes as a flounder or a sole. A flounder isn't quite a sole. Heeeee. The true sole is a Dover/black sole. The lemon sole is actually a winter flounder. Again, as oceans warm, the populations of plaice and sole in North Sea dwindle. As time goes by, perhaps the Alaskan plaice found in the colder Bering Sea will be served in English restaurants.

Ordered fish for as many meals as possible. Not that many either. Couldn't do three meals a day. Two are more than sufficient to keep energy levels up. Had many pieces of perfectly grilled plaice. Plain, with just salt and pepper. Asked for the sauces on the side and not drizzled over. Nom nom nom. In my tummy!

In the Dark of the Night

Bought a copy of Mitsuyo Kakuta's new book. The title roughly translates into 'Thousands of Nights, Yesterday's Moon' ('ikusen no you kinō no tsuki'); at least that's what the English on the cover said.『幾千の夜、昨日の月』by 角田光代. I like her writing and her stories, occasionally whimsical and often full of astute observations of her surroundings, Japanese society and culture, and people.

24 short stories depict the feelings experienced in the night when the author traveling out of Japan, from the starry skies at summer camp to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, Paris in France to Marrakech in Morocco to Ulaanbaatar in Mongolia to Bangkok in Thailand. Each story tells of her feelings at the breaking of dawn. Of journeys of self-reflection, wondering about loneliness and being alone, and how the night amplifies that. Obviously I couldn't help thinking of the prayer to the Lord of Light R'hllor, "The night is dark and full of terrors." #GoT :p In 「海夜、山夜」, going down a winding mountain road, she pondered about life and living, wondering if her path taken is right.

あしかして私は前世、暗い山道でのたれ死んだのだろらか、ねとど、本気で考えてしまら。

In「用無しの夜もある」, her observations of Bangkok's nightlife are spot-on, especially how she called red light district Patpong 'evil' and sleazy when she visited it 17 years ago. Visiting it again later on as a 40-year-old woman didn't change her mind about it, but her observations are now tinged with great sadness and empathy, and less of disgust. Parallels how I feel about Bangkok.

The second last story in the book is「魂が旅する夜」. The title kinda refers to 'a soul's journey'. She writes of how her mother was hospitalized for a night. She was there of course, and spent some time reflecting on souls who came through the hospital's doors and in that silence, the anxiety felt by other souls. As always, the hospital makes us feel mortality ever so keenly. I'm sure we've all paced that corridor outside the wards or the operating theatre. The hospital is the venue that grants continued life, but it also separates the living and the dead.

病院の夜はどこの夜とも違う。 人の魂が自由に行き来している、 そんな意味で「開いている」感じがする。

Truro Cathedral

With only like... 24,000 residents or so, Truro is the civic and historic center of Cornwall. Quiet and full of heritage, so much green surrounds it. Didn't have time to go kayaking or admire those dreary gorgeous grey seascapes and dramatic cliffs. Next time. I love northwest England (the Lakes). Not too taken with southwest England, but the cliffs seem very promising for a second visit.

Of course we made time to take short walks. However, walking is a slow activity. Rented bicycles to take us round the city. The friends are always up for it, but I'm not adventurous enough to think of taking bicycles out to Cornish Way where real cycling (23 to 25 miles) begins. The Londoners were enthusiastically making plans to come back for a long weekend to do that. Won't be my cup of tea... I'll take the treks and the hacks. Plenty of awesome trails.

There was time for a coffee with the friends and a stop at the beautiful Truro Cathedral. Built as an Anglican church in the Gothic Revival style sometime in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, it's one of the three churches in England to have three spires. The interiors held three pipe organs; among them, the magnificent Willis 1887 pipe organ. There're weekly lunchtime free recitals and evening concerts. What a pity we couldn't hear its sounds since there wasn't a practice scheduled when we visited.

Hey There, Cornish Pasties

There's this whole thing about Cornish pasties. Apparently it was a nine-year campaign which culminated in 2011 to be successfully awarded the EU's 'Protected Geographical Indication' (PGI). That defined how a Cornish pasty should look- shaped like a 'D' and crimped at the side instead of the top. And also, if the menu lists that, then it should be prepared in Cornwall. However, the pasties don't have to be baked here; the ingredients needn't come from the county.

Okaaayy. I guess they're really serious about their pasties. In the olden days, when pasties are ready bal maidens would shout down the mine shafts, "Oggy Oggy Oggy!" and the hungry miners would respond "Oi Oi Oi!" I didn't realize this 'chant' was used that way too. Simply thought it was a cheer at sports stadiums. Hahaha.

I suppose it's just another version of the Asian curry puff or the LatAm empanadas. Or one could argue that the pasty is the original of all variations. Miners, globalization, etc. Whatever. I love them all! Except the sweet version served with jam and cream. There's an official definition of what goes into a Cornish pasty. But my tastebuds also want it vegetarian or with fish, which taste just as good. When I eat pasties (and pies), chilli sauce is needed. Why would restaurants or little joints serve chilli sauce here? I'd be lucky if they have tabasco. I'm prepared with travel-size packets of sambal in my bag. o.O

Pasty rolled out like a plate, Piled with turmut, tates and mate. Doubled up, and baked like fate. That's a Cornish Pasty. (~ Anonymous, an old rhyme)

I very much prefer pasties over the usual dainty sandwiches at English afternoon teas. I hold a special dislike of those tasteless cucumber sandwiches, unless they come with egg mayo or mushrooms. Hurhurhur. Gotta have at least one giant Cornish pasty. This one was fat and juicy, filled with diced beef, onions, swedes (not turnips) and potatoes. It definitely had a ton of butter. I hope it didn't hold lard too. It was delicious.

PS: Now I can't stop thinking about epok-epok kentang.

Steamboat

Steamboat dinner at Wah Lok Restaurant. Or hotpot, as many call it. I like having steamboat at this restaurant. Most of all, the selection of ingredients is staggering. Was in the mood for lobster sashimi. Although the stomach lurched when they served the dish with the head still twitching.

For some reason, the tastebuds wanted a lot of pungent condiments tonight. They served sauces. But I also specifically wanted freshly chopped garlic, sliced chilli padi and soy sauce. Yummy. Grinned as a memory flashed. And I privately chuckled. Of course I wasn't going to share it with the table. They would die laughing. If you guys read it here, so be it.

In Windermere, the man and I drove by signs that indicated the distance to the Steamboat Museum. Had an immediate thought. For a long while, I was wondering quietly in my head why on earth would people want to show exhibits of pots, chopsticks, and gas burners and whatever, and why would steamboat be popular in this part of the world back then. Luckily I didn't voice that thought aloud. Within seconds, I literally facepalm-ed when the realization dawned upon this Asian girl that this Steamboat Museum was NOT what I was thinking of. Muahahahahaha. No, we didn't stop by the museum.

When I decided to tell the man my initial thought of what the Steamboat Museum held, it was three days later, when we were far far away from Windermere in another town. His eyes widened, fell silent for a bit, and ROTFLOL for a good 10 minutes. Haizzzz. I'll never hear the end of it.

Farm-Fresh-To-Table

I still don't cook. Was never keen to cook. I don't find joy in doing it. Baking, no friggin way. The smell of butter and flour baking in the oven makes my stomach churn. Which is ironic, considering how much I love chilled butter with warm bread. Sure, cooking is a life skill of which every other normal human should be more or less competent in, and it makes for a healthier option. Makes sense, especially when the body seems to have all sorts of food allergies. I'll sort that out if it's necessary. But I live in a city where it's just less of a fuss to head out and have a meal. It does mean that I've to be fastidious about the food ingested at the commercial eateries.

London has all its glitzy restaurants, fancy cafes, down-to-earth eateries, supperclubs, private clubs and kitchens. But somehow, the palate wasn't excited. It was the food in Cumbria that really made me look forward to mealtimes. Dunno. Maybe it was the fresh air and exercise. I didn't even care about not having coffee and tea oop northwest. I view all celebrity restaurants with suspicion and am generally not enthusiastic about restaurants holding Michelin stars. (i.e. six visits over two years couldn't convince me to be a fan of El Bulli or Fat Duck) There're other factors at play. I don't appreciate progressive cuisine, for starters, and I get prickly when a restaurant isn't amenable about catering to food preferences. Food on this trip has been glorious. Totally spoilt by the choices available. Am totally reminded what farm-to-table truly means. Over-rated? No. Well, I know what that phrase means. But to taste it in all its succulence, is just fabulous.

As much as I love seeing the Aunts, the bff and my friends, I'm happiest when there isn't a need to hang around central London any longer than required. The city is huge. Plenty of corners for me to hide in. On this trip, the icing was to have spent a huge portion of time in Cumbria, relishing in the freshness of the produce, enjoying the incredibly crisp air, and slowing down the pace to contemplate its breathtaking natural beauty.

It's been a wonderful trip. Till the next time, England.

The Tea

The range of tea available in London is simply amazing. I'm not talking about the blended teas; we've got a good array at home too. I'm talking about full leaf Chinese, Japanese, Darjeelings and Assams from India. The teas are available at Waitrose and most supermarkets, higher grades also available at specialty tea shops, and the best part, cafes adopt good teas (Waterloo Tea, Canton Tea Co, Rare Tea Company, etc) to serve to customers, brewing them beautifully. WOAH. It's such a joy to be immersed in just reading the labels of the various teas.

Since I understand both English and Chinese, a kind friend wanted to introduce a tea master to me and said this tea master likes to speak in Mandarin at times while lecturing about tea. Apparently the tea master resides in London and does private tastings from time to time. However, he warned, "You must address him as '老师' (Teacher), and be silent when he rambles about fixed notions of certain issues." Errm...NO THANK YOU. I'm quite scarred by these '老师' types. Never again. Quite happy to go around on my own. I'm not 10 years old; I can research for the information myself. A more circuitous route, but I'll get there.

I enjoy the gatherings at the tea clubs. Some tea companies hold them, and that's great. I love it when sources and estates are also openly and merrily discussed within these gatherings, instead of answering my questions with vague and non-specific replies. As though it's such a secret as to which estate produces good tea. Seriously. Anyway, I prefer the more liberal yet structured environment of tea workshops in London. Pity I couldn't go to Berlin to visit the awesome Paper & Tea.

For some reason, the red tea (known as 'black' in Europe, so many companies label accordingly) from Yunnan- Dian Hong (滇红) has been quite the winner on this trip. Yah, I crazy tea lady, brought a (among others) stash of Dian Hong to London. Brought one of my favorite gaiwans too. Green tea is easily procured here. But my palate leans towards heavier flavors. While I love coffee and doesn't need tea daily, it's nice to sip a good cup of tea in between. So the Dian Hong provides that oomph, malt and sweetness that no earl grey or lapsang souchong could replicate.

Love The Theatre Offerings

Roundly rejected watching musicials at West End. It's really very difficult to convince me to watch one nowadays. I think I overdid it on the music Andrew Lloyd Webber during all those formative years when some people tried to educate me about music that doesn't come from Red House Painters, Metallica, Nirvana or Prodigy. But they forgot I was force-fed a diet of Bach, Mozart and Tchaikovsky. Urrrgh. I very much prefer plays over musicals any day. For various painful reasons, to date, I've watched three productions of The Phantom of the Opera in four cities for a total of ten times since 1990. I will never watch it again for any reason in the world. (Les Misérables is included is this never-list.) 

Hopped in and out of central London for a few evenings. Limited time to gorge on the plays at West End, Off-West End and little black boxes. And the dependable awesome Chipotle for bites pre and post shows. Managed to watch a few. Some were mehhh. Thought these three were quite a hoot.

************

The Hothouse :: Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Caught Harold Pinter's 'The Hothouse' just before it finished its run. Directed by Jamie Lloyd, it ran true to the intended interpretation. As always, the professional actors put on a sterling performance. Simon Russell Beale and John Simm were impressive.

Political dissidents undergoing painful corrective treatments. The morality lies somewhere between the structure of the state-sanctioned sanatorium and bureaucracy on the ground. Hailed as a "macabre tragicomedy", inmates either go mad or adapt to survive in that curious world that has been manifested out of corrupted minds and daily physical and mental abuse. Imagine all evils and conspiracy theories and you sit through an intense night that ends up slightly comedic rather than fully depressing.

************

Image from The Guardian.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time :: Directed by Marianne Elliott

Loved Mark Haddon's 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time'. Had to watch the West End adaptation by Simon Stevens; directed by Marianne Elliott. There were many details in the book that held the reader's attention, but not all could be translated onto the stage. A gist could be captured, and it was left to the actors to bring out all those emotions and subtleties. The set design played a huge role in aiding the audience to understand the protagonist's pained and varied worlds.

I was rather fascinated with lead actor Luke Treadaway's eyebrows. Yes, his eyebrows. I didn't imagine the 15-year old protagonist Christopher Boone to have those expressive eyebrows, considering he doesn't quite like humans or understand their emotions, and prefers animals. Heh. Stunning portrayal of a gifted teenager with Asperger syndrome. But yes, whatever portrayed on stage, held no yellow, a color that the protagonist heartily dislikes. Heh.

************

Home :: Directed by Nadia Fall

Put together from 30 hours of interviews of the young homeless housed in a hostel in London's East End, the theme of the play is grim and almost bleak. It reflects the statistics that of homeless young people at a 2013 record high. Of course the news was aflutter with scenes of Ed Miliband being pelted with eggs thrown by a lone protester at a south London street market. The streets of London are filled with younger and younger people sleeping on the sidewalk in the nights, and food banks are seeing an increase in use.

The play also utilized hip and current, and original music to bring out what the young people think as they recount their experiences with violence, racism, drugs, family breakdowns, single mothers and the whole litany of categorized social problems. The individual testimonies are compelling. These plays always catch my attention. It's one way to  understand another part of the world. I'm reminded of how lucky how a portion of world's youth is. Our #firstworldproblems pale in comparison to their issues. The angst is similar, but the situations are vastly different. They might hold down stable jobs, but live in the hostel. These 'homeless' residents are supposed to move on after two years, but apparently, reality is, they can't save enough to rent a space after that. Yet, dreams don't fade, and those dreams are the only thing that keep them going.

On the other hand, it's good to also to look at the England's housing problem, or rather London's, mainly. And to think through and balance that against the soaring rents, property prices in the cities, and of course, compare it to erm home. Pardon the pun please. Couldn't help it. These lines from a rather stirring recent speech by my country's Prime Minister are ringing in my ears,

The values of homes has appreciated and even poor people are not poor by any international standard. If you take the lowest one-fifth of our households by income, the lowest one-fifth, 20 per cent of households, that means about 200,000 households; each household in this group, each poor household has on average $200,000 of net wealth in the HDB flat. 

(grammatical errors in the quote above aren't mine)

************

Cherishing The Good Times

Stepped into Aunt E's house, gave her big hugs, put down bags and bags of groceries, and rushed to the garden to see how the apple trees were doing. What a refreshing green against the bright sunshine. Hello apples, you're growing really well. How many more harvests, I wonder. 

Summer means eating lots of fruit salads. Aunt E made a giant bowl by way of welcome. A cool breeze wafted through the house. No more heatwave. 22°C in the sun. Sat out in the shaded patio with oversized sunnies and ate my share of the fruit salad. The man scooped up vanilla ice-cream for himself, and pottered around. By the time he came back, he was rather dismayed to find that it had melted. Heh.

There was a happy pot of soup bubbling on the stove. Earlier, Aunt E had asked if we liked pea and mint soup. I was like, NO!!! Absolutely dislike peas and mint. The man would love that though. Anyway in the end, Aunt E chose to make asparagus and mushroom soup. Whewww. Drunk big bowls. It was chunky and tasty. Too full for any more food. Shelved the proper food to dinner instead. Tea first. As in, no cakes; just that cup of satisfying tea in the drawing room over wonderful conversation. It was about an hour later that I discovered that the man stole a blueberry scone from goodness-knows-where to munch on.

It got really hot and we retreated into the house. Had fun prepping ingredients needed for dinner. Well, I was more useful at the sink and to fetch items from the fridge, and the man knew his way around the spice cabinet, larder, stove and oven. Aunt E directed us to make a caramelized red onion tart. Once it went into the oven, we set about sorting out herb crust for the sea bass. Dinner was awesome.

As much as I balk at Mozart, I dutifully found the scores in the library and (badly) played three sonatas on the piano. Aunt E loves music and the piano. We stayed till long after sundown. Washed up the kitchen and all, and merrily vacuumed the house too. We drove, so there was no worry about having to catch the last train back into town. Even if we were tired and didn't want to drive back, at worst, we could just bunk over. Didn't even need a room. Plenty of comfy couches at Aunt E's to sprawl on.

Enjoyed every minute of our visit. Lingered as long as we politely could without tiring her out with conversation. There were pockets of comfortable silences too. Locked in all those memories. Will we ever forget? When our time comes, we might. Aunt E has become so much weaker. She's almost 90 and needs a walking stick now. A stark contrast to the cheer of making our way to Aunt E's, the drive back to town was quiet and pensive. How many more winters, we wonder.

Street Feast At Dalston Yard

The friends partied at the Street Feast in Haggerston earlier and loved it. It's now popped up at Dalston Yard at Hartwell Street. Popped by for a peek. Food trucks and little stores aplenty. The crowds wouldn't pack in till 4pm, so we went earlier. Had other plans in the evening that didn't involve in being squished shoulder to shoulder packed with a thousand other humans queuing up for food. Not big on picnics either. It's all about the portaloos, or the lack of it, really. Hence, not bothered with the Foodies Festival at Battersea Park.

Remember the 'debate' about the merit of Singapore's World Streetfood Congress? Anyway, street food is unique to geographical location, and these in London aren't about structured dialogues. They're meant to be parties for everybody. No stuffy vibes permitted. Not exactly big on it though. Nowadays, I generally veer away from crowds and parties of this nature. The food isn't an attraction either. It doesn't beckon anymore than Michelin-starred restaurants do. To me, pizzas, burgers, tacos and goat curry aren't exactly different from idli, murtabak, thosai, mee siam, sup kambing, Hokkien mee, char kway teow, and laksa. The marked difference between these events in two cities- those awesome craft beers by Meantime, the great venues either at spacious parks or merchant yards, and the weather, and oh, the 101% hip factor that's impossible to replicate.

Thankfully there was coffee first thing. Then I went around looking for edibles. Found a tasty veggie wrap at Mama's Jerk Station. The friends already plopped onto one of the tables with bottles of wine and cups of beer. They were eyeing the dudes setting up the grill over at Honest Burgers, fully intending to be first in line when they were ready for orders. Had loads of Yakima Red, an unplaceable cool beer. It was quite refreshing to sit in the sun and not perspire because there was a really chilly wind blowing fiercely.

The Coffee

There're so many new coffeeshops in town that an app is required to navigate through them. I don't want to lug another guidebook around in the bag. This is when I use the dormant iPhone- for the apps because my Windows phone is crap for apps. Plenty out there on iTunes. Paid apps, but the good ones are so worth it. This visit, I'm using 'The London Coffee Guide'.

I certainly wasn't going to visit all, not even going to try. Simply going to check an app to see which is the nearest coffeeshop depending on my whereabouts a particular time of the day. As it is, it seems to be coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon and beer or whisky at night, leaving Sundays free of caffeine and alcohol. Never mind whatever studies scientists put out about alcohol, tea or coffee. Everything, in moderation, I believe.

Don't care if a coffeeshop doesn't serve food. I'll find another eatery that does. Often, it works if the bff and I just grab one cup of coffee take-out, and we share, just so we split the caffeine and get to try another cup of coffee elsewhere. Current favorite coffeeshop in Londontown is Workshop Coffee Co. that does a really mean piccolo latte in the robust brew I love, and it isn't too shabby in brewing its teas currently sourced from Waterloo Tea either.

The Classics At The Proms & Royal Opera House

The beautiful Royal Albert Hall always has such rich offerings. Love rock gigs held here. Did you watch that gig of The Killers at this venue? That was quite awesome. Not so sure how The Killers will be like when they play in Singapore on 21 September for F1. Totally love some of the classical concerts too. Had to do some homework on what's happening during this period. There's always something exciting happening. Was spoilt for choice, and as time is limited, had to narrow the performances to those that I truly wanted to watch.

************ 

Prom 33 :: Mitsuko Uchida :: Beethoven and Berlioz

I've watched Mitsuko Uchida play live twice. And I wanted to watch her for a third time. While watching the Wimbledon finals on tv last month, spotting her in the audience (how to miss her trademark eyebrows and those dramatic sunnies chosen for the day???) reminded me to check the concert calendar even though I knew she was on a summer break. Glad to find out that she would be performing at the BBC Proms.

Accompanied by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestara conducted by Mariss Jansons, Mitsuko Uchida played Prom 33 with Beethoven's Piano Concerto No.4 in G major, and Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique.

I love her eyebrows. Not as much as I love her playing though.

************

Prom 35 :: The Resurrection Symphony

How cute it is to see Mariss Jansons again the next night at Prom 35 with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Choir and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra for Mahler's Symphony No.2 in C minor 'Resurrection'. I didn't pay attention to the choir or the sopranos. I was really there to listen to the orchestra. The singers, were a little distracting.

Not that I'm this big fan of Mariss Jansons, although he's a very fun yet stern conductor, but I like Gustav Mahler's works that are of a different nature than the usual late-Romantic period compositions. Most of the friends aren't hot about Mahler. It's quite difficult persuading them to join me in an evening of Mahler. Hahahahah.

Anyway, whether she liked it or not, the BFF got dragged out to this concert. She's more of a Mozart person. I wanted to hear another European orchestra's interpretation (aside from the Berlin Philharmonic) of Mahler's not too conformative works. What we heard tonight played by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, was beautiful.

************

Bolshoi Ballet :: Jewels

Didn't take long to purchase tickets to Bolshoi Ballet's new production of George Balanchine's 'Jewels'. I wasn't too hot about Bolshoi Ballet's upcoming November repertoire in Singapore, and no matter at which venue, I really didn't want to watch them dance 'Swan Lake' a third time; this was the perfect opportunity to watch them in something non-classical. 

Bolshoi Ballet is sterling in their portrayal of classical pieces. Not too sure about their surprising choice in 'Jewels'. It's a full length ballet made up of three acts (Emeralds, Rubies and Diamonds) completely unrelated to one another, and without plots, the entire ballet moves like a disjointed contemporary piece. 

Each act uses a different composer and piece of music, all rather contrasting. Emeralds uses Fauré, Rubies uses Stravinsky, and Diamonds uses Tchaikovsky. It falls entirely on the respective leads to bring out the exacting requirements of the movements. Beautiful jewel-color-themed costumes. It honestly felt a bit odd, but the company's shining new young leads managed to put on a brilliant performance. Bit awkward here and there, but overall, it was fine. I liked it.

Learning About British Cheeses

It's odd that I'm not as familiar with British cheeses as I should be. It has always been French and Swiss cheeses that are a staple at home. I know the Blue and White Stilton, and that's about all. It's a fairly recent thing that I began looking at English cheeses with more interest.

Not into sweets, so dessert is a non-affair at meals. Since this is a vacation, I make an exception for dessert- in the form of a cheese platter. It does mean that I have to cut back on the mains. There's only so much stomach space after all. Cheese and chutney on a board, with bits of nuts or freeze-dried fruit, and biscuit thins. No bread please. Too much marvelous bread would have been eaten even before the starters arrived.

Found a few easy nibbles. Dependable flavors and all. The Cumbrian cheeses are mellow and uhh...would be good in like a tomato and cheese sandwich, or if you prefer, a damn good ham and cheese (Tovey or Allerdale Smoked, or Cumberland Oak Smoked). Fell in love with the Swaledale's Blue, and their version of chives and garlic. Garlic gets my attention, always.

This board was served with raisin loaf, homemade chutney,
blue poppy seed and celery salt biscuits.
Savory awesomeness.

The Egg

Not going to pass up the chance to eat hen's eggs, especially if it's collected fresh in Cumbria. London's fine too, since I get so many choices. Well, we've already discussed that free range and organic don't mean shit on a packaging unless we've visited the farms and know for sure, or there's a webcam showing us squawking hens merrily roaming. Anyway, there's something different in the taste as compared to ones at home. The smell...and the taste. They come across very obviously in soft boiled eggs, and especially when slurped raw. The eggs here are delicious.

One egg a day, if not two. Not a hard and fast rule. I've gone for days without eating even one egg. Preferably ingested soft-boiled or raw, with a touch of sea salt and on some days when I feel like it, pepper. Haven't had sufficiently frequent-enough stomach upsets from tainted raw eggs to be cowed into eating less of them. Best form of breakfast or a snack, or a replacement meal if I'm not particularly hungry. An egg alone, won't singularly raise cholesterol levels. If I cut out meat and shellfish from my diet, then I don't see a problem with eating eggs, cheese or butter though I won't advocate eating 6 eggs a day or swallow a slab of butter on a daily basis.

Incidentally, I subscribe to egg. Fairly good reads occasionally. No, they don't talk about eggs. They deliver poetry to your inboxes once a week.

Umu

Had an insane craving for sashimi and sushi that refused to be quelled. I could wait to return to Singapore and stuff my face silly at Shinji. But it was a craving, and must be satisfied now now now. Dragged the humans out to dinner at Umu Restaurant. They didn't protest that violently.

Raw fish. Mmmm. This is a Japanese restaurant in London that I'm quite fond of for the now. I try to eat here at least once each time I'm in town. Currently helmed by Chef Yoshinori Ishii, it's traditional, yet contemporary, their sashimi isn't bad at all. The chefs know what they're doing. What they can't fly in from Japan, they will find suitable substitutes which are excellent too. Of late, it's much more prudent getting supplies from alternative sources. However, with the entire Pacific food chain affected, I really have no idea how safe it is to consume seafood now, and especially, if my diet is predominantly fish, then I might have a problem.

Anyway, I'll eat my fill for now. On this trip, I especially love Umu's uni for these few weeks. Sourced from the US and Scandinavia, this batch was supremely fresh, suitably briny and held great texture. Relished their somen with uni. Served cold, of course. Light and savory, it was absolutely satisfying to slurp up.

The main thing is, I LOVE Umu's teas. Couldn't wait to get to the end of the meal to order them. Outside of Japan, few Japanese restaurants do tea this beautifully. Our restaurants in Singapore need to catch up. The teas available on the menu are just not up to par. Except for the matcha (koicha) at Goto. Meanwhile, I'm glad Umu offers quality leaves and good brews. Two green teas, at least, definitely. Cleaned out my sake glass quickly, and asked for the tea menu. The table continued with a third bottle of sake and ordered desserts. *hiccup I went a bit nuts over the teas.

The available Japanese teas that are brewed by someone who knows his craft. Some good brewing going on there. The water used is definitely filtered to the max, and the temperature was perfect. The hōjicha was wonderfully roasted, but held strong fruity notes. Ahhhhh. I swooned when the cup of gyokuro was placed in front me. A touch confirmed that they brewed this at the ideal 50ºC, bringing out the full sweetness, freshness and seaweed notes of a gyokuro. Impressive. Umami. Perfect ending to a splendid meal.

Umu's gorgeous hōjicha.

Sorting Out The Trash

Okay, sorting out the trash here is serious business. But apparently the UK is lagging behind the recycling league table which ranks countries on their recycling rates for Municipal Solid Waste (MSW). Wah. Okay. Not that I've lived those countries to understand how their recycling works for residents.

While we've always had a habit of recycling at home in Singapore, it's a very simple platform split across a number of categories- plastics, paper and cardboard, glass, metals, and e-waste. Then we lug all the sorted stuff to the recycling bins at the corner of the estate and chuck them into the huge (labelled) wheelie bins at any time of the day at our choosing. Not difficult. Many other items also go into the general waste bin and eventually get bagged and thrown down the rubbish chute of the flat. But in UK (and probably Germany, Norway and Sweden), it gets a bit more complicated (relative to perceptions) since there're specific color-coded bags for the respective items, and to only put out recycling bags and boxes at a designated timing prior to collection times.

In the London flat, I stared at the color-coded recycling bags, frowned and decided not to be a smart-ass. I've forgotten which's for what. Went online to find out the items required to go into the green recycling box, the white recycling tall bag, wheelie bin and landfill waste. The pale yellow trash bag pictured above is for food waste. Only food. Please don't place the take-out containers with it. One could only use up to three bags a week. Three. Which means if I've food waste, it goes into another air-tight box before being scrapped out into this pale yellow bag. Fine. Seriously, if I can get my hands on more bags, how would they know if I've maxed out the quota of three somehow?! Now you know why gloves are my best friends. In Singapore, two sets of gloves will suffice. London, I've about five sets of kitchen gloves for every conceivable reason. 

Before we go to bed every night, the trash must be sorted. Or if we don't really have trash, then it's done every two days. Can't just leave it be. We don't want the flat to stink. But it does call up all my OCD tendencies. Instead of blowing my nose into a tissue to be thrown into a bin to unhygienically sit for days, I ermm hunch over a sink, then wash my hands, nose and face assiduously after. Sorting out trash isn't tedious lah. It can be rather therapeutic, like the washing of dishes by hand (which I love) instead of turning on the dishwasher. Still, it's a household chore. YAWN.

It's Been Bright Sunshine!

The bright sunshine on this daily basis is making England much more cheerful than winter. Sure, it drizzled a little here and there, and out in Cumbria, it also rained. Back in London now, and while mornings can be grey, it usually opens up to blue slightly before noon.

Thought about it and threw two pairs of sunnies into the suitcases. I already keep like...two in London, for riding and sports lah. And being able to rotate them around like I'm at home makes it all that much better. Literally lived in Oakleys while scampering up the hills in Cumbria. In the city, I wear them just to feel a little more private amidst bustling streets. Summer and sunnies go together really well.

Haven't popped in during summer for years. Late summer is good. Perfect weather. Am making the most of it by spending most of my time outside of the city to enjoy the greenery, rocks, waters and trails. Sure, the city has its attractions, but it isn't always what I look for on a vacation. It doesn't feel very much different from loitering around in Singapore. Although the city is huge and there're corners I can hide away in, do the things I don't get to do at home. Still, I need the green and blue, sights that I don't get to see often.

All Those Alcohol!

I already know my taste profiles for beers. Golden ales and its ilk are cool as a light drink. The Lakeland beers are quite beautiful that way. Tried many breweries' pale ales and the sorts. Some great, some mehhhh. Something about the water, again. All these beer festivals are now happening in London. Drink your fill.

My usual palate leans towards heavier beers. The stouts. The Guinness this near Ireland, is SO GOOD. Creamy. Like a dessert. Who needs cakes and all? A pint of Guinness is dessert for me. But the brews I'm fond of, come from BrewDog. Drooled over the countertop at BrewDog Bar in Camden. Their entire range of Paradox, which are mainly Imperial Stouts, is so heavy that it's perfect for just that one drink for the evening. All right, maybe two.

Loving the awesome range of beers at the pubs. But I can't do without my single malts. We grabbed a bottle of Glenmorangie 18 y.o for the trip, but variety is still needed. Quite happy to see the Oban 14y.o on the list of single malts at most restaurants and pubs. But wrinkled the nose at the prices. A £16 Oban 14y.o in London costs £9.50 in Cumbria, which is technically closer to Scotland. Tsk, London, your pricing can be surprisingly worse than Singapore bars. 

Gimme gimme gimme all these calories. Mmmm.