Waiting at London Heathrow for the boarding gates to open, surrounded by other commuters, each absorbed in his own world, there but not there. And so this journey comes to an end, as all other journeys that came before it, on a cold, hard airport seat – the last instance where time moves slowly. You try to recall what you’ve experienced, the sights that you’ve seen, if only because there is nothing else to do. But you’re waiting, always waiting, and it gets to you. Your brain slows to a lethargic crawl, barely functioning beyond a faint awareness of the indecipherable background murmur of voices and the inexorable passage of time.

…

..But I peservere. There is no way to say this without affectation, but more than the attractions, theatre or even the food, perhaps my most valuable takeaway from this trip was getting to know my family better. Not just those that accompanied me on the trip, or the ones we met and stayed with, but also the history: their story, and my inheritance.

I suppose growing up, I was sheltered from it all. When you’re a kid family is the people you meet at gatherings and not much more – it’s hard to view them outside of the roles they play in your life, much the same way you can’t picture teachers outside of school. I always thought my family was relatively run-of-the-mill. Sure, we had our share of loudmouths and introverts, the requisite embellishing storyteller, good cook, piano player, and brooding teenagers (me?). But as a whole, entirely unexceptional.

I guess that was a picture my naivete was painting. If I’d bothered to dig a little deeper, to reflect upon the occasional undercurrents, perhaps I wouldn’t have been as surprised that my family has a sordid, unpleasant history not easily discernable from the outside. Or heck, from the inside. Most have made peace with it.

I took the revelation with characteristic indifference and wry smiles. I tried not to look surprised or disconcerted, and I think I succeeded – largely because I didn’t know what to feel. I still don’t know what to think. I wonder now why I never saw it coming. Maybe I didn’t want to.

(Liane, if you’re reading this, and you know what I’m talking about, why the hell did you never tell me? Did everyone assume I knew?!)

But anyway, I realized that it doesn’t fucking matter what has gone before. My family is what it is precisely because of events past, perfect in its imperfections. Family matters, guys. (Haha, who knew I was so wholesome?)

It’s been a pathetic last post, and I apologize. Maybe I’ll rewrite it sometime for my peace of mind, but for now, we must say goodbye.

Be well.

Walking

I’m going to turn into a real city walker when I come to live here. London Underground workers just had to go on strike while we were holidaying there, so I walked everywhere. Not that I’m complaining – the best way to see any place is to go on foot. Our hotel is more or less in the same neighbourhood as where I’ll probably be staying, so I’ve explored Imperial College and its surrounds. Walking through the campus gave me a buzz.

Eating

I finally found my rabbit, 4 weeks after I saw the uncooked version in the markets of Barcelona. This lunch was at 32 Great Queen Street (while incurable relatives were stuffing themselves silly on boring Chinese food in Chinatown). The place was fully booked when I arrived, but thankfully the manager let me sit at the bar.

A very slowly cooked lamb’s neck was pleading to be ordered, but I would not be swayed from my rabbit and bacon casserole. While waiting for my food I feasted on some deliciously crusty brown sourdough. Bread was wonderful in itself, but even better with their very good butter and large flakes of salt.

If I’m being honest, I thought the rabbit was a tad too dry, but I suppose it’s forgivable bearing in mind how lean the meat is. The flesh was whiter than I expected, and less gamey; it’s probably farmed rabbit anyway. Still, I enjoyed it, especially with that liquid in the picture. It looks thin and weak, but the strength of flavour in that thing was astounding. Let’s just say my plate was completely dry when I was done with it.

I like this place quite a bit. It was noisy, raucous and full of people enjoying their food. Pity the prices are a touch too steep for my student budget, or I’d be back more often.

Theatre

This has to be the (non-food?) highlight of my trip. Just walking around West End, checking out the theatres and the shows playing was exciting, but I had actually managed to get tickets to see Waiting for Godot, directed by Sean Mathias and starring Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart! A heavyweight of a production if there ever was one.

I attended an afternoon show, but it was sold out nonetheless. My Royal Circle seats were unbelievably good. Unobscured, centre view of the stage, and so near. The whole thing felt so intimate, as if I only had to reach out my hand in order to touch them.

Sneaked this photo - the stage was much nearer than it looks

The production itself was brilliant. There is nothing more exciting than watching a master of his craft at work, and in Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart we had two. At once dignified and comedic, vulnerable and commanding, yet they were so much more than the sum of their parts. Alone, each was genius, yet together they were something more. I can’t think of two people on this planet more suited to the roles of Vladimir and Estragon (and you know an actor has done well when you can’t imagine anyone else in the role). They possess the easy, unfakeable rapport with each other that comes only with decades of knowing someone personally and professionally.

And so funny, too. I knew the play was powerful; it had important things to say, and even I heard them loud and clear. But I was unprepared for how humorous the dialogue could be in the hands of two skilled actors. Even now I marvel at the frequency with which I laughed out loud – sometimes uncontrollably. It wasn’t the knowing chuckle that comes with appreciating a good joke or witticism, it was the sort of laughter that grabs you by force, funny precisely because it was wholly unforeseen. They made words come alive; everything felt so natural and so real. I could listen to them for ages and never tire.

I couldn’t possibly do justice to the quality of the production with my words. This was a magical 2-plus hours that I will remember for a long, long while. It seems like hyberbole, but I promise you it’s not. It was that good.

Oh, a note on British theatre audiences: Love them. Not over-the-top with their affection, but bursts of spontaneous laughter and applause were perfectly measured and let the actors know just how much their work was being appreciated. Very knowledgeable crowd, too. And they took all their litter with them out of the theatre!

Anyway, we decided to swing by Walnut Tree in Abergavenny because Aunt M wanted to visit her old haunt. Apparently back when she was working in the UK going to Walnut with her colleagues was a big deal. I was also curious to see how it would fare, after Shaun Hill came out of retirement to rescue this institution from the gallows (its original owners had sold the place to incompetent restaurateurs).

Cheese Snacks

The place was absolutely hopping the afternoon we visited. Packed to the rafters – thank goodness I had booked a table for us. We were presented with this plate of cheese snacks while looking over the menu. These little morsels were bursting with flavour – the sort of warming, comforting food that was the perfect antidote to the blustery wet weather we were having.

Starter: Pig’s head cromesqui with caperberries and crisp lemon zest

A cake of pig’s brains, cheek and tongue was panfried to crisp golden-brown perfection. Inside the tender meat was gelled together by some delightfully oozy, thick gelatinous goo bursting with porcine flavour. Brilliant. Salad leaves were crisp and fresh, while caperberries and walnut flakes were welcome accompaniments. I liked this dish very much.

Main: Grilled plaice with shrimps and dill

This was a disappointment, if only because my expectations were high. Believe me, this was more than edible, but after all the amazing fish I’ve eaten on this trip I couldn’t help but feel this plaice was middling.  Did like the char on the fish though, which lent it a smoky edginess. The mound of shredded vegetables on the side was tastefully seasoned.

Dessert: Cherry soup

Satisfying end to the meal. Soup was everything you’d expect – good balance of sweet and tart, thick and smooth. A generous helping of halved cherries were swimming in the soup, and that huge dollop of crème fraiche (I think) gave a nice, subtly sour creamy richness to the dish.

It’s easy to see why the place was bustling. The food is reliably good, while prices aren’t too harsh on the wallet. Worth a visit if you’re in the area.

Nuts ‘n’ Bolts:
The Walnut Tree
Llanddewi Skirrid
Abergavenny, Monmouthshire NP7 8AW

By most accounts, a place like Fraiche shouldn’t even exist where it does. Located in the conservation village of Oxton, Wirral, one would be immediately sceptical of its quality. You see, Merseyside – Liverpool in particular – has a notoriously bad reputation for unforgivable food. I know, it sounds like food snobs being close-minded and supercilious, but my (admittedly limited) experience of Liverpool has been true to form. Would the thin strip of Mersey river separating the Wirral and Liverpool be enough to ward off the corrupting influence?

But as soon as I entered the low-key facade of Fraiche, any lingering doubts were laid to waste. Bathed in a warm tone of creams and browns, the decor is effortless, tasteful, and oh-so-slick. It wears its skin of sophisticated coolness so comfortably you cannot help but begin to relax.

Snack 1: Spiced Pecans

This was made even easier when our affable waitress placed this bowl of spiced pecans on the table.  Super addictive and faultlessly fresh, the spices (cardamom? nutmeg?) lent a warm earthiness to the nuts. Very impressive.

As we looked over the wine and beverage lists, our waitress announced that our pre-ordered Bespoke menu had been upgraded to their unadvertised Menu Black, with compliments from the chef. Even if this meant nothing, it’s always nice to feel special. We also got to look at the ‘box’, a collection of menus (I spied Arzak’s, The Fat Duck’s, and Hibuscus’s, among many others) and cookbooks.

The 'box'

Snack 2: Black rice and tapioca crackers, with yoghurt powder

Covered in a fine dusting of yoghurt powder, these crackers were so fantastically light and went down easily. I preferred the black rice one, which had more character. Tapioca just tasted like an upgraded version of keropok. Would also have preferred a heavier hand with the yoghurt powder (or maybe it’s just my unrefined palate speaking).

Snack 3: Salted chocolate

These cute ingots of chocolate were an unexpected but very effective opener to the meal. I always feel hungrier after something sweet. Beautifully tempered dark chocolate was sexy and smooth, with a buzz of saltiness that lingered for just the right amount of time to offset the rich bitterness.

Snack 4: Parmesan crisp, Poppy and maple biscuit

Another play on salty and sweet which worked. Parmesan crisp was unbelievably thin and brittle, with the requisite hit of sharpness from the parmesan. Normal, but so well-executed. Poppy and maple was a bit more unusual. I love poppy seeds – I think Singapore bans them and I cannot fathom why.

First: Melon -196c Lime | Sourdough

Melon soup had been topped with some lime foam, onto which liquid nitrogen was poured tableside. The lime froze, but so quickly the ice crystals were indistinguishable. Matched the melon soup brilliantly, which tasted so fresh it was almost.. raw. Flakes of bread/biscuit in the soup provided some textural contrast. Very, very good amuse.

Breads 1: Granary, mixed seed, cheese, orange and hazelnut

Breads were all very good. Tiny little buns so you could sample everything without filling up. My favourite was orange and hazelnut (right at the back of the picture). The note of citrus in it was very, very interesting.

Second: Fragrances of rose, tomato, fig and olive

This was a very pretty plate. Everything came together very nicely. I liked in particular the peppery watercress and the transparent cubes of rose jelly.. very refreshing. Perfumy, but not overly so.

Breads 2: Red onion and pomegranate, mushroom, sundried tomato,  white

All breads are made in-house, and these were excellent as well, with the same pillow-soft quality that characterised the first round of breads.

Third: Textures of Langoustine

Langoustine done three ways: pureed, carpaccio, and the actual tail. The tail was perfectly cooked, very springy and not stringy at all. The puree was very heady, intense crustacean flavour. Langoustines were paired with the Iberico ham on the side – like a posh prawns and bacon combo. Crustacean and pork is so classic and so right, and I’m glad Marc didn’t shy away from it just because it’s not ‘avant garde’. I did appreciate the addition of watermelon though – it refreshed the palate and prevented the flavours from becoming too monotonous.

Fourth: Roasted butternut squash with parmesan ice cream

Served with smoke trapped in the glass by a lid, this was a perfect dish. Flavour of smoke lingered long after it had diffused, adding a whole ‘nother dimension to the dish. Bitter salad leaves, sweet squash, sharp salty parmesan, creamy ice cream, and woody mushrooms came together in beautiful harmony. Don’t know how it can get better than this.

Fifth: Shitake hit

“Hit” is the perfect word. A pure, intense note of shitake. The soup was, mercifully, not thick and heavy. The depth of flavour was amazing given the thinness of the liquid. Coconut foam on top lent a nice sweetness.

Sixth: Wild brill with asparagus and crushed parsley meringue

Right at the head of this trip, I proclaimed the fish dish at Cinc Sentits to be the best I’d ever had. Nothing since has compared, which is amazing given the quality of restaurants I’ve dined at. This dish, however, was something special. It was a surprisingly thin fillet of brill, but so perfectly cooked. Puffed rice gave it a nice crunch, and the caper-like things carried a whiff of smokiness. Genius stuff. Asparagus was very well done, with some sour dressing dribbled over.

Seventh: Loire quail with beetroot, artichoke and fondant potato

Another perfect dish. Breast of quail so pink, tender, moist and fine-textured. I honestly don’t know how much better quail can taste. Paired wonderfully with everything on the plate, which is amazing considering the range of flavours available: earthy mushrooms, heady artichokes and sweet beetroot. Achingly good stuff.

I am not a spuds kind of girl, but the fondant potato was something else. Perfectly caramalised crust on the top and bottom, with soft, melting insides. Creamy, but not in a fatty kind of way.

Eighth: Fizzy grapes

Good transition to the desserts – brace yourselves, there were a lot. Ridiculously fun to eat, these had a really good fizz on them.

Ninth: Popping egg yolk

This was really some blood orange juice that exploded in your mouth. The powder thing was some pop rocks that was really fun to eat. Gimmicky?

Tenth: Rhubarb cloud

I can’t even begin to describe this. This was lighter than a marshmallow! Like.. solid, springy foam? Very nicely tart; I think it was some raspberry powder on top.

Eleventh: Tamarind sorbet and mango

Tamarind in dessert – who would’ve thought? In truth, it worked very well. The distinct tamarind sourness was a natural complement to the sweet cubes of mango. Silvers of coconut were a nice touch.

Twelfth: Lemongrass panna cotta with sour cherry foam

Panna cotta was very well done. The aromatic, refreshing lemongrass helped to lighten the otherwise-heavy dish, as did the tart cherry foam. Very well balanced and thought out.

Thirteenth: Lemon meringue pie

Balls of meringue was popped into a bucket of smoking liquid nitrogen tableside, before the hardened form was placed on a spoonful of lemon custard and shards of thin pastry. Again, the perfect balance of sour and sweet. The frozen meringue melted on my tongue into an airy, fluffy thing. Amazing stuff.

Fourteenth: Pistachio yoghurt

I loved this. Honeycomed sponge of pistachio topped with pearls of iced yoghurt. Pairing the sponge with yoghurt was clever, but the sponge stole the show. Perfect sponge. Just the right degree of moistness with that teeny bit of chew so that it doesn’t mush in your mouth, yet somehow retaining its fluff and softness.

Fifteenth: Roasted Strawberry

Strawberry was roasted such that it retained its bite yet its flavour had been intensified. Obviously went well with the cuboid of custard on the side. Pine nuts, crystallized rose petals, and sesame cracker all lent a nice crunch.

Sixteenth: Coffee Blackberry

Some cappucino froth/cream was encased in a blackberry gel. Sweet, tart, bitter, creamy, aromatic and the perfect end.

Marc Wilkinson is a special chef with something very precious going on in his little corner of the Wirral. He finally got some Michelin recognition this year, but though the plaudits are welcome you get the sense that he isn’t cooking for the critics. You feel like here’s someone who isn’t in it for the financial gain, but because he can’t not do it.

Everything about Fraiche is charming, from the intimate setting (max of 8 covers the night we visited), the progression of courses, the way every dish is so balanced and well thought out. It’s honest and earnest and I like it very much.

I will be back.

Nuts ‘n’ Bolts:
Fraiche
11 Rose Mount
Oxton, Wirral CH43 5SG

Said hello to a very charming 74-year-old grandmother in this barge, and we got to talking. I must say that most English that I’ve met have been much more welcoming than courtesy decrees.

Grandma invited me into her barge, and proudly showed it off. They had bought just the steel shell, and her husband Pete outfitted everything you see in this picture.

Further down the canal I met this pair of guys fishing for pike and perch, or so they told me.

I love this way of life, where everything is necessarily slow. We always forget to stop to admire the flowers.

A note on the lack of food

I’m sorry for the conspicuous lack of food related posts (probably more sorry than any of you buggers reading this). I do wish I had stuff to write about, but most meals so far have been predicatably disappointing. We haven’t been staying in many big cities, so dining has been restricted to hotel pubs – and you know what those are like.

Case in point: Dinner tonight was a walk up a hill to the only pub near our hotel, the Dog & Partridge. I had Whole trout with cranberry and orange stuffing. Trout was overcooked and underseasoned, salad undressed and uninspired, stuffing tasteless and mushy. Beer was nicely chilled and crisp though.

I’m sure Britain has good food – we just haven’t had much luck finding it. Things should start to look up though, cause we’re heading to the bigger cities next. Hopefully Aunt J booked accomodation nearer the thick of things.

BAKEWELL, UK – A free day in the Peak District saw us head to Haddon Hall, touted as “the most perfect English House to survive from the Middle Ages.”

This was pretty interesting. The house truly was very well-preserved. My favourite room was The Long Gallery, and though it was impressive in its own right, I loved it for the scratchings on glass windows that line the walls.

I spotted names of people dating back to the 18^th century. It probably isn’t, but I couldn’t help but think this looked uncannily like “Nadal”…

The best was this poem I found, though. I think it’s beautiful and when I found it it felt as if for that split second time was irrelevant; the years that separated the author and me inconsequential.

…And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

I took so many pictures of it, and spent ages trying to decipher the words, but I think I finally have it (mostly) right. If anyone spots a mistake in my reading of the poem, please do let me know.

Cornelea parting with Leonora

How perished is the joy thats past
the present how unsteady
What comfort can be great and last
when thy is gone already

Onnda to Leonora

I’d rather in your favour live
then in a lasting name
And much a greater rate would give
for hapyness than fame

WOODSTOCK, UK – A good part of yesterday was spent at Blenheim Palace, home to the Duke of Malborough. The Duke owns an obscene amount of land – some 2100 acres! We didn’t get tickets to enter the actual Palace, but walking around the grounds alone took a few hours.

Though the sun was relentless, huge oaks and beeches that littered the grounds made the walk very pleasant and cooling. My favourite trees were the cedar (above)…

…and the copper beech, because of the way it captures the light.

Pretty daisies and buttercups dotted the lush, manicured fields.

Then we rode this cute little train to the Pleasure Gardens. It putted along slower than I can walk.

I saw many butterflies at the butterfly house.

These two Lime Swallowtails (I think) landed on my arm while courting, and I spied them later getting down and dirty.

I felt shattered, then hollow.

What to do now?

First stop was Burton-on-the-water (don’t you love the names of these British towns?), a tourist magnet because of its small-scale model of a typical Cotswold village. We didn’t pay the admission fee for that, but still had a good time strolling along this shallow stream and browsing the shops.

It was unprecedented good British weather, so the sunbathers were out in full force. Parents lay prone on the cooling grass while their children splashed about in the water. This group of kids found a dead fish in the water and were screaming and running about showing everyone. How beautiful to be young again.

We took a little detour after that to check out the houses of Lower and Upper Slaughter. Rich, green grassy fields were interspersed with bright yellow ones coloured by mustard plants. I’d love to live in their quaint stone cottages some day, surrounded by country like this.

CHELTENHAM, UK – Left Chard and my aunt’s wonderful Sky HD-enabled widescreen tv (watching Rafa/Roland Garros on it is the best) this morning to get to Cheltenham institution Le Champignon Sauvage. I’d heard so many awesome things about it that my expectations were, naturally, sky-high.

Snack: Cheese gougeres

As soon as we were seated we were given these platters of cheese gougeres. A mixture of gruyere for creaminess and parmesan for sharpness. Salty, airy and moist nibbles of cheese, this was a very good start. Unfortunately, the meal didn’t quite take off from here like I was anticipating it would.

Amuse-bouche: Smoked haddock (soup thing) with horseradish froth

Salty but nicely so, this had a good smoky flavour. Not charcoal/barbeque smokiness, but some sort of wood-chip smoke. Little cubes of croutons lurking at the bottom were a nice textural change. The horseradish was a good idea, but sadly didn’t really feature on the palate.

Starter: Carrot and coriander soup, coriander oil

Creamy yellow-orange carrot soup came garnished with a swirl of some coriander paste noodle. Smooth and sufficiently thick. There were some spices and peppercorns that perked it up nicely. A good soup that went nicely with the granary bread I chose, but ultimately didn’t really wow me. I take all the blame for this, though, because the plebian carrot and coriander soup isn’t the easiest way for a chef to properly showcase his abilities.

In hindsight, I wish I chose something more interesting. My only defense is that I hadn’t had a good soup in a while and was feeling in the mood.

Main: Breast of wood pigeon, pea and chorizo risotto, marjoram infused jus

I’d never tried wood pigeon before, so was really curious to see how this would taste. It’s gamey flavour (that I so love) let it stand up to the brilliant jus, which I’ll get to in a moment.  Curiously, it tasted like duck, albeit with a finer texture. Slightly tough but not exactly in a bad way. I wish they gave me a serrated knife instead though.

Now for the jus. It’s been said that sauces are the backbone of French cooking, and this majoram infused jus held up the dish beautifully. Sweet and salty, but also so much more. There was a real depth and purity to the flavour of this deceivingly thin jus. Very intense; I couldn’t resist mopping it all up with my piece of bread.

The pea and chorizo risotto was good if not great. Peas were sweet, chorizo gave it some nice warmth, and rice was sufficiently creamy and firm. Asparagus spears and the odd mushroom scattered around the plate were all good.

I’m tempted to say the jus was the best thing about this dish, if only because it was that good. But I’d be doing David Everitt-Mathias a disservice, because in truth the composition of the dish was brilliant. Everything complemented each other, nothing ever threatened to overwhelm. I rather liked having both bitter asparagus and sweet peas in the same dish.

Coffee and petit-fours

I passed on dessert, but this platter of petit fours more than made up for that. This has to be the most elaborate plate of petit fours I’ve ever seen. I had great fun trying a bit of (almost) everything. Of those I tried, I liked in particular the green Madeleine (not clear in this picture) because it had a distinct marzipan, almony flvaour that I dig. Nougat and that white ball was also good stuff.

I left with an inexplicable impression of being underwhelmed. I guess I have to shoulder most of the blame for not ordering the smartest things, nor having any dessert. That said, the lunch menu is an awesome deal for the price you pay and the quality of cooking. I will definitely return to try more of David’s menu.

I bought a copy of his cookbook Essence for my Dad though, and it really is a very good one. David sportingly agreed to sign and address it to my Dad, so I left a very happy camper.

Nuts ‘n’ Bolts:
Le Champignon Sauvage
24-26, Suffolk Road
Cheltenham, Gloucester GL50 2AQ