Markets, mezze & muses

2015JanBrixtonMarket

Brixton Village & Market Row

Last week was another busy one in London. It involved a visit to Brixton market, where the pickings were far from slim. Brixton Village & Market Row is populated more by smart shops, delis and cafes than traditional fare, although there are still a few butchers, fishmongers and less chi-chi retailers.

We browsed the offerings in both these arms of the covered market, looking for lunch, and settled upon Salon, which has its eye firmly on well produced local foods – cheeses, cured meats, bread and delicious lunch items. We had celeriac & whey soup, a salad of cauliflower & turmeric and a pasty beautifully filled with parsnip, cavolo nero and cheese – and could only gaze enviously on the many other offerings remaining on the table. One must stop somewhere.

2015JanBrixtonMarketSalon2015JanBrixtonMarketSalonCeleriacSoup 2015JanBrixtonMarketSalonCheese 2015JanBrixtonMarketSalonPancetta  2015JanBrixtonMarketButcher2015JanBrixtonMarketFishShop

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, in the poetry realm, I gave a reading last week at the Loose Muse‘s regular monthly series, co-starring with the delightful and entertaining Tania Hershman who read a few very short stories and recited some poetry in the first half. There were plenty of open mic readers – the series clearly attracts a supportive community of regulars, and there was as might be expected a good assortment of topics and styles. A good and responsive audience, but as is so often the case nowadays, not big book buyers. Which is their right of course, but tricky to predict when one is travelling in a transatlantic fashion with printed matter. Poetry tends to lack international distribution, so we poets are the hauliers of enlightenment, and it can be a heavy load.

Heavier still are books of photographs, and I had to resist picking up a copy of Dylan 2015JanTasMezzeThomas and the Bohemians, The Photographs of Nora Summers when I attended the closing reception for the photography show that had been gracing the Poetry Cafe’s walls since early December. Afterwards we wandered off in search of food and settled on Turkish mezze at Tas, which offered an ample selection that ended very happily for me with a small glass of Tokaji Aszu.

2015JanMuldoon1Last night’s reading by Paul Muldoon at Keats House in Hampstead was a treat – hadn’t heard him read before.  His reading manner is quirky, full of pauses and random interactions with the audience. He seemed amused by the readers in the front row who were following along in their copies of his new collection, 1,000 Things Worth Knowing, and paused from time to time to give them a page reference. His poetry is singular, challenging and complex, at times deceptively simple, at others tapping incalculable worlds of knowledge, waving come-hither flags of form and rhyme. Such are the poets to hear in person, hoping they will throw their readers a few clues. And it was delightful and absorbing.

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Pausing for lunch

Brunswick House Bar

Brunswick House Cafe

I’ve been working in various cafes and public spaces lately, as my wifi access is variable in the places I’ve been staying. Today’s most elegant setting is the lovely and unusual Brunswick House Cafe, which is attached to Lassco, purveyor of architectural salvage and and decorative oddities. Which I’m guessing makes this one of the few eateries where you can buy the decor. (Very tempted by some old medicinal posters, but luckily their frames would not fit in my suitcase.)

2015JanBrunswickSaltBeefSandwichLast visit I had the delicious sounding salt beef sandwich, but it disappointed with old cheese and not much flavour from the beef or pickled beetroot. Was good and filling though. However, today’s choice, Charred Hispi Cabbage with Lemon Mayonnaise, was most delicious in every way and very good with the nice fresh 2015JanBrunswickCabbagesourdough. Nice also to be able to enjoy a pot of lemon and ginger infusion on a chilly morning.

All of which fortifies me for this evening’s entertainment – travelling to Keats’ House in Hampstead to hear Paul Muldoon reading from his latest collection, One Thousand Things Worth Knowing.

Which should inspire me for my own reading tomorrow, with Tamar Yoseloff and Sue Rose, at Travelling Through‘s basement cafe. Snow is in the forecast but poetry will keep us all warm and dry.

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Telltale & Other Poetry

Judging panel chair Helen Dunsmore announcing TS Eliot prize-winner

Judging panel chair Helen Dunsmore announcing TS Eliot prize-winner

Wednesday’s reading with the Telltale Poets was great fun, and has been well reported by champion blogger and poet Robin Houghton (whose book  for blogging writers is essential reading – practical and well illustrated – for those wanting to take the plunge).

Went to a lunchtime talk at the Wellcome Institute on Friday, by epidemiologist Liam Smeeth from the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine. He spoke very well on the state of epidemiological research in the UK, explained his role in untangling the confusion over the MMR vaccine in the 90s, and talked about some large scale research going on to track different cancers in very large populations. I heard distinctly Goldacrean echoes in his discussion of the value of using electronic medical records to improve medical research, and the all-important and extremely time-consuming work of checking data meticulously before reaching conclusions.

This week’s poetic entertainment started on Sunday with the TS Eliot Prize finalists Ian Macmillan - TS Eliot readingsreadings. These readings now take place in the Royal Festival Hall (capacity 2500) – a near sell-out from all reports. It was certainly a busy and overwarm venue, the proceedings beautifully presided over by Ian McMillan.

He introduced us, and more importantly the short-listed poets, to the notion of the poetry year. This he explained was like a dog year, but much shorter, lasting precisely 8 minutes. So each poet had one poetry year, and no more, to read… which included time for the poets to reach the podium, adjust their glasses and introduce the poems, though this part of the definition had not been entirely apprehended by all, including one or two of the most experienced readers.

Made me think nostalgically of the reading I attended at Toronto’s Harbourfront, watching the gratifyingly pugnacious (in this instance anyway) Greg Gatenby walk onto stage to tell the equally pugnacious Irving Layton that he had exceeded his reading time. Many an audience member has sent out prayers for this kind of intervention which occurs too seldom on our over-polite stages. I’ve seen the other end of the spectrum too, at the Vancouver literary festival, where poets were sent to the podium which was rigged with a timer, set to go off at the end of their reading time. Surely there must be a happy medium.

David HarsentAll that having been said, I name my favourite reader as Michael Longley, whose elegies to his twin were simple and strong. The eventual winner, however, was David Harsent, often nominated so a fair choice, though his reading style put me off, as a bit self-satisfied, and found his poetry too distant for my tastes, other than his poem Icefield, a good clean observation on climate change. Fiona Benson‘s poem Portrait with a Bandaged Ear remains a favourite – a powerful portrait of an abusive relationship that lost something for me, curiously, when I re-read the title and realized it was a Van Gogh poem. (You can read a sampling of poems from all the shortlisted poets, plus discussion notes here)

More excitement to come in my world anyway with another reading on tonight’s horizon. I’ll be reading at the Poetry Cafe in Covent Garden (22 Betterton Street, London WC2) tonight at 8pm, at the Loose Muse women writers’ night. Open mic and a fellow reader I look forward to meeting and hearing: Tania Hershman. If you’re around, come on down!

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A new year in Suffolk and London

2014Dec31SuffolkOrfordSunset

NYE sunset, Orford

2015 has officially begun. I celebrated with friends in Suffolk, where we ate extremely well. Suffolk is a bit of a food heaven with ample fresh seafood, a lot of free range pig farming, and many charming bakeries, delis, pubs and restaurants. After our generous sampling of local wares we managed a few healthful walks, as there are many nature reserves and woodsy or watery trails in the area.

On at least one occasion our good intentions were somewhat thwarted by wind and rain, and a few days around new year were very chilly. We visited some good places: Orford (home of Pinney’s – smoked & fresh seafood bliss), Aldeburgh (former home of the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival – now moved to nearby Snape Maltings, whose pubs, shops and galleries we also prowled), Peasenhall (home of Emmett’s, a shrine to specialty pork curing and Spanish food), and had a new year’s walk in Minsmere nature reserve, although we failed to enjoy a new year’s lunch at the local pub where every family in the area had had the same idea. But we did have a magnificent farewell lunch on Saturday at the British Larder in Bromeswell, where I can wholeheartedly recommend the fishcakes.

Ah, the wonders of Emmett’s.

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Delightful Friday afternoon walk in Minsmere nature reserve.

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Aldeburgh, then back to London. A view down Oxford Street on Sunday afternoon, the January sales in full glory. And a couple of Chiswick parrots.

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And now, back in London watching carefully for sales and parrots, it’s time to start giving a few readings, the first one tonight.

 

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Milan to Paris to London

MilanParking

Parking, Milano style

At last, over-fed and impoverished, it was time to leave drizzly Parma for damp Milan to prepare for our separate departures. In Milan we spent a few hours checking out the neighbourhood, buying hats and gloves from a tiny shop we found in a side street. Found a pizzeria (Little Italy) that had been recommended by our Airbnb host, but the smell of deodorizing chemicals and the sneery attitude of the waiters quickly sent us packing.

Luckily we had stopped for a delicious Belgian beer and some rather nice MilanBresaolabresaola that tided us over until we found our zen at Ristorante Salernitano. We agonized over the staggeringly long and tempting menu while around us tables filled with locals. Risotto nero with lobster for my companion and some MilanMLBlackRisottoBeforefettucine alla lepre (hare) for me, followed by tagliata con rucola and a lovely green apple sorbet topped with calvados.

Too early the next morning we set off on our separate journeys. Mine took me through Milanese rush hour from Milano Centrale to Milano Porta Garibaldi by metro. No easy feat with baggage. Then back on TGV train service to Paris – this time first class, which was no different from standard class, except decidedly grubbier. Did not appear to have been vacuumed in near past. The seven-ish hour trip gave me plenty of time to reflect on the sad decline in passenger train services. Where once existed decent restaurant cars with proper meals served on tablecloths by waiters, now we get sad little kiosks selling disappointing variations on the baguette, inferior push-button coffees and a surplus of sweet drinks. An insult to the food traditions at either end of the Italy-France run.

Things no better in Paris. The train arrived at Gare de Lyon and from there I had to battle Parisian commuter traffic – by now having achieved the afternoon rush hour – finding my way with my heavy bags via the cryptically labelled RER services to the manic labyrinth that is Paris Nord and up mysterious escalators to Gare du Nord, a culinary wasteland if ever there was. And into the desolate and overcrowded Eurostar waiting area.

The trip made me abundantly grateful for the clean and well serviced station at St Pancras whence I had departed only days earlier.. I can’t honestly say which is worse: the European train services with their exhausting station transfers, multitude of stairs and dearth of decent food concessions, or the horrors of budget air travel – which are at least equipped for passengers with baggage – with all those nightmarishly early morning departures, grumpy and unhelpful airline staff and dehumanizing security checks. Staying put in London for a while.

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