Oxford weekend

Dec 17

I had a grand reunion with my London poetry workshop group last weekend, when we all travelled to Oxford for a couple of days of reading poetry and eating nice food. One night we ate at Folly’s Bridge Brasserie near the Folly, (a For Sale sign on the front of it when we passed).

Although we had a very fruitful workshop, discussing consistently interesting, challenging and inspiring poems, another highlight was in store for us, in the form of a group reading, organized by Jenny Lewis, at the Albion Beatnik Bookshop in Jericho, Oxford. An enthusiastic, attentive and book-buying audience of 55 or so squeezed into every available corner to sup on mulled wine, mince tarts and the ambrosial words of Jenny (who read poems from Fathom), Claire Crowther (reading from Mollicle and Incense), Anne Berkeley (reading from The Men From Praga), Tamar Yoseloff (reading from The City with Horns)

 

 

 

 

 

and I (reading from Sunday Dinners, The Earth’s Kitchen and Cartography) before we were treated to a slightly longer reading from Sue Rose in celebration of her new collection, From The Dark Room. We were inclined to agree with the bookshop owner who said he’d never had a better poetry evening.

The next morning we opted for an amble through Oxford, a browse of Objects of Use, and a nice coffee and sandwich at The Missing Bean before scattering to the four corners.

www.jennylewis.org.ukAlb
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Dashing around London

Dec 14

It’s a busy old place, this London. Crowded, too. Even, at times, in the spacious halls of the British Library where I spend as much time as I can. I noticed a little urban food growing going on in the forecourt, where giant planters are evidently brimming with strawberries.

Wandering round Vauxhall after a dog walk we stopped for a little breakfast at a dog-friendly pub, the Black Dog, which is a great thing to have in one’s neighbourhood. As is this venerable tea house, a building which Virginia tells me is mentioned in one of Thackeray’s novels.

 

 

 

 

 

We stopped in for a peek at the Vauxhall City Farm, which is part petting zoo and part community garden. There are horses large and small as well as rabbits, chickens, goats, sheep and a fair number of waterfowl of various shapes and sizes. In the back there’s a modest allotment which in this unseasonably warm December is still growing, unimpeded by frost.

 

 

 

And on for a look at Borough Market where there’s everything from bread to biltong.

 

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London eating

Dec 4

It’s been quiet here at the Iambic Cafe lately, but only because I’ve been so busy frequenting a few of London’s eateries and drinkeries.

Last week for example I made a joyful visit to Ottolenghi whose pastries look as beautiful as ever; the salads (shaved fennel, roasted aubergine and roasted sweet potato) were exquisite. I’d also heard that the Devonshire Arms was worth a visit, so I popped in for a bit of smoked eel and a most delicious mixed salad and will have to make a return visit soon.

 

 

 

 

 

On Thursday I spent a happy evening swanning around Covent Garden with several thousand other merry-making shoppers, lapping up free drinks and hors d’oeuvres at shops participating in a seasonal shopping promotion. At the end we found ourself a cozy bench at Cantina Laredo, which promised gourmet Mexican food. The guacamole, prepared at our table, was fun, and the avocado enchiladas were wonderful – full of artichokes, rice and avocado.

 

 

 

Friday I went to the movies with Nancy and Mike and we wandered Lamb’s Conduit Street in search of nourishment. It was my second visit to La Cigala and although it was good I did sense a few standards slipping (along with a couple of plates in the kitchen). In the chickpea and chestnut stew, for example, I may have found the only rancid chestnut (Mike said the rest were fine), and Nancy – and the pair at the adjoining table – who had the goose stuffed with pork and prunes and served with roasted parsnips, found it tough. Good, but tough. Not, she remarked, what you want with a goose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was happy enough with my trio of starters: boquerones – marinated anchovies – with a nice vegetable salad on thinly sliced jerusalem artichokes; a towering tortilla; and padrone peppers. As is the custom there, we did a little celebrity spotting while desserting: meringue with prunes, a stunning orange flan, and a mountain of membrillo (poached quince) with an alcoholic dollop of cream.

 

 

 

And I had a lovely Neopolitan pagnotella – “sandwich” – at Canta Napoli – just flatbread, tomatoes, mozzarella and basil.

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Poetry, quince & marmalade

Nov 28

As was foretold, I attended Poetry in the Crypt on Saturday, which expedition yielded these three treasures: a bilingual book of poetry by Stephen Watts & Cristina Viti, fresh off the press; a giant quince, fresh off the greengrocer’s stand; and a jar of lime and lemon marmalade, fresh from Liz Salmon’s jam kettle. The readings were good, the company full of fond familiars, and the tea and cakes most welcome. I had made a sticky ginger cake which I brought along to help with the offerings.

On Sunday we went to see the Group of Seven exhibition in Dulwich. And my goodness what a lot of people came likewise, and what a LOT of paintings were on show. “Can there be any left in Canada?” wondered Meli. Ironies not lost on me that I should travel half a world to come and see paintings by my countrymen that once inspired in me only gloomy associations with gloomy reproductions on the classroom walls of my youth. I liked many of them better in their current settings, but I find it can be harder to love what one has rubbed up against all one’s life than what might be new and exciting and from away. And I haven’t the distance to view it with new eyes. But I’m glad to have gone, and seen more of these paintings than I had, and learned a bit about them, and walked the still-leafy streets of Dulwich where once walked the schoolboy Ondaatje.

It was nigh on teatime by the time we finished, and so we stood around on the platform at South Dulwich admiring the view until the train arrived  and then once back in Central London ambled across the footbridge from the Embankment to the Southbank Centre which is hosting a Christmas market, which was thronged. It had a lot of stalls selling everything from churros and sausages and ostrich burgers to Peruvian knitting, wooden knick-knacks and jewellery that, luckily for my finances, I found of little interest. Though luckily for the traders, not a view that everyone shared as many were very busy – notably the ones selling a fairly foul-smelling Glühwein.

We stopped for a bite at an Italian chain outlet, where I twice sent back my pasta with melanzane which was, twice, badly undercooked (this is why eggplant/aubergine has had such a bad rap, imho: I’ve found only Indian restaurants seem to reliably understand how to prepare to the correct texture this most delicious vegetable)(–tho botanically a fruit, of course). The manager was most understanding and said he agreed with me and would have a word with the chef and offered us a drink and dessert in compensation. But right at the next table I watched someone chew his way through a bowl of the stuff without a whimper. If he’d had a shred of awareness about what he’d been eating and didn’t realize how foully abused it had been he should have gone home grumbling about how he doesn’t really like aubergine and vowing not to order it again.

After a soothing inspection of the offerings at Foyle‘s we wended our way back across the footbridge and into the underground and home to our beds.

 

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More quince, more poetry

Nov 26

 

 

 

 

There’s a very nice greengrocer on Turnham Green Terrace, whither my yellow friends have followed me. These quince are enormous and flawless, the size of grapefruits, a world away from the lumpy lemon to orange-sized treasures I was working with in Victoria.

I’ve been in London a bit less than a week and have so far had one lunch at Carluccio‘s, taken in one reading (Tamar Yoseloff and Katy Evans-Bush, at CB-1 in Cambridge) and made one visit to the British Library. Tonight I’ll be in Islington attending a great big reading at Poetry in the Crypt (Stephen Watts, Cristina Viti, Ales Machack, Jane Kirwan and Jane Duran).

When in Cambridge, I supped with the poets at The Punter, where we passed on the Movember blackboard special: lamb fries. Instead, I had gnocchi with roasted pumpkin and “frazzled sage,” which came in a creamy pumpkin sauce and was rather good. My second such dish in a few weeks, as I’d had a similar one (without the creamy sauce – instead pan-fried in clarified butter I’d guess) at La Piola before I left Victoria.

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