A couple of weeks ago, the Observer Food Monthly (OFM) published the list of its Food Awards for 2015. Awards are given to the best restaurant, food retailer, food producer and so on. In the 'special' edition of OFM detailing the award winners, each award recipient was given some space to talk about how they got into the food business, what their personal philosophies and attitudes to food and consumption are and what they want to do going forward. One of the awards given out was for the Best Food Blog of the year and it was awarded to Ella Woodward for her blog, Deliciously Ella.
I was reading the piece on her in the OFM when I arrived at this paragraph:
"In the current wave of interest in healthy eating, the most prominent figures are not doctors or dieticians but “wellness gurus”, and there has been a backlash against people giving out dietary advice without proper medical qualifications. (Woodward is currently training part-time for a diploma in naturopathic nutrition at the College of Naturopathic Medicine, a London-based organisation founded by homeopath Hermann Keppler.)"
Now, the mention of 'naturopathic' rang a lot of little alarm bells. In my years of 'O' and 'A' Level biology, a physiology degree course and a health and social care degree course, I had never come across the medical field of 'naturopathy'. When I looked into the 'college', I realised why this was. 'Naturopathy' is concerned with nurturing the body's 'vital force' through homeopathy, herbalism and naturopathic nutrition. Now, studying for a diploma in nutrition designed to nurture this 'vital force', a rather fuzzy, unscientific concept, says to me that Woodward is aiming to be just such a "wellness guru" albeit with some rather dodgy letter after her name. She too will be handing out "dietary advice without proper medical qualifications" but will seek to legitimise that "advice" by parading a New Age qualification as 'proof' of her knowledge.
Now, I am not going to dismiss, out of hand, the worth of herbalism and accupuncture (homeopathy, however….): many modern drugs have their basis in plant extracts and plants are increasingly being looked at to provide new treatments going forward. However, linking food to this 'vital force' adds a level of mysticism to the existing (scientific) field of nutrition. Why not study for a diploma in nutrition? In the article, it was noted that Woodward's blog was followed in large part by teenage women, many of whom will already be pulled in negative directions by the perceived need to be the same as the celebrity 'role models' that are constantly shoved down our throats. To dress up an influential food blog with the trappings of pseudo-science is, to my mind, a potentially dangerous path and gives spurious substance to fad eating and snake oil ingredients that promise to 'cleanse', 'vitalise' or 'energise'. If it quacks like a duck, it's a duck. But if it promises you wellness through eating an obscure South American berry, it's a quack.
Monday, 9 November 2015
Tuesday, 29 September 2015
Pick your targets
There seems to have been some serious schadenfreude going on over the last 48 hours in respect of the attack on 'Cereal Killers' eaterie in Brick Lane. For those who don't know, 'Cereal Killers' specialised in selling bowls of cereal (at £3.95 a pop) to the hipster residents of Shoreditch and Whitechapel. No, I don't understand it either: a bowl of cereal is something one normally enjoys at home, slobbing in PJ's, either first thing in the morning or last thing at night as a snack (not sure about cereals for lunch, but not against giving it a go!). The cost of this treat at home? Ooh, probably about 15p. A bowl of cereal worth £3.95 on the other hand would normally form part of a ££££ breakfast in a hotel (I have paid anywhere between £11 and £22 for a full breakfast where it is not included in the room price). But the concept of walking into a food outlet in London's East End to willingly part with the thick end of £5 for a bowl of cereal defeats me.
'Cereal Killers' is one of those things that happens from time to time: a ludicrous idea that, for some unfathomable reason, takes off with a a particular group and suddenly snowballs into a phenomenon. The complete idiocy of such a venture attracted much media attention (and, therefore, free publicity) and virtually guaranteed great footfall for the establishment. Like many culinary trends (and I wince as I include the serving of breakfast cereals the list of 'culinary' activities), this will have its moment and then vanish. Another current food trend is to serve food on anything other than plates: wellington boots full of chips; steak with a sauce on a slate; steak served under a nest of barbed wire. This is the nouvelle cuisine du nos jours. It is hateful, pointless and nothing to do with enhancing the enjoyment of food but it will soon fade into deserved oblivion.
When Class War decided to attack 'Cereal Killers' with paint and, I believe, fire (I have a vision of the mob in the old 'Frankenstein' movie: all burning torches advancing on the castle), they did so to protest the gentrification of the area. This is duff logic, surely? If an area has reached a state where it can sustain, for longer than 10 minutes, a cafe that sells breakfast cereals, then I would respectfully submit that the gentrification is well underway because the lunatics have arleady taken over the asylum. How many local estate agents selling 'bijoux' terraced homes, once affordable family homes but now the preserve of the latte-drinking chatterati, were attacked in this protest? How many 'buy-to-let' landlords looking for the big bucks that the poorest can't provide were targeted? Was the local council questioned over their seeming inability to enforce a 35% affordable housing requirement in new housing developments? Was the Mayor of London taken to task for allowing property to be bought hand-over-fist by absentee owners? Gentrification is about pricing the working/lower middle classes out of the market in that area, something that would seem to have already happened or be well-established in Shoreditch. Attacking businesses where people with more money than sense go to spend their income will not bring about social change: burning down Fortnum & Mason will not feed the poor or collapse the monarchy. There again, Class War have always been bigger on gesture than they have on effecting outcomes…
'Cereal Killers' are not, as a friend of mine said, 'Alan Sugar's shock troops, the advance guard of Richard Branson's Virgin invasion fleet' (sorry, Geoff). They are a cople of guys who have realised that there are people in their local area who are willing to spend silly money on stupid things. They are not promoting gentrification, they are exploiting it. Pick your targets, Class War.
'Cereal Killers' is one of those things that happens from time to time: a ludicrous idea that, for some unfathomable reason, takes off with a a particular group and suddenly snowballs into a phenomenon. The complete idiocy of such a venture attracted much media attention (and, therefore, free publicity) and virtually guaranteed great footfall for the establishment. Like many culinary trends (and I wince as I include the serving of breakfast cereals the list of 'culinary' activities), this will have its moment and then vanish. Another current food trend is to serve food on anything other than plates: wellington boots full of chips; steak with a sauce on a slate; steak served under a nest of barbed wire. This is the nouvelle cuisine du nos jours. It is hateful, pointless and nothing to do with enhancing the enjoyment of food but it will soon fade into deserved oblivion.
When Class War decided to attack 'Cereal Killers' with paint and, I believe, fire (I have a vision of the mob in the old 'Frankenstein' movie: all burning torches advancing on the castle), they did so to protest the gentrification of the area. This is duff logic, surely? If an area has reached a state where it can sustain, for longer than 10 minutes, a cafe that sells breakfast cereals, then I would respectfully submit that the gentrification is well underway because the lunatics have arleady taken over the asylum. How many local estate agents selling 'bijoux' terraced homes, once affordable family homes but now the preserve of the latte-drinking chatterati, were attacked in this protest? How many 'buy-to-let' landlords looking for the big bucks that the poorest can't provide were targeted? Was the local council questioned over their seeming inability to enforce a 35% affordable housing requirement in new housing developments? Was the Mayor of London taken to task for allowing property to be bought hand-over-fist by absentee owners? Gentrification is about pricing the working/lower middle classes out of the market in that area, something that would seem to have already happened or be well-established in Shoreditch. Attacking businesses where people with more money than sense go to spend their income will not bring about social change: burning down Fortnum & Mason will not feed the poor or collapse the monarchy. There again, Class War have always been bigger on gesture than they have on effecting outcomes…
'Cereal Killers' are not, as a friend of mine said, 'Alan Sugar's shock troops, the advance guard of Richard Branson's Virgin invasion fleet' (sorry, Geoff). They are a cople of guys who have realised that there are people in their local area who are willing to spend silly money on stupid things. They are not promoting gentrification, they are exploiting it. Pick your targets, Class War.
Monday, 24 August 2015
Thank you Mr Sorkin
Another boxset has bitten the dust. Yesterday we binge-watched episodes 10-22 of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Aaron Sorkin's brilliant show set backstage of a late night comedy sketch show (just like Saturday Night Live, in fact). Again, there was that sense of loss as the credits rolled on the last episode but, this time, that loss is all the greater as we have now watched all of Mr Sorkin's TV output as a writer: Sportsnight, The Newsroom, The West Wing and now, Studio 60. Aaron Sorkin's thing is dialogue: whip-crack sharp, brilliant dialogue. Sure, it's often slightly preachy liberal dialogue, but I love it. The verbal rhythms, the actors he uses to deliver the lines, the contaxts in which he explores wider issues are all sheer genius to my mind. And, for now at least, that genius is missing from our screens.
Sorkin writes for television as if the medium has worth and the viewers of that medium are not dumbed-down, infantalised and passive consumers. His writing is saying that we can do so much better than endless talent shows and celebrity gee-gaws: we can be entertained and think a bit at the same time. Revolutionary stuff, huh? As one of his characters in Studio 60 puts it, 'the people who watch TV are no dumber than the people who make it'. No lesser person than Quentin Tarrantino recognises the brilliance of Sorkin's writing as he states in this quote:
However, brilliant dialogue delivered by great actors as part of interesting story lines are still not enough to win the day. Studio 60 was lauded by critics who saw the pilot episode and 13 million viewers watched when it aired. By episode 3, that was down to 9 million, still a massive number to you or I but a loss of one third of viewers overnight became the blood in the water that attracted the critical sharks. Advertisers, the life blood of the majority of US TV, began to drift away while the network who screened it in the States, NBC, put two hiatuses into the run, further breaking up viewer 'loyalty'. The 22 episodes that were made became the first and only series of Studio 60, the only one of Sorkin's TV shows not to get a second (or more) season. Interestingly, an article in the Guardian that appeared when Studio 60 was about to air in the UK in 2007 noted that in the States, many viewers were watching episodes that they had recorded to view later. At that time, viewings made in this way did not get included in the ratings. Had they been taken into account, the 'low' viewer numbers might have looked a whole lot healthier and Season 2 might have made it to screen. Perhaps it was just ahead of its time?
At this time, Sorkin has said he is "unlikely" to write for television again. Having scripted several successful films, he has no need to write for the small screen. Unfortunately, that makes the small screen even smaller to my mind. One fewer passionate, liberal and intelligent writer in TV land leaves us at the mercy of the celeb and talent schlock that is the new bear-bating for the 21st century. I'm sorry that he has made that choice but, boy, did he leave us with some gems!
Sorkin writes for television as if the medium has worth and the viewers of that medium are not dumbed-down, infantalised and passive consumers. His writing is saying that we can do so much better than endless talent shows and celebrity gee-gaws: we can be entertained and think a bit at the same time. Revolutionary stuff, huh? As one of his characters in Studio 60 puts it, 'the people who watch TV are no dumber than the people who make it'. No lesser person than Quentin Tarrantino recognises the brilliance of Sorkin's writing as he states in this quote:
However, brilliant dialogue delivered by great actors as part of interesting story lines are still not enough to win the day. Studio 60 was lauded by critics who saw the pilot episode and 13 million viewers watched when it aired. By episode 3, that was down to 9 million, still a massive number to you or I but a loss of one third of viewers overnight became the blood in the water that attracted the critical sharks. Advertisers, the life blood of the majority of US TV, began to drift away while the network who screened it in the States, NBC, put two hiatuses into the run, further breaking up viewer 'loyalty'. The 22 episodes that were made became the first and only series of Studio 60, the only one of Sorkin's TV shows not to get a second (or more) season. Interestingly, an article in the Guardian that appeared when Studio 60 was about to air in the UK in 2007 noted that in the States, many viewers were watching episodes that they had recorded to view later. At that time, viewings made in this way did not get included in the ratings. Had they been taken into account, the 'low' viewer numbers might have looked a whole lot healthier and Season 2 might have made it to screen. Perhaps it was just ahead of its time?
At this time, Sorkin has said he is "unlikely" to write for television again. Having scripted several successful films, he has no need to write for the small screen. Unfortunately, that makes the small screen even smaller to my mind. One fewer passionate, liberal and intelligent writer in TV land leaves us at the mercy of the celeb and talent schlock that is the new bear-bating for the 21st century. I'm sorry that he has made that choice but, boy, did he leave us with some gems!
Thursday, 16 July 2015
The Italian Jaunt 2015 - Part 3
It was quite hard to leave the villa: it was such a perfect spot that saying goodbye to it was quite a wrench. Couldn't we stay just another couple of days? After squeezing our cases into the back of the car, we set off for Arrone, a point about half way between the villa and Rome. On the way, we stopped off in Assisi. As we approached, we could see that the massive Basillica di Francesco d'Assisi dominates one 'end' of the town. Parking well below the level of the streets we would be visiting, we start our ascent by stairs then escalators until we are delivered onto the street. Assisi is a busy town, its population swelled by tourists and pilgrims, St Francis being both an important saint within the Catholic Church and, therefore, the main reason this town is a major tourist attraction in this part of Italy. Consequently, the visitors to the tomb of St Francis below the basillica are a mixture of tourist gawkers (me) and the deeply pious, the latter stopping to pray in the basillica before praying at the site of the tomb. With the numbers of people in the small crypt, it is quite claustrophobic and I am glad when we emerge into the bright light and sit for while on a cool stone bench. As we leave the basillica, we see that a couple are having their wedding photos taken against its magnificent facade. How lucky are they to have such a setting as this? After the obligatory ice creams (gelati - yay!), we head back to the car park. Unfortunately, we choose the wrong route and end up having to tramp up a murderous incline in the midday heat. I return to the car sweaty and a bit grumpy.
We set off for one more stop, the small town of Spello to see the frescoes in the church that featured in an episode of 'Unpacking Italy'. We park outside the centre of the town and proceed on foot and, yes, it is uphill all the way. When we reach the church, we are confronted with a small sign that explains that the church closed (for lunch, presumably) and will reopen at 3.30pm, giving us almost an hour to wait. We decide that we will pass on the frescoes and make our way to the accommodation in Arrone. We arrive in the centre of the town and puzzle as to where the guest house is: the sat nav is not giving any clear signals as to where we should go. Two of our number head off up a very narrow street which seemed promising and, a while later come back reporting that the guest house is up there, but there is no parking space: we will have to lug cases up the (steep) hill. But of course - all uphill today! After throwing the cases into the room, E and I head out to look for restaurants. My first choice turns out to be a little way outside town and would involve driving, so that is a 'no'. The second choice, we can't find: we seem to being sent onto a small housing estate, an unlikely place to put a restaurant, so that is also out. That leaves really only one restaurant in the town, indicated by a little hand painted sign that says 'Dream King'. It's an unlikely name for a restaurant but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. It turns out to be very, very good food. We are the only customers and the place is in serious need of a makeover, but the bit that counts - what turns up on our plates - is done really well. And to top it all, the bill at the end is tiny! We head back to the guest house but, before going to bed, E and I go further up the road, past the guest house and emerge into the old walled town that sits on top of the hill. The narrow cobbled streets, the side arches that hide lines of ancient houses decorated with baskets and tubs of flowers are all slightly surreal, like something from a film set. A nice find.
The next morning, we head for the Cascata delle Marmore, a spectacular set of waterfalls created by the Romans and now the tallest man-made falls in Europe. They really are a pretty sight. They do not have the vast size and power of Niagara but they have their own magic. We go near to the top of the falls and get very wet. I had scoffed at the plastic ponchos being sold down below and only now do I get it: they are not for rain showers, they are for the constant fine spray that creates beautiful mini rainbows while soaking everything around it. The camera, therefore, spends most of the visit packed in its case. When we are headed back to the car park, E notices that she has lost the lens cap for her camera. I suggest she retraces her steps for a while and see if it turns up. She does so and returns, relieved, about ten minutes later with the cap. Camera loss - Strike 1.
Returning to Rome, we drop the car back at the airport and take a cab into Rome to our hotel that is conveniently situated just round the corner from The Vatican City, the site we will be visiting on Tuesday. On the Monday, Paul and Dawn go to visit the Forum while E and I take a trip around the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain and the Piazza de Navone. The Pantheon is a spectacular space, the huge dome with the window at its apex that allows a shaft of sunlight to pierce the space below - very dramatic! The Piazza is also an amazing space, packed with sculpted gods and monsters that decorate a series of small fountains. As for the Steps and the Trevi… scaffolding! The Trevi Fountain is dry and almost completely boarded up - nothing to see there - and the Spanish Steps head upwards and climax in a massive advert hanging from the scaffolding that conceals the crowning monument and buildings behind it. Slightly disappointing. Less disappointing were the clerical socks that I got from a religious outfitters near to the Pantheon! Fit for a cardinal - one pair red and the other a lovely purple. In the afternoon, we decided to have a beer. There was a bar next to the hotel with three tables outside and that seemed a good place to refresh after the days tramping round. We had a couple of beers then decided to drop the cameras off in the hotel before heading out to explore a bit more. The next morning, E realised that her camera is nowhere to be found in the hotel room. Mine is still there so theft is unlikely. The only place where it could be is the little bar a few doors up and what is the liklihood of it having been handed in? After breakfast I checked that the bar was open and, on finding it was, Paul and E headed out to see if anything had been handed in. A short while later, a very, very, very relieved E returned with the camera: someone had noticed it sitting there by one of the outside tables and had handed it to the barman! Camera loss - Strike 2.
On the Tuesday, we had our guided tour of the Vatican Museum, Sistine Capel and St Peter's Basillica. All three contain sights that are jaw-dropping. The paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine dazzle first in terms of sheer scale, then in their beauty and finally, thanks to a very informative explanation by our guide, in their meaning and significance. The paintings on the walls are not exactly poor either! The sheer opulance of the decoration of the corridors of the Vatican Museum stunned me (albeit there was a fair sprinkling of scaffolding present - especially for us!), while the size and scale of St Peter's leaves the mind reeling. The contrast between what is contained in these three buildings and the interior of the catherdral on Mont St Michel in France is startling: the finery, the splendour, the wealth displayed in the former versus the stark white walls of the latter. Which is the greater monument to faith? Outside St Peter's we found a Swiss Guardsman or two and, of course, had to photograph them. I think the Swiss, back in the day, had rather a reputation for producing fearsome mercenary fighters, hence the choice of them to guard the pontiff. Times change, don't they! As we walked to the far side of St Pete's Square, E noticed that the detachable viewfinder for her camera was missing. Again, retracing our steps, we found it by the barrier where we had photographed the guardsmen. Relief etc. Camera loss - Strike 3: you're outta here!!
So that was it. Amazing sights, some great food and wine (apart from the 'medium' Orvieto bought in error - ugh!), a lovely villa stay and some great memories. Oh, and by some miracle, E still has a complete camera!
We set off for one more stop, the small town of Spello to see the frescoes in the church that featured in an episode of 'Unpacking Italy'. We park outside the centre of the town and proceed on foot and, yes, it is uphill all the way. When we reach the church, we are confronted with a small sign that explains that the church closed (for lunch, presumably) and will reopen at 3.30pm, giving us almost an hour to wait. We decide that we will pass on the frescoes and make our way to the accommodation in Arrone. We arrive in the centre of the town and puzzle as to where the guest house is: the sat nav is not giving any clear signals as to where we should go. Two of our number head off up a very narrow street which seemed promising and, a while later come back reporting that the guest house is up there, but there is no parking space: we will have to lug cases up the (steep) hill. But of course - all uphill today! After throwing the cases into the room, E and I head out to look for restaurants. My first choice turns out to be a little way outside town and would involve driving, so that is a 'no'. The second choice, we can't find: we seem to being sent onto a small housing estate, an unlikely place to put a restaurant, so that is also out. That leaves really only one restaurant in the town, indicated by a little hand painted sign that says 'Dream King'. It's an unlikely name for a restaurant but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. It turns out to be very, very good food. We are the only customers and the place is in serious need of a makeover, but the bit that counts - what turns up on our plates - is done really well. And to top it all, the bill at the end is tiny! We head back to the guest house but, before going to bed, E and I go further up the road, past the guest house and emerge into the old walled town that sits on top of the hill. The narrow cobbled streets, the side arches that hide lines of ancient houses decorated with baskets and tubs of flowers are all slightly surreal, like something from a film set. A nice find.
The next morning, we head for the Cascata delle Marmore, a spectacular set of waterfalls created by the Romans and now the tallest man-made falls in Europe. They really are a pretty sight. They do not have the vast size and power of Niagara but they have their own magic. We go near to the top of the falls and get very wet. I had scoffed at the plastic ponchos being sold down below and only now do I get it: they are not for rain showers, they are for the constant fine spray that creates beautiful mini rainbows while soaking everything around it. The camera, therefore, spends most of the visit packed in its case. When we are headed back to the car park, E notices that she has lost the lens cap for her camera. I suggest she retraces her steps for a while and see if it turns up. She does so and returns, relieved, about ten minutes later with the cap. Camera loss - Strike 1.
Returning to Rome, we drop the car back at the airport and take a cab into Rome to our hotel that is conveniently situated just round the corner from The Vatican City, the site we will be visiting on Tuesday. On the Monday, Paul and Dawn go to visit the Forum while E and I take a trip around the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain and the Piazza de Navone. The Pantheon is a spectacular space, the huge dome with the window at its apex that allows a shaft of sunlight to pierce the space below - very dramatic! The Piazza is also an amazing space, packed with sculpted gods and monsters that decorate a series of small fountains. As for the Steps and the Trevi… scaffolding! The Trevi Fountain is dry and almost completely boarded up - nothing to see there - and the Spanish Steps head upwards and climax in a massive advert hanging from the scaffolding that conceals the crowning monument and buildings behind it. Slightly disappointing. Less disappointing were the clerical socks that I got from a religious outfitters near to the Pantheon! Fit for a cardinal - one pair red and the other a lovely purple. In the afternoon, we decided to have a beer. There was a bar next to the hotel with three tables outside and that seemed a good place to refresh after the days tramping round. We had a couple of beers then decided to drop the cameras off in the hotel before heading out to explore a bit more. The next morning, E realised that her camera is nowhere to be found in the hotel room. Mine is still there so theft is unlikely. The only place where it could be is the little bar a few doors up and what is the liklihood of it having been handed in? After breakfast I checked that the bar was open and, on finding it was, Paul and E headed out to see if anything had been handed in. A short while later, a very, very, very relieved E returned with the camera: someone had noticed it sitting there by one of the outside tables and had handed it to the barman! Camera loss - Strike 2.
On the Tuesday, we had our guided tour of the Vatican Museum, Sistine Capel and St Peter's Basillica. All three contain sights that are jaw-dropping. The paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine dazzle first in terms of sheer scale, then in their beauty and finally, thanks to a very informative explanation by our guide, in their meaning and significance. The paintings on the walls are not exactly poor either! The sheer opulance of the decoration of the corridors of the Vatican Museum stunned me (albeit there was a fair sprinkling of scaffolding present - especially for us!), while the size and scale of St Peter's leaves the mind reeling. The contrast between what is contained in these three buildings and the interior of the catherdral on Mont St Michel in France is startling: the finery, the splendour, the wealth displayed in the former versus the stark white walls of the latter. Which is the greater monument to faith? Outside St Peter's we found a Swiss Guardsman or two and, of course, had to photograph them. I think the Swiss, back in the day, had rather a reputation for producing fearsome mercenary fighters, hence the choice of them to guard the pontiff. Times change, don't they! As we walked to the far side of St Pete's Square, E noticed that the detachable viewfinder for her camera was missing. Again, retracing our steps, we found it by the barrier where we had photographed the guardsmen. Relief etc. Camera loss - Strike 3: you're outta here!!
So that was it. Amazing sights, some great food and wine (apart from the 'medium' Orvieto bought in error - ugh!), a lovely villa stay and some great memories. Oh, and by some miracle, E still has a complete camera!
Tuesday, 7 July 2015
The Italian Jaunt 2015 - Part 2
The morning following our arrival at the villa, we were able to have a proper look round. The property we were staying in was formerly the grains and crop storage area for a monastery (the main building) and between us and the latter was a small, high-sided chapel. There were apartments available to hire in the main building although no-one would be staying there during our visit. To the side of our building was a decent-sized pool with plenty of space to bake in the sun by its side.
Our home for a week
View to the back (a field of tobacco?)
View to one side. Can just about see the nearest neighbours!
All around the property, there were rosemary plants: not just polite little potted shrubs that we grow in our gardens for some fresh herbs but thick, gnarly, ancient plants that had grown into fragrant hedges. To release the most wonderful smells, one had only to run a hand over their foliage. Needless to say, rosemary featured in one of the meals that we cooked - it would have been rude not to!
Inside, the villa was spacious and pretty well-appointed with a choice of three dining areas: very informal (kitchen), quite informal (a covered area adjoining the kitchen that could be opened onto to the garden) and completely alfresco, the preferred option for meals when it was dry. It has to be admitted here that, alongside the very, very good weather, there were a couple of wet periods. And when I say wet, I mean ‘wet’ as in Noah and the Ark, virtually. In fact, the first day it rained, we suddenly found that quaint properties sometimes have little faults. In this case, some of the seals where a sloping roof butted against a wall were obviously less than sealed and we found water running down the wall, a shower on the main staircase and a lake forming behind one of the sofas in the living room! However, we decided not to panic as a) the floors were all stone tiled, so no wood to warp or rot and b) this was pretty definitely a problem that happened whenever the rains came. Rain is probably inevitable in Umbria as the region is so lushly green. If you are looking for sun 7 days a week, head further south but the colour pallette will not contain such a variety of greens.
All in, it was a relaxing week although we did not stick solely to turning ourselves lobster-red by the pool. We took a day trip out to Gubbio, a lovely medieval town just north of Perugia and, on another day, drove a circuit taking in Lake Trasimeno, Citta della Pieve and Orvieto. Pieve is an old walled town with lots of character and many, many churches. It also claims ’the narrowest alley in Italy’ in Vicolo Baciadonne (Kisswomen Passage) which is less than half a metre wide at its narrowest. Orvieto too is a beautiful town with a striking duomo at its heart, the external colours of which (striped in light and dark stone) reminded me of the duomo in Siena. In fact, the colour palatte of the area is gorgeous: the greenery (numerous woodlands, young crops in the fields, hedges) against the light, sandy-coloured earth, the light rose of building walls, the darker tones of the sun-bleached curved terracotta roof tiles and, standing out aganst all, the bone white of civic and religious infrastructure. However, along with a feast for the eyes comes a test for the muscles, mainly those powering the legs. I thought Ramsbottom was hilly but it has nothing on these towns: everything one might wish to see involves steep ascents on cobbled paths. As you stagger ever upwards, sweating and daring not to look at how far you still need to climb, you need to remain vigilant for cars, vans and, of course, scooters. There are virtually no areas in these old towns that are 'pedestrian only’ as the streets are too narrow to cater for such niceties. You can only pray that God is protecting you, the poor pilgrim, as you progress slowly to the architectural gem that (invariably) sits at the highest point in the region.
One final note: aside from the man-made beauty that we got to see during our week in the villa, there are two memorable moments that were provided by nature. Firstly, sitting outside following a meal, we carried on talking and opened another bottle of wine as the sun went down. Although there were meant to be external lights, we never did find out how to turn them on so, after a time, we found ourselves sitting out with just enough light to enable us to find our wine glasses. Suddenly we saw first one, then two or three and finally, many, many firelies were flitting between plants around us, a magical display of natural fairy lights! Secondly, preceding a storm, we were treated to an hour or more of lightning flashing among the dark clouds of the afternoon sky before we had to move inside as the rain began. That show was good but the sounds that accompanied it were even better: throughout that period, there was virtually no break in the sound of thunder. While the flashes were numerous, they remained discrete, but there was no way of knowing when one thunderclap began and another ended, an endless gigantic ‘grumbling’ in the hills around us. Truly, that was rolling thunder.
Our home for a week
View to the back (a field of tobacco?)
View to one side. Can just about see the nearest neighbours!
All around the property, there were rosemary plants: not just polite little potted shrubs that we grow in our gardens for some fresh herbs but thick, gnarly, ancient plants that had grown into fragrant hedges. To release the most wonderful smells, one had only to run a hand over their foliage. Needless to say, rosemary featured in one of the meals that we cooked - it would have been rude not to!
Inside, the villa was spacious and pretty well-appointed with a choice of three dining areas: very informal (kitchen), quite informal (a covered area adjoining the kitchen that could be opened onto to the garden) and completely alfresco, the preferred option for meals when it was dry. It has to be admitted here that, alongside the very, very good weather, there were a couple of wet periods. And when I say wet, I mean ‘wet’ as in Noah and the Ark, virtually. In fact, the first day it rained, we suddenly found that quaint properties sometimes have little faults. In this case, some of the seals where a sloping roof butted against a wall were obviously less than sealed and we found water running down the wall, a shower on the main staircase and a lake forming behind one of the sofas in the living room! However, we decided not to panic as a) the floors were all stone tiled, so no wood to warp or rot and b) this was pretty definitely a problem that happened whenever the rains came. Rain is probably inevitable in Umbria as the region is so lushly green. If you are looking for sun 7 days a week, head further south but the colour pallette will not contain such a variety of greens.
All in, it was a relaxing week although we did not stick solely to turning ourselves lobster-red by the pool. We took a day trip out to Gubbio, a lovely medieval town just north of Perugia and, on another day, drove a circuit taking in Lake Trasimeno, Citta della Pieve and Orvieto. Pieve is an old walled town with lots of character and many, many churches. It also claims ’the narrowest alley in Italy’ in Vicolo Baciadonne (Kisswomen Passage) which is less than half a metre wide at its narrowest. Orvieto too is a beautiful town with a striking duomo at its heart, the external colours of which (striped in light and dark stone) reminded me of the duomo in Siena. In fact, the colour palatte of the area is gorgeous: the greenery (numerous woodlands, young crops in the fields, hedges) against the light, sandy-coloured earth, the light rose of building walls, the darker tones of the sun-bleached curved terracotta roof tiles and, standing out aganst all, the bone white of civic and religious infrastructure. However, along with a feast for the eyes comes a test for the muscles, mainly those powering the legs. I thought Ramsbottom was hilly but it has nothing on these towns: everything one might wish to see involves steep ascents on cobbled paths. As you stagger ever upwards, sweating and daring not to look at how far you still need to climb, you need to remain vigilant for cars, vans and, of course, scooters. There are virtually no areas in these old towns that are 'pedestrian only’ as the streets are too narrow to cater for such niceties. You can only pray that God is protecting you, the poor pilgrim, as you progress slowly to the architectural gem that (invariably) sits at the highest point in the region.
One final note: aside from the man-made beauty that we got to see during our week in the villa, there are two memorable moments that were provided by nature. Firstly, sitting outside following a meal, we carried on talking and opened another bottle of wine as the sun went down. Although there were meant to be external lights, we never did find out how to turn them on so, after a time, we found ourselves sitting out with just enough light to enable us to find our wine glasses. Suddenly we saw first one, then two or three and finally, many, many firelies were flitting between plants around us, a magical display of natural fairy lights! Secondly, preceding a storm, we were treated to an hour or more of lightning flashing among the dark clouds of the afternoon sky before we had to move inside as the rain began. That show was good but the sounds that accompanied it were even better: throughout that period, there was virtually no break in the sound of thunder. While the flashes were numerous, they remained discrete, but there was no way of knowing when one thunderclap began and another ended, an endless gigantic ‘grumbling’ in the hills around us. Truly, that was rolling thunder.
Friday, 3 July 2015
The Italian Jaunt 2015 - Part 1
We flew into Rome Fumicino Airport on the Thursday afternoon. Never again will I make negative comments about the time it takes to collect baggage at Manchester Airport: after travelling when all you want to do is get out of the airport and into a shower and a cold beer, a three quarters of an hour wait for cases to appear is the last thing you need. In addition, we had decided that we should get the express train from the airport into Rome and travel two stops on the Metro to get to our hotel: cheap and convenient. Well, it might have been without the suitcases, the heat and the fact that, by the time we rached the platform of the Metro, the rush hour was in full swing. It was like Tokyo in terms of crushing onto the train! In fact, we passed on the first ‘available’ train that stopped as it was full when it arrived and, despite quite a few passengers getting off, remained full before even more people crammed onto it. As that train departed, we moved to the edge of the platform to give ourselves a chance of finding some space on the next one, a minute or so behind. When it arrived we somehow managed to squeeze our cases and ourselves (further encumbered by carry-on luggage and camera cases) into a carriage. And just when the train was definitely full, a few more people dived through the doors as they started to close, the sheer momentum of their arrival allowing them to somehow slip into non-existant spaces between bodies already overly-intimate in thier forced proximity. The beer that night was certainly well-earned.
Friday in Rome
As the hotel was only a short walk from the Colosseum, the Palatine Hill and the Forum, we decided to use the Friday to explore these monuments. Rome is a place like nowhere else that I have been. London is pretty well-endowed when it comes to having an abundance of history: almost everywhere there are statues, imposing buildings, coats of arms, guardsmen and so forth. However, in the main, London’s tourist hot-spots actually date from the 18th and 19th centuries - Buckingham Palace, Tower Bridge, the Houses of Parliament and so forth. Of course there is the Tower of London with its roots in the Norman conquest, almost 1,000 years ago and, next to it, part of the roman wall that once encircled the city but, for the most part, London reflects the years of Empire and industrial might, a nation ruling a third of the world. Now, just think that some of Rome’s sights are similarly reflective of a glorious past where Rome ruled most of the known world and then consider that their heyday was more than a thousand years before the Norman invasion of Britain and it just makes some of the sights even more jaw-dropping in terms of how they have survived and how they are able to so vividly link us to that distant past (or is it so ‘distant'? - more later).
We arrive at the Colosseum and note that there is some scaffolding up on one side but we are now immune to this (wherever we plan to go, the local response seems to be to shroud that sight in scaffolding and hoardings. I think we should visit Ayers Rock next and see what they do about that!). The exterior is imposing in its height and one can imagine the sense of anticipation that would have been engendered in the approach to such a massive venue whan it was in its pomp. We survey the lines of people waiting to enter. Even the line with pre-booked tickets is enormous and the morning heat is already stifling. As I am about to go off to see if there is a way of booking online via the phone, we are approached by someone offering a guided tour of both the Colosseum and Palantine Hill. Coupled with the fact that it will mean that we get straight into the former, we consider the cost - double the official entrance only rate - to be worth it. It turns out to be very much worth it: the guides are knowledgable and entertaining and getting straight into the Colosseum (following a bit of bureaucratic to-ing and fro-ing - hey, it’s Italy!) is definitely worthwhile. In fact the guide in the Colosseum offers some interesting parallels with the current day: gladiators did not fight gladiators (why kill highly-trained, well paid sporting superstars?) but, instead, fought criminals. The whole thing was about propoganda and control: a mix of state-sponsored ‘opium for the people’ as well as making a political point about stepping outside the rules and norms of Rome. Think of it as Big Brother crossed with the Old Bailey...possibly. He also noted that in the Roman Empire, for every Roman citizen, there were an average of five slaves. Consider that today, five-sixths of the world lives in poverty while the final sixth is rich and that the seemingly labour-free life of the Roman citizen - 180 days of leisure each year - is atcually no different to many of our own lives in terms of days that we don’t work. Suddenly ‘ancient’ Rome doea not feel that different to modern Western civilisation. Eventually, when we could face the curse of the selfie-sticks no longer (if you are not being pestered by the street sellers to buy one, you are being stabbed by one or having you way blocked by a group of people guring at an iPhone suspended six feet in the air) we exited the Colosseum and, after lunch (a bottle of beer and a bottle of water each), we headed for Palatine Hill.
Although there were some interesting things to view and stories to be told about the palaces built on the hill, the real moment of drama for me was when we reached a balcony and looked down onto the Forum below. There, in a relatively small space (a half mile from end-to-end?), was crammed so much surviving infrastucure from the glory of the Roman Empire that I found the experience of reaching that lip and looking down upon it to be similar to my first view of the Grand Canyon: no photo could ever do it justice, could capture the magnificance of what is laid out before you. Though what remains is incomplete, there is enough to convey the importance and grandeur of this spot that sat at the heart of the Empire. I have attached a couple of photos which merely give an idea of the sight.
Saturday
In the morning, we take a taxi from the hotel back to the airport to collect the hire car for our trip into Umbria and to pick up Elaine’s brother, Paul, and his partner Dawn who are staying with us in the villa we have arranged, three hours outside Rome. Bad news starts to filter through as we set off for the airport. Their flight has been delayed a little but things will soon be back on track. In fact, their flight which was due to land in Rome at 10:30-ish, actually lands nearer to 2:30 pm and then takes one-and-a-half hours to unload the baggage meaning that we don’t set off from Rome until four in the afternoon! Consequently, our arrival at the villa (originally communicated to the owners as being around three o’clock to allow for a spot of lunch and a supermarket shop on the way) actually happens at nearly 8 in the evening. We are all stressed, tired, hungry and thirsty. As beer is consumed and the decompression following Rome’s noise and action begins to kick in, we put together a simple meal and relax into our new surroundings.
Friday in Rome
As the hotel was only a short walk from the Colosseum, the Palatine Hill and the Forum, we decided to use the Friday to explore these monuments. Rome is a place like nowhere else that I have been. London is pretty well-endowed when it comes to having an abundance of history: almost everywhere there are statues, imposing buildings, coats of arms, guardsmen and so forth. However, in the main, London’s tourist hot-spots actually date from the 18th and 19th centuries - Buckingham Palace, Tower Bridge, the Houses of Parliament and so forth. Of course there is the Tower of London with its roots in the Norman conquest, almost 1,000 years ago and, next to it, part of the roman wall that once encircled the city but, for the most part, London reflects the years of Empire and industrial might, a nation ruling a third of the world. Now, just think that some of Rome’s sights are similarly reflective of a glorious past where Rome ruled most of the known world and then consider that their heyday was more than a thousand years before the Norman invasion of Britain and it just makes some of the sights even more jaw-dropping in terms of how they have survived and how they are able to so vividly link us to that distant past (or is it so ‘distant'? - more later).
We arrive at the Colosseum and note that there is some scaffolding up on one side but we are now immune to this (wherever we plan to go, the local response seems to be to shroud that sight in scaffolding and hoardings. I think we should visit Ayers Rock next and see what they do about that!). The exterior is imposing in its height and one can imagine the sense of anticipation that would have been engendered in the approach to such a massive venue whan it was in its pomp. We survey the lines of people waiting to enter. Even the line with pre-booked tickets is enormous and the morning heat is already stifling. As I am about to go off to see if there is a way of booking online via the phone, we are approached by someone offering a guided tour of both the Colosseum and Palantine Hill. Coupled with the fact that it will mean that we get straight into the former, we consider the cost - double the official entrance only rate - to be worth it. It turns out to be very much worth it: the guides are knowledgable and entertaining and getting straight into the Colosseum (following a bit of bureaucratic to-ing and fro-ing - hey, it’s Italy!) is definitely worthwhile. In fact the guide in the Colosseum offers some interesting parallels with the current day: gladiators did not fight gladiators (why kill highly-trained, well paid sporting superstars?) but, instead, fought criminals. The whole thing was about propoganda and control: a mix of state-sponsored ‘opium for the people’ as well as making a political point about stepping outside the rules and norms of Rome. Think of it as Big Brother crossed with the Old Bailey...possibly. He also noted that in the Roman Empire, for every Roman citizen, there were an average of five slaves. Consider that today, five-sixths of the world lives in poverty while the final sixth is rich and that the seemingly labour-free life of the Roman citizen - 180 days of leisure each year - is atcually no different to many of our own lives in terms of days that we don’t work. Suddenly ‘ancient’ Rome doea not feel that different to modern Western civilisation. Eventually, when we could face the curse of the selfie-sticks no longer (if you are not being pestered by the street sellers to buy one, you are being stabbed by one or having you way blocked by a group of people guring at an iPhone suspended six feet in the air) we exited the Colosseum and, after lunch (a bottle of beer and a bottle of water each), we headed for Palatine Hill.
Although there were some interesting things to view and stories to be told about the palaces built on the hill, the real moment of drama for me was when we reached a balcony and looked down onto the Forum below. There, in a relatively small space (a half mile from end-to-end?), was crammed so much surviving infrastucure from the glory of the Roman Empire that I found the experience of reaching that lip and looking down upon it to be similar to my first view of the Grand Canyon: no photo could ever do it justice, could capture the magnificance of what is laid out before you. Though what remains is incomplete, there is enough to convey the importance and grandeur of this spot that sat at the heart of the Empire. I have attached a couple of photos which merely give an idea of the sight.
Saturday
In the morning, we take a taxi from the hotel back to the airport to collect the hire car for our trip into Umbria and to pick up Elaine’s brother, Paul, and his partner Dawn who are staying with us in the villa we have arranged, three hours outside Rome. Bad news starts to filter through as we set off for the airport. Their flight has been delayed a little but things will soon be back on track. In fact, their flight which was due to land in Rome at 10:30-ish, actually lands nearer to 2:30 pm and then takes one-and-a-half hours to unload the baggage meaning that we don’t set off from Rome until four in the afternoon! Consequently, our arrival at the villa (originally communicated to the owners as being around three o’clock to allow for a spot of lunch and a supermarket shop on the way) actually happens at nearly 8 in the evening. We are all stressed, tired, hungry and thirsty. As beer is consumed and the decompression following Rome’s noise and action begins to kick in, we put together a simple meal and relax into our new surroundings.
Thursday, 4 June 2015
A pill for tea
Every so often, the ‘science fiction’ idea of being able to eat a nutritionally-balanced meal just by taking a pill will raise its puritanical head. It was a staple of sci-fi writers back in the day when technological advance would free us from the drudgery of having to cook and then eat real food: after all, why bother if you can just take a pill? The idea still appears from time to time and is usually to be found on the front page of a less reputable tabloid (e.g. the Daily Express, the purveyor of so much charlatanism and bullshit pseudo-science). Why peel, chop, slice, dice, boil, steam, grill and fry when you can simply pop a pill out of its pre-sealed blister pack and have a three course meal with a simple swallow of a mouthful of water?
The idea of food having so little cultural significance, so little pleasure associated with the rutuals of shopping, preparing, cooking and eating is truly bizarre to my mind. A home-made meal, even if it turns out slightly less pretty that the photo accompanying the recipe you followed religiously is still a thing to take pride in, to enjoy. And it is even better if you are sharing you culinary triumph with someone else: food has an important social aspect too. It brings us together around a table to eat - yes, of course - but also to talk, to share, to laugh. In some situations, food may have to take on a lesser meaning, to be stripped back to it’s basic raison d’être - to provide fuel for the body. I have a friend who was instructed in the ways of ‘food is fuel’ on his first overnight manoeuvres in the army. They were served meat and potatoes followed by sponge pudding as a dessert. However, custard accompanied the meat course and gravy was ladled onto the sponge pud! In order to survive the rigours of the following day, the food had to be eaten, regardless of how it tasted. I can understand that, in the midst of battle or yomping across miles of territory, stopping to prepare a banquet where the men can engage in a bit of social interaction is not really practical. Meals, under such circumstances, are about supplying the body with fuel for the next day. However, the side effect of this utilitarian approach to food has stayed with him: food for him should be as simple and nutritious as possible without any fanfare, bells or whistles.
I enjoy cooking and matters culinary. Cooking programmes such as Masterchef are about the only ‘reality’ shows that interest me and I can almost stand James Martin on Saturday Morning Kitchen...almost. I am not about to over-sell my cooking skills, however. I can cook but there is no way that I would want to do it even vaguely as a way of earning money. The work is hard, the hours long and when you’ve finished, you get to start on the clearing up and clean-down. Definitely not for me! Neither am I going to indulge in the clchés that are trotted out each season in Masterchef: “Cooking is my passion!”; “I’ve put my heart onto that plate”; “I’ve always wanted to cook professionally” (so why didn’t you?) etc. I just like to cook. It is therapeutic (chopping, tenderising meat), relaxing (Radio 4 on in the background, glass of wine) and ultimately satisfying as is the case with any process that involves making something from scratch. We also have an extensive library of cooking porn: those glossy cookbooks full of fabulous recipes that you haven’t cooked yet (and probably never will) but just look so good in the photos!
Just as control of our weight cannot be gained through popping a pill in the cakehole, despite what headlines in the Express or adverts in many magazines or all over the internet may say, so eating cannot currently be reduced to a pharmaceutical transaction, thankfully! Only those who are ridiculously time-poor or are hardcore ‘food-is-fuel’ puritans could ever embrace the meal-in-a-pill concept: it is joyless, inhuman and boring. It would be the equivalent of living life entirely through books or TV: yes, we may learn much about life that way, but we could never claim to have truly lived that life in all its imperfect glory. Get cooking people!
The idea of food having so little cultural significance, so little pleasure associated with the rutuals of shopping, preparing, cooking and eating is truly bizarre to my mind. A home-made meal, even if it turns out slightly less pretty that the photo accompanying the recipe you followed religiously is still a thing to take pride in, to enjoy. And it is even better if you are sharing you culinary triumph with someone else: food has an important social aspect too. It brings us together around a table to eat - yes, of course - but also to talk, to share, to laugh. In some situations, food may have to take on a lesser meaning, to be stripped back to it’s basic raison d’être - to provide fuel for the body. I have a friend who was instructed in the ways of ‘food is fuel’ on his first overnight manoeuvres in the army. They were served meat and potatoes followed by sponge pudding as a dessert. However, custard accompanied the meat course and gravy was ladled onto the sponge pud! In order to survive the rigours of the following day, the food had to be eaten, regardless of how it tasted. I can understand that, in the midst of battle or yomping across miles of territory, stopping to prepare a banquet where the men can engage in a bit of social interaction is not really practical. Meals, under such circumstances, are about supplying the body with fuel for the next day. However, the side effect of this utilitarian approach to food has stayed with him: food for him should be as simple and nutritious as possible without any fanfare, bells or whistles.
I enjoy cooking and matters culinary. Cooking programmes such as Masterchef are about the only ‘reality’ shows that interest me and I can almost stand James Martin on Saturday Morning Kitchen...almost. I am not about to over-sell my cooking skills, however. I can cook but there is no way that I would want to do it even vaguely as a way of earning money. The work is hard, the hours long and when you’ve finished, you get to start on the clearing up and clean-down. Definitely not for me! Neither am I going to indulge in the clchés that are trotted out each season in Masterchef: “Cooking is my passion!”; “I’ve put my heart onto that plate”; “I’ve always wanted to cook professionally” (so why didn’t you?) etc. I just like to cook. It is therapeutic (chopping, tenderising meat), relaxing (Radio 4 on in the background, glass of wine) and ultimately satisfying as is the case with any process that involves making something from scratch. We also have an extensive library of cooking porn: those glossy cookbooks full of fabulous recipes that you haven’t cooked yet (and probably never will) but just look so good in the photos!
Just as control of our weight cannot be gained through popping a pill in the cakehole, despite what headlines in the Express or adverts in many magazines or all over the internet may say, so eating cannot currently be reduced to a pharmaceutical transaction, thankfully! Only those who are ridiculously time-poor or are hardcore ‘food-is-fuel’ puritans could ever embrace the meal-in-a-pill concept: it is joyless, inhuman and boring. It would be the equivalent of living life entirely through books or TV: yes, we may learn much about life that way, but we could never claim to have truly lived that life in all its imperfect glory. Get cooking people!
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