Food: Cod centrale

 

Ever since I worked at a fairly fancy restaurant (Oxfords, Southampton) I have been a bit obsessed with the central symmetric stacking plate technique. It may be a little bit noughties (2000s? Turn of the millennium?) but I still like it. Was quite proud of this one. Maybe a little pallid, and maybe the tomatoes could have been a bit more dainty, but tasty all the same.

Grilled cod topped with fried spring onions (latest discovery, less breath stinking, crispy, mmm) and mint, sitting on couscous (shaped a la inside of small bowl) with yoghurt, mint, cucumber, tomato, salt and cayenne pepper.

Sauce that tomatoes are sitting on was leftover Ottolenghi tahini sauce we had on fried cauliflower the night before.

Looked nice from above:

I have really got to stop photographing my dinner.

People: Going underground

 

This morning all the pinstripes on the tube made me think of prison bars.

Literary Death Match: Word up

I love love love these events. This was the second Literary Death Match I'd been to, but still amazing. Bit of a shame that it moved to the more pretentious (and pricy) Concrete (in the Tea Building) from the Book Club. It felt less illicit in the carefully coiffed industrial surroundings. But oh well, still a nice venue, and actually this time we had a comfy picnic table rather than a square foot of floor.

Because we got there so early we were lucky enough to have a quick chat with Todd Zuniga, the brains and mouth behind the operation, and editor of Opium Magazine - and general fast-talking, are you on speed or something? entrepreneurial genius. Amazing to meet someone so passionate and excited and energetic - and also so completely genuine and disarming. Clearly destined for great things. Turns out from reading an old interview that he's never done any illegal drugs, but talking to him you are convinced that no one could keep up that level of energy for so long with out some sort of white powder. Hm, sugar maybe... He came over to us first actually, to find out if we'd been to one before and what we thought of it. Clever. On the spot market research. While you're talking to him, his eyes involuntarily dart around the room, I guess looking for the next conversation, and yet he's still totally interested in what you're saying, and fires questions at you before you can deflect them his way. We did find out he lives in Paris though. And that he gets his hair cut in San Francisco.

But yes! Simon from Trevor and Simon was one of the judges! From Saturday Live! Swing your Pants! So cool to see him, and jump back into my 5-year old self. I was a bit sad it wasn't the more handsome Trevor but Simon turned out to be absolutely hilarious, as another judge (Sun journalist, boooo) said, "outfunnying" them all the way. After the first girl read a piece about losing her virginity at 27, he said it reminded him of himself, and that, after he lost it in his early 20s, he got it back again until his late 20s. Very quick, very funny. His yellowing teeth and perma-bottle of beer did say that perhaps he doesn't hasn't been sticking purely to children's activities over the years. How hard it must have been for him to be taken seriously after spending so many years as half of an idiot duo. Time for a comeback methinks.

Todd Zuniga as always was an amazing host. He has this incredible ability to make it all look shambolic, while miraculously keeping things running smoothly. And he keeps it entertaining, rescuing any filling any silent holes with a ridiculous aside.

And the literature? 80s themed. Seven minutes long. Sex (lack of), music and ping pong. Not exactly Dostoevsky, but fun all the same. Usually seems to be more of test of comedic strength than anything. At the last one I went to, a girl recited serious poetry she didn't write, in the style of the shipping forecast, and the tumbleweed was tangible. I loved Clare Pollard's poetry. Not usually my thing but she was mightily impressive. Really gets under the skin of people's inner thoughts, in a wonderfully clever wordy way. Also brilliant was the guy relating tales writing hip hop lyrics as a young Bangladeshi Londoner. Hilarious. Don't know why he lost in the first round against a guy who spent seven minutes describing the workings of computer ping-pong, but anyhow. 

Doesn't matter though because there are no winners or losers. The guy who won (Mr Ping Pong) did so because his side of the room was able to name more 80s tunes than the other side. Left happy and inspired, leaving the 80s disco for the young ones. Can't wait for the next one.

Signs: What does it all mean?

Seen on Columbia Road, politely stuck high above a road sign. Couldn't figure out what it was supposed to mean. Either:

a) A type of person that is widely disliked by Hackney people because of its tendency to drive up house prices

b) A profound hatred of places that teach art

Most of all I couldn't figure out why someone went to the trouble of printing stickers to speak this message.

It could (quite possibly) be that I'm way out of the loop about the latest social movements in London.

People: Weedy in tweed

Saw this guy in Highbury Islington tube a couple of weeks ago and had to take a pic. He also had a rather fetching moustache.

Then someone told me that there was a tweed bike ride through London lately so guessing that was the reason for the pipe smoking clay pigeon shooting get up. Hoping that was the reason for it anyway.

Blurriness of pics = keenness not to be caught stalking.

Food: Summer veggie orgy

A happiness inducing feast of summery goodness.

• Mashed carrot with roast, ground coriander and cumin seeds, yoghurt, orange and lemon juice (and zest) and fresh coriander.
• Broad beans with fried onion and chips off a block of parma ham.
• New potatoes with mint and teeny chopped purpley spring onions (and ill-advised anchovies).
• Roasted chicken quarters marinated in yoghurt and loads of other stuff I can't remember. 

Most of it happy produce from the cute little famer's market that just arrived in the primary school near Broadway Market (so new I can't find it anywhere on the internet). Sunday 10-2 I think. Aha, found it.

Yum.

Signs: You can't, you can't, you can't (spell)

Such a shame that some people will persist in making Irish people look stupid.
Seen outside the Cock Tavern on Mare St.
 

Seven Sins: Shoreditch Church

Ok, so: a woman in a leotard, brandishes a whip and strides around the altar in stilettos. Her whipees, four girls in gold hotpants (are they in or something? that's the second post that's featured them) and lion masks, dance jerkily as Florence and the Machine blares from the speakers. A bearded lady in red tailcoat with much boobery spilling out of a black corset looks on from the front pew. A man in bowler hat with white face and painted black rings around his eyes looks on morosely from the back pew. This is odd. Exceedingly odd. 

This take on the seven deadly sins in Shoreditch Church doesn't exactly add anything new or thought provoking, but it has plenty of fairy lights, a huge amount of bizarrity and only a small pinch of discomfort. Actually I was expecting more of that. Especially as it began with said bowler-hatted ghoul stealing my handbag. I sat in my pew and felt many pairs of eyes looking at me. Then I saw him holding my bag aloft, yawning open, contents (oh good jesus, what's in there???) threatening to fall onto the cold stone floor. I had to chase him out of the church to get it back. When got back to my seat, a smug middle-aged woman sitting beside me on her own turned to me and said smugly, "well it is participatory you know," as if I was supposed to just laugh knowingly and let him walk off with my bag for the sake of art.

So basically we were led around the church to watch each sin being performed in ever more imaginative ways. A world of sex, drugs and... well, dance music mostly. Four of them were in sideshow tents and the rest played out on the main stage. My catholic guilt (the eight sin?) was horrified at a woman in fishnets writhing around four men playing cards on a table where the altar should be. But my enlightened modern woman self felt the religious setting was perfect. Actually I think they could have made it more excrutiating than it was. One person was subjected to being lipsticked and some were dragged up to dance with afrobots (in the picture above), but nothing too far from the comfort zone. And I'd imagine we were all warmed up to it by the very fact that we were there in the first place. I think it's finished now, but if it comes back again, definitely worth a look.

Posted exhibition: A fitting send off

More art! An opening of the exhibition Keep me posted in Wilton Way. Loads of people plus tiny old post office not such a good combination - free fancy eastern european beer and sparkly fizz a smashing one. Billed as having Tracy Emin and... who cares? Who ever gets past the words Tracy and Emin? A little bit sneaky though as they were selling stationery she had designed. Art tip: when you're a nobody having an exhibition, sell Tracy Emin books and you can then put her name on your flyer and thusly guarantee a full house.

London Fields: How I love thee

A really rubbish poem that doesn't really rhyme...

To London Fields,

You are my favourite green space

Of the week

The leafy city refuge

That I seek

When I've spent the day

At my desk

And need to look at a tree

And reflect

When I've eaten too much

In my house

And need to get out and

Sweat it out

When I've drunk too much

On Friday

And need to breathe fresh air

On Saturday

When the sun's beating down

And it's hot

And I can't stand being stuck

In my flat

When we're having one of those

Sunny weekends

And I need a barbecue and ciders

With friends

When my head's in a state of chaos 

Complete

And I need to be somewhere 

That's not a street

When I want to see a new old movie

From the Film Shop

And fancy a little stroll

On the way

You are there.

But please don't have any more shootings.

With much love.