SLAM!

In keeping with the romance theme that appears of late – I’d like to share a lovely poem by slam mistress Sarah Kaye: A Love Letter between a Toothbrush and a Bicycle

Getting Older

It was strange that I ended up in your old neighbourhood tonight – when just earlier today my flatmate mentioned you – saying ‘you dated a <redacted south american nationality>, didn’t you?’ and I actually had to give pause for a moment and think.

I had literally almost forgotten.

Oh him! I exclaimed… oh yeah……

The slight melancholy that accompanies the realisation that you’ve somehow mentally erased a past lover is unexpected – for the first in my life (and inevitably not the last) I thought ‘so this is what its like to get old’.  Memories, part-formative part-past adventure disappear for moments only to be rediscovered, dusted off and put on that mental storage area of ‘a long time ago’ until the next time you have need of them.  Your brain gets cluttered – and the unimportant is thrown away.

I remembered you well enough tonight walking through Elephant & Castle – you weren’t a great love, a long love or an important love, but you weren’t worth forgetting.  So it wasn’t with poignancy I looked back, but a deep-seated desire to restore my personal narrative.

You no longer live in the neighbourhood but I glanced, just once, in the direction of your old flat and remember being led there for the first time as the sun came up years ago.  How much seemed possible with spring and sunshine.  You often criticized my Spanish a bit too much and it annoyed me, you would sing me mariachi songs in the morning in a charmingly tuneless way.  We ate tripe soup at a Colombian restaurant when our mission to get dim sum failed.

It was not sentiment – but a reclamation of my past.  I forgot who you were – only for a moment, and therefore I felt I knew myself just a little less well.  But with a furtive glance across an ugly roundabout – I remembered you, and then I remembered me.

Gospel Brunch at Altitude London

Its been ages since I informed any of you dear readers where I’ve been eating lately – I mostly give up as its far too difficult to keep up with the foodie trends (and I’m not interested in enjoying a wonderful meal and then rushing home to write the blog to ensure I’m ahead of the game).  I am a lazy blogger!

Chorizo and Pepper Rolled Omelette

But when a meal tickles my fancy – sometimes for no particular reason I’ll post it.  I think with this one it was the fact that it was on the 29^th floor.  Might as well have been on platform 9 ¾ – I think I’m there about as often as I’m on the 29^th floor of anything.

Dull highrises don’t often feel that way from the inside, but the entry to Altitude’s Gospel Brunch did feel a bit like going into the office on a Sunday.  Passing through a reception desk, up we went where I was told by my friend that the dulcet tones ofLondon’s Community Gospel Choir would sweep me away while I ate a Soul Food themed brunch.

Altitude is not a normal operating restaurant – while it runs high tea and brunch on Sundays, it is also available for corporate receptions, weddings and meetings and felt this ‘blank canvas’ atmosphere when you entered.  Lovely views, but a little clinical for somewhere attempting to embody the delicious excess of both gospel music and southern food.

Carmelised Banana French Toast

I was also sceptical, upon entry regarding the crowd this event had attracted.  Our black choir singers were complimented by a large crowd of white, affluent west Londoners.  My dining companion was one of the few non-white patrons in the venue, and it all felt a bit weird at first.  This brunch was not serving those who live, eat and breathe gospel – but those who have an interest and would like to be exposed.  No bad thing – but the disconnect between the venue, the patrons and the performers was immediately apparent.

If I had concerns, however – the performers from the LCGC immediately dispelled them.  They came around to each table, warmly greeting all of us and asking for requests.  They broke through the divide between patrons and performers and I had a great time both speaking to them and listening to them sing.  Showboat that I am, the highlight of my day was when I got to grab the microphone and sing a verse of ‘this little light of mine’ – full points for participation.

The food was good.  Huge portions, and my carmelised banana French toast exceeded my expectations.  My companion’s large chorizo omelette was good, but let down by the use of pre-cooked and sliced chorizo as opposed to the more crumbly version.  However I was really impressed by the quality of the food.  There were wider brunch options including a massive portion of ribs and waffles available as well.

The menu had a surprising air of authenticity I’m not used to seeing inLondonattempts at imitating regional American cuisine.  Brown sugar corn bread andMississippimud pie are not menu items I’m used to seeing outside of theUSA.

My favourite aspect of the brunch was that it all felt completely unrushed and relaxed.  My friend and I chatted alternatively, fell silent while we listened to the performance, stared out the windows – exactly as brunch should be.  We forgot the rest of the world for a little while and that’s exactly the point of brunch.

Altitude holds their gospel brunch weekly on Sundays at £49/pp including at least 3 sets by the London Community Gospel Choir.  The Millbank Tower is just down from the Tate Britain, nearest tube is Pimlico

All I could manage

Snow Hymn

So I wrote this song and recorded while in Yelloknife over Christmas – it felt fitting  I was in a frozen place and in that frozen time between Christmas and New Years.  What better time to write a song about being emotionally withdrawn?

Its the first song I recorded with my new microphone and new baritone Ukulele and I”m really pleased with the lead vocal track and the sound quality.  I need to work on my mixing skills and/or stay the same distance from the microphone.  Also, I noticed after I recorded it that one of the harmony lines is both inaudible and a bit flat – but I just don’t have the perfectionist nature needed to be a sound engineer.

I hope you like it!

Snow Hymn by handtomouth

 

Turkey Faux Pho Noodle Soup: The Best Use of Christmas Leftovers Ever!

Sometimes life conspires against you so that you only want what you can’t have.  In Northern Canada, where turkey leftovers abound, good Asian food is hard to find.

My hometown actually has a half-decent sized Vietnamese community, and there are 2 noodle houses in town, but they serve their pho without lime and well, I never looked back after that – I saw no reason.

So when the cold nights and dark days led to me craving serious spicy broth resuscitation, I had nowhere to go.  When my brother suggested we try and make our recently completed turkey broth into something pho-tastic, I have to admit I was sceptical.

After all, true pho broth takes time! intention! marrow bones!  We had none.  All we had was turkey stock we’d made the old-fashioned way: gently simmered with aromatics (celery, onion, carrots, peppercorns, bay leaves, parsley).  But then again, I’d attempted to make pho broth from scratch before and the results were disastrous.  I literally couldn’t do worse.  There must be a better way.

Little by little a plan formed in my mind.  First, I charred lemongrass and ginger slices (a classic pho technique) and added it to the broth with star anise and chopped coriander stems.  I seasoned with fish sauce instead of salt, and I waited about an hour.

The results were amazing – fragrant and completely decent.  Not traditional by any means – but better than the broth I’ve had in London’s worst Vietnamese restaurants on Kingsland Road.  15 mins before serving I added large slices of white onion.  We filled bowls with cooked rice noodles, chopped coriander, mint and basil, cooked prawns, beansprouts and served with hoisin and sri racha hot sauce on the side.  It was amazing!

My brother and I have agreed this to be a new tradition for New Year’s day – fake pho made from turkey broth!  Instructions above, recipe to follow.

2 day Faux Pho:

2 litres of turkey stock, made a day in advance.
4 thick slices of ginger, charred in a dry pan
2 stalks lemon grass, charred in a dry pan
3 star anise
fish sauce
1 yellow onion finely sliced

cooked prawns
fresh herbs
bean sprouts

Lane Swim

I come from a family of swimmers.  My parents were both swimming instructors and ‘aquatic professionals’ when they met and I was 6 weeks old when first put in a pool.  No matter how tight the money was, we were always in swimming lessons, my brother and I often the youngest children at our level.

I grew up with stories of what a great teenage job being a lifeguard was, and the great stories of the jokes and pranks that come from being a group of young people hanging around a pool.  I always just assumed I’d become a swimming instructor as well.

When I moved to Yellowknife at age 12, the swimming facility was brand new and exciting.  I had finished all learner levels, I needed to take bronze medallion and bronze cross – both which came with an age limit of 14 and 15 respectively.  I had to wait two years before I could qualify and during that time I took a break from swimming, and looking back, from the only exercise I even remotely enjoyed at the time.

The course, when I finally took it, went well.  I was easily able to master the first aid and rescue techniques that would let me become a lifeguard.  But there was one problem: I had to swim 500m in less than 20 minutes to pass. And I couldn’t.

My first attempt had me slide in at 24:05.  A month of practice and I improved this to 22:45 on my fastest swim, but my lungs weren’t up to the test.  I would emerge, gasping, red faced and with burning lungs, ashamed again that I hadn’t made it.

My instructors were understanding, and I wasn’t even the slowest in the class – but I couldn’t pass the test.  I never followed in my parents footsteps, and I stopped swimming for a long time.

Two nights ago, after recovering from a bout of stomach flu my mother suggested we go to lane swim.  Returning to the same pool of my teenage failure was a bit poignant, and as I swam the laps I remembered all the time I spent here – learning rescues, burning my lungs trying to drag myself through the water.  This time, I timed myself and a very leisurely 500m took me 15:21s and I wasn’t even out of breath.  How ludicrous that as a teenager I didn’t even consider myself out of shape.

It feels nice to be reminded, once again that I can do things now I never could before.

Homecomings

After 20 hours in transit, I landed last night to a balmy -18 in Yellowknife, my frozen hometown in Canada’s north.  It was a hard journey – worn down, ill, hungover and exhausted I was very close to my limit and ready to be taken in.

Yellowknife, late afternoon, Christmas Eve.

I have many memories of winter homecomings to Yellowknife, and these help me remember that the weather I’m currently finding quite chilly is actually very mild at the moment.  I still remember one year landing to the announcement that it was -36 degrees, -42 with the windchill.

But because I’ve lived away for many years, I found the current weather cold enough to just bite at the edges of comfort.  Its quiet, beautiful and still – and I almost don’t want to go out lest I disturb it.  The sun lazily rises, breaking completely at half 10 and at 330 begins its descent back down.  When you wake up at 5am with jetlag, thats a long time to wait for a sunrise.  A lot is done here, in total darkness.

This is where I recharge my batteries.  I find myself now plugged in and ready to reconnect.

To all my lovely readers, thanks for taking the time to digest my ramblings and whims.  I hope you have a restful winter break of some variety, you have moments to appreciate those who love you and time to reflect on your life to decide the direction you will take in the coming year.  Bring on 2012!

xxx

Brie

Baking Attempt #432 – a minor success

Jean and I did some seasonal baking.  We only had Antipodean cookie cutters.  Despite me substituting lime for lemon and changing flour ratios they turned out perfect.  just perfect.

They were just perfect.

2am Truths on the Streets of Dakar

So this was your day: you leave your house at 9am. 90 minutes later you arrive at Heathrow. 2 hours later you arrive in paris. 5 hours later you leave paris. 5 hours after this you land in Dakar. Its midnight. You stand 1.5 hours in various lines. You are finally released. You find the man with your name on a sign. Mr. OKEEEFE. You get in the car, and you quietly chat in French as you drive into the city. And this is how it goes:

Driver: are you married?
Me: no
Driver: why not?
Me: oh you know, I haven’t found the right man. Plus I travel a lot with my career and that makes it difficult
Driver: oh yes… that gets very difficult. Ohkehphee, what you need is a man who is happy to let you have a career, who just says ‘hey, go, work, its cool’ and happy to let you be free.
Me: yes exactly! Plus he needs to not be jealous of my work or my career.
Driver: oh yes. Oh yes. Ohkehphee, a man should never be jealous. Me, I’m definitely not jealous.
Me: Yeah, me neither.
Driver: AS IF YOU AREN’T Jealous! You are totally jealous.
Me: dude.
Driver: yup. Jealous.
Me: how do you know?
Driver: I just looked into your eyes, and I knew you were jealous. You’ve got that look about you. Me, I’m never jealous, I just go, let women do what they like. I’m free.
Me: Well, its easier for a man to be free like that.
Driver: true, ohkehphee, true.

Driver: Do you want to go salsa dancing with me?

Mismatching Pants

My newest and debut ukulele composition.  I really hope you enjoy it.