Monthly Archives: February 2012

I’m Burning for Kew

If you are, like I am, the type of person to spend an extensive period of time standing in a store smelling every candle on the shelf, then I think you will appreciate this post. Last year I happened upon a candle and reed diffuser range produced by the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew. What is a reed diffuser you ask? That smelly thing with sticks, of course!

Although I’ve not visited the gardens myself, I feel like I’ve had an extensive wander through its tangled greens through my time spent burning their candles in my home. Each scent is inspired by the botanicals at Kew – ranging from my favourites, Tuberose and Hyacinth (this scent is literally Easter in a candle) to the more intriguing Rosemary and Coriander varieties.

If you are tired of investing in expensive  Jo Malone and diptyque candles then I suggest you try these. There’s only a limited selection available on the Kew website, so head to The General Trading Company in South Ken for the complete collection.

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The Darling Buds of May…er, February

The February weather in London (or everywhere, it seems) has been uncharacteristically warm and typically pretty grey. That being said, the sun has come out to shine more times this month than in the winter of 2011. So maybe it’s global warming, maybe it’s a sign of the end of the world (it’s 2012, after all) – but let’s not focus on the why and instead focus on the enjoyment of the fruits of this climatic anomaly.

See: the flowering buds in this image.

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Buddha, Buddha, Buddha, Buddha Rockin’ Everywhere

Buddha Busts, window dressing in Andrew Martin

If you have a spare 33 minutes and 7 seconds, watch the history of the company – it also happens to be a quirky summary of the past 30 some-odd years in British history. The soundtrack will not disappoint.

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My Kind of Tree House

Fallen Tree. Hampstead Heath, London.

September 2011.

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My Michelin Mornings

I like to move, whether this includes moving house, moving on the dance floor or moving a chip from the plate to my mouth. I also get overheated and feel overcrowded on the tube in the morning.

The combination of these factors means that I walk to work everyday which, in London, is a rare privilege. My ramblings across Gloucester Road and through South Kensington down Walton Street and to my office on Sloane Street mean I get to walk past quite an array of shops and restaurants.

In between the mobile phone warehouses, coffee shop chains and luxury store fronts, each morning and evening I wander past the old Michelin House, home to Bibendum. The restaurant, café and oyster bar are all three equally delicious but what I find most charming is the Crustacea Stall.

Located adjacent to the café, underneath the covered forecourt, the casual stall creates a low key market vibe in an otherwise ostentatious post code. Head here for fresh lobster, crab, shrimp, clams and much more – including a lovely selection of potted flowers. To complete this one stop shop, visit Conran next door.

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The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

A card carrying member of the Cineworld Unlimited club, I jump at any chance I get to head to the cinema (I mean, it’s basically free!). On this particular Monday I had an email in from a friend suggesting the 6.00pm showing of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Having seen the brightly coloured posters around the city emblazoned with the faces of some of my favourite British actors, I quickly agreed to see the film I had not yet heard anything about.

I soon realised how fitting our early bird showtime was, given the geriatric nature of the film we were about to watch.

Now I’m not sure if it’s because I somehow connect with the elderly on a somewhat strange level (hello nightgowns, night curlers and shower caps) but I just really enjoyed this film so much. The plot line focuses around the outsourcing of elderly care to India, which in summary doesn’t sound great. But combine it with an incredible cast, the kind of dialogue and one liners that leave you chuckling to yourself in your seat and the vibrant scenery of India? Well, you end up with a pleasant surprise.

One of the recurring lines we kept hearing throughout was, ‘all will be well in the end, and if all is not well then it’s not the end.’ And what is that, if not one of the more encouraging things you’ve heard lately? Marigold avoids hitting that overly sappy, sweet tone that tends to come with remarks like this one and instead triumphs with its many brands of humour – from sex crazed Norman’s mission to get laid and Madge’s desire to find a maharaja to marry, to the British retirees’ mutual gastrointestinal issues and crazy Jean’s need to confirm the milk is pasteurized.

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Vodka in my [ver]Mouth

After the divine pleasure of spending my entire Friday night constructing Ikea furniture, I was due for a stiff drink to start off my Saturday evening.

Hailed as the best place in London to get a martini and known as Ian Fleming’s  inspiration for the famous  James Bond quip, ‘shaken, not stirred,’ the Dukes Hotel seemed like a good place to start. Ignoring the fact that it was quite a bold move at 5:30 in the afternoon, my flatmate and I managed to get a table sans reservation.

Less than one minute after ordering our dry martinis, our bartender pitched up next to us with his cocktail trolley. Although typing it now makes it sound rather like a dessert cart at a white cloth Italian restaurant,  in this environment it worked well. Very well.

I kept my eye on the process, hoping to learn the secret behind the hyped-up martini hullabaloo. There wasn’t one. Unless you count the importance of good, quality, fresh ingredients as a secret. Our barman simply dropped a small splash of vermouth in the glass, swirled it around to coat the inside, poured the Potocki vodka straight from its frozen bottle and finished it off with a twist of lemon.

Neither shaken nor stirred, which in my limited knowledge of cocktails and extensive knowledge of James Bond seemed quite strange, the cocktail was a dream – so simple and so basic, allowing the real flavours of the vodka to shine.

Lessons learned and noted observations:

1. A delicious martini does not necessarily have to be shaken or stirred

2. Amalfi lemons, large and slightly gnarled in appearance, work best for the twist

3. All one needs is a slight coating of vermouth for a great dry martini

4. Italians have been running the show at Dukes for over 25 years – which explains the Amalfi lemons but not the quintessentially English nature of the venue

5. Bar snacks include Cerignola olives and mixed nuts. The nuts are less important here than the olives, because let’s be honest, the green olives are the star of this snack showdown. The big fat green ones, you know what I mean?

6. Potocki vodka. I’m not a connoisseur of the stuff, but I can tell you that this is good. Really good – so try and find it the next time you’re at a bar.

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Love, Locks and What I Saw

The idea is simple: come with your significant other, lock your love and throw the key into the river as a sign of your eternal devotion. Easy, sweet (if not a little too saccharine) and something I’d probably do if I were to return with a manfriend.

A trend that started in the early 2000s as an expression of undying love, the tradition of affixing a padlock to the bridges of European cities was not yet something I’d seen in person.

That was until I crossed the Passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor, connecting the Musée d’Orsay to the Jardin des Tuileries. Glimpsing the myriad of padlocks linked to the bridge – from utilitarian brass to pink and plastic – I was affronted by yet another reason we call Paris the City of Love.

The original site of this amorous exhibition was on the Pont des Arts, the footbridge crossing the Seine from the Louvre – but citing concerns of preserving the architectural integrity of the structure, Paris Town Hall took to the night and cut each and every lock off in 2010. However visitors and residents would not remain scorned lovers – they have since taken to littering the other bridges along the Seine.

Love the idea, although the mood slightly died when I spotted two street vendors standing there selling locks on the cheap. Off of a blanket. Alongside fake designer bags. With cardboard signs.

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Orni – Mythology

Let the ologies unite!

Le Centaure Nessus enlevant Déjanire (or, The centaur Nessus carrying off Dejanire)

Paris, Jardin des Tuileries, February 2012.

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Fixin’ for a Prescription

Paris. Between the endless buckets (literally, buckets) of frites and plates of steak tartare, we managed to drink our way across the city. In a mood of disappointment after realising the restaurant we wanted to try was closed, we tramped through the rainy streets of Paris and finally made our way to Prescription, one of the Experimental Cocktail Club’s Parisian outposts. The discreet door led us to the relief we were looking for: tequila. But not your bog standard shot of Jose Cuervo with a lime and salt; we’re talking about a Cannelita. I’m still not even sure what was in this mystical magical concoction and I’m not sure I ever will find out.

Other observations:

1. Small space, but on a Saturday night it wasn’t over crowded to the point of anguish (this can be a serious problem for me)

2. Greatest chandelier I’ve seen in a while. See above. Bowler hats all around

3. Chatty crowd, with people looking to mingle with strangers. Major change from the London scene

4. Open late. With no official closing time, we sat sipping cocktails until 4:30 AM – something of an extinct experience in most other cities

Verdict? You should probably try it.

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