Category: Uncategorized

Paris street culture, and a lesson in French slang

After an exhibition at Musée Maillol, we were enjoying an aperitif outside a bar

but we weren’t expecting a spontaneous lesson in slang.

The bar was at a small crossroads in the 7th arrondissement, the embassy district. A squad of armed police appeared on the corner, and started directing traffic.

As a motorcyclist disobeyed his command and drove off, one of the officers shouted –

‘Putain!’

If you’re a fan of the French TV cop show ‘Spiral’ you’ll recognise the word, it peppers the dialogue liberally, but it was the first time I’ve heard it used in real life.

It means everything from an expression of mild irritation to the F Word; probably the latter on this occasion.

In due course the officers stopped all traffic to allow an SUV with blacked out windows to pass at speed unimpeded, escorted by police motorbikes and unmarked cars with blue lights flashing and sirens blaring.

 

Musée Maillol for some street culture

Musée Maillol is a good gallery to watch for photography exhibitions. We were there to see ‘Instants Données’ (‘Given Moments’), a retrospective of the work of Robert Doisneau.

 

‘The marvels of daily life are so exciting; no movie director can arrange the unexpected that you find in the street’.

Robert Doisneau, 1912 – 1994.

If you don’t recognise the photographer’s name, you’ll know his style. Starting in the 1930s by capturing the street life of children at school and at play, he went on to portray the hardship of workers in the Renault factory, portraits of artists and writers (famously Picasso and de Beauvoir) and downtrodden drinkers in the bars of Paris, reminiscent of the paintings of Toulouse Lautrec.

The exhibition continues until 12th October 2025.

https://museemaillol.com/expositions/robert-doisneau-instants-donnes/

 

Hockney 25

Earlier in the week we went on an expedition to the extraordinary, ship-shaped Louis Vuitton Foundation in Bois de Boulogne to see the retrospective that David Hockney regards as the most significant of his career.

Curated by the artist himself, he called in favours from collections around the world to loan significant works.

I had seen two Hockney shows before. In 2019 his works were hung alongside pictures by Van Gogh in Amsterdam; he memorably corrected our impression of Van Gogh as a depressive – ‘if you look at his paintings they’re full of joy’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then in 2021 came the exhibition of his iPad paintings at the Royal Academy.

In Paris the story begins with a portrait of the artist’s father, painted when Hockney was just 19, then a room of his early works that reflect his sexuality, still illegal at the time. Hockney is still producing work in his eighties, still innovating, and he’s clearly happiest when he’s working.

There’s his largest work to date, painted in the open air: ‘Bigger Trees near Warter’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was made of fifty canvas sections small enough to be transported by car, the oil paint still wet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 2019 Covid restrictions stranded Hockney at his home in Normandy. He started producing works every day to send to friends by email.

He was there partly to revisit the Bayeux Tapestry, which influenced his mural of the Norman countryside. The Vuitton Gallery is something of a space age warren, and sadly I missed that room altogether, although with over 400 works to view, it wasn’t a disaster…..

The exhibition closes with his collage of photographs of artworks from the 1400s to the present. They illustrate Hockney’s research that led him to the controversial theory that throughout the history of western art, painters have used optical devices to help them produce work. He applied his practitioner’s eye to reach a convincing conclusion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catch Hockney 25 until 31st August 2025: 

https://www.fondationlouisvuitton.fr/en/events/david-hockney-25

Postscript from Paris

A feature of the city streets is the engraved plaques commemorating resistance fighters, often unidentified, who were killed in street battles to achieve the liberation of their city in August 1944.

In this anniversary year of Victory in Europe, this poignant memorial in a quiet street in the 7th caught my eye, on my way to the local wine shop.

 

 

 

‘A tribute to Lilian Vera Rolfe.

Born in this building in 1914 and executed in Ravensbrück in 1945.

A radio operator in the service of the British Special Operations Executive, formed in 1940 to support the resistance movements in Europe and to prepare for the landings on 6th June 1944′.

 

 

 

 

Last year in Ljubljana

I promised last November that I had returned.

It is only by diligent pestering (you know who you are) that I have been embarrassed into finally writing about a trip to Ljubljana in January 2024. 

It’s the capital of Slovenia, a small country similar in size to the Netherlands. After Slovenian, most people speak English, then Hungarian, German or Italian, depending on which country is their nearest neighbour. My research for the visit led me to this handy guide to Slovenian pronunciation, and I realised that understanding the language wouldn’t be a problem….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I came across a helpful article from The Telegraph, which described Lubljana as ‘the Slovenian mirror-image of Edinburgh’. Much of the city is pedestrianised, so it’s very easy to get around.  The main landmark in the centre is the Triple Bridge over the river, with plentiful cafés and bars on the riverside nearby. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We were invited to join a party of 14, organised by friends who had lured us to Stockholm in 2019 and Oslo in 2022, so despite being first timers we knew we would have fun.

It was mid January and Twelfth Night had been and gone, but the city was still decorated for Christmas. I asked a waitress when the decorations would be taken down. She looked puzzled for a moment, then vaguely suggested around the end of the month.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The building behind the Christmas tree (above) is a Franciscan monastery. It has an interesting museum attached, where I saw a photo of monks who were captured by the Gestapo during WW2.

Slovenia became part of Yugoslavia in 1945, and gained independence in 1991. ‘We have no ego’, says a local, ‘we’ve spent so long under the control of other people we’ve never learned to sneer’. 

Another museum is dedicated to Joze Plecnik (1872-1957) in his home (below). His influence on Ljubljana has been compared to that of Gaudi on Barcelona. After working in Prague and Vienna he designed the city’s most distinctive buildings, including the Triple Bridge. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We stayed at the Heritage Hotel, Cevljarska Ulica 2, which is centrally located and the reception staff gave us helpful restaurant suggestions. 

I particularly enjoyed the buffet breakfasts, with their novelty of a different fruit crumble every day!

 

 

 

 

 

Watch this space for recommendations on where to eat in Ljubljana, and features on the central market (I do like a market, and this one didn’t disappoint), a wine tasting at Grajska Vinoteka in Ljubljana Castle; and an expedition to the spectacular Castle Bled, with lunch in its restaurant where the view made be think of the villain’s lair in a Bond film.

 

‘Rest assured, my followers, I have returned!’

Amaro and Twisted sounded its last post in 2023, when after 28 years in Twickenham I moved to Norfolk – and went native.

The blog was then lost in transition due to technical problems I was unable to resolve – until now.

It seems the right time to recount my adventures as a contented resident of Norwich.

I have considered trying a new ‘Nom de Guerre’ – perhaps The Norfolk Chronicles….

 

But for the time being, ‘Rest assured, my followers, I have returned!’

 

Slovenia, January 2024

Norwich has a rich history and varied architecture…… 

The Cathedral Cloisters

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…..and a buzzing food scene

Pie Night at The Steampacket

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As well as exploring Norwich, ‘A Fine City’, I shall be bringing you a taste of my travels.

Among the highlights of the past 15 months have been a visit to Ljubljana, a return to Amsterdam, and holidays in Marche (eastern Italy) and Ibiza.

Olive trees in Le Marche

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The adventures continue – watch your inbox!

 

West Horsley Place (and its Ghosts)

West Horsley Place, east of Guildford, has a 15th century manor house at its core. It was seized by Henry VIII in 1535 and given to his childhood friend and cousin, Henry Courtenay. Courtenay’s gratitude was such that he entertained the king and his retinue to a lunch of 35 courses.

The king’s gratitude was of a lesser magnitude and, true to form, he had Courtenay beheaded as a Catholic plotter in 1539.

The house was later owned by Carew Raleigh, Walter Raleigh’s son. Sir Walter’s wife lived here, and after his execution the story goes that she paid to have his head brought to her. She is said to have kept it in a velvet bag until it was too decayed to keep. It’s rumoured to be buried under the main stairs, or possibly in the local church. 

In the early 17th century the 2nd Lord Montague, owner of the house, was imprisoned on suspicion of being involved in the Gunpowder Plot, because he employed Guy Fawkes as a footman – much to the excitement of the groups of schoolchildren who visit in the 21st century.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that the house might be haunted by the ghosts of its past. You couldn’t make it up, could you?

Actually, you could. The BBC TV series ‘Ghosts’ is filmed here.

The house originally had a full height Great Hall, which was replaced in the 18th century by two storeys, when the Tudor staircase was moved and the present ‘Stone Hall’ built with a drawing room above.

In c1640 the then owner wanted to upgrade the house, but couldn’t afford to demolish it. A cheaper solution was found: he commissioned a new façade in the fashionable Dutch style. Built of brick, it was literally screwed to the original Tudor timbers.

The earlier structure is visible behind the façade, in the form of the original kitchen.

West Horsley Place was further updated in the early 19th century, with a fine library added by Lord Crewe in the 1930s. The books were later bequeathed to Trinity College Cambridge, who took their pick.

The oldest painted plaster ceilings in the UK are Grade 1 listed.

Outside, the house boasts the only Grade 2 listed dog kennels in the country. (I said you couldn’t make it up).

The house was inherited in 1967 by Mary, Duchess of Roxburghe, who visited but didn’t live there and by the time of her death in 2014 it had fallen into serious disrepair.

It was then left in a surprise bequest to Mary’s nephew, Bamber Gascoigne, who reached the difficult decision to sell the contents of the house (including a Canaletto or two) to begin the process of raising funds to stabilise and reverse the decay of the property. It is now run by The Mary Roxburghe Trust.

To visit by appointment, explore the website: https://www.westhorsleyplace.org/our-story

 

 

 

‘Think of the Takeaway as your friend’

This was the advice of a friend on how to deal with being housebound while recovering from surgery.

It was good advice, and we started by ordering from our local restaurants.

 

Then some kind friends realised our predicament; they introduced us to Dishpatch, and we haven’t looked back.

 

Dishpatch is a service which offers menus from top restaurants, delivered to your door, and available nationwide in the UK.

Your order arrives on Friday, by courier, in an insulated box, and practically all packaging is recyclable. There’s a detailed list of contents, with step by step instructions on how to finish your meal at home.

Menus change frequently; typically there’s a starter and a main event with optional ‘add-ons’, which might be a pudding, or something for breakfast or afternoon tea.

Everything is carefully thought through to ensure you have all you need to complete your meal. You won’t go hungry. Some of the participating restaurants will provide their choices of wine or cocktails to get your dinner party started.

The advice for all perishables is to enjoy them during the course of a weekend, but with common sense you can extend any leftovers for a day or two.

 

The introduction was the gift of a feast from Angela Hartnett’s Café Murano.

 

First was a fluffy focaccia with antipasti, a pleasantly bitter, smoky aubergine dip, and pickled vegetables; then an outstanding starter, Broad Bean Pesto with pine nuts, peas, herbs and Parmesan.

It came with a whole Burrata cheese to serve on top (I don’t normally set homework, but if you haven’t tried Burrata, find some immediately to rectify your omission, or I will mark you down for carelessness).

There was a little tub of pangrattato too, crisp breadcrumbs to scatter on top, for crunch. Weeks later, we still had a few left in the fridge, they were a gift that kept on giving.

 

I feel I should apologise that the photos that follow are blurred and poorly lit. Or both, we were SERIOUSLY OVER-EXCITED!

 

Buratta, Pangrattato, Broad Bean pesto

 

Main course was the leg and breast of a plump chicken, anointed with spicy N’duja sausage, star anise, rosemary and cardamom.  There were roast new potatoes to serve alongside, with sweet cherry tomatoes and artichoke hearts.

 

Chicken, roast potatoes with artichokes & tomatoes

 

We finished with a sublime, intense chocolate ‘cake’, and a light pistachio cream.

 

Chocolate cake, pistachio cream

 

Emboldened by this success, we ordered my birthday treat from St John

 

I’m very fond of St John Restaurant. I know the white interior of the restaurant and the staff uniforms are reminiscent of an operating theatre, but it smells much more welcoming, and is infinitely more pleasurable.

Both the restaurant and the cookbooks have been a huge influence on chefs, particularly in Britain and the USA. They were the originators of ‘nose to tail eating’, a philosophy that respects the animals we eat by using every part.

Be reassured, any idea that you will leave the table up to your elbows in gore is misplaced.

It’s elegant, thoughtful and skilled cooking. By ordering from Dishpatch, you only have two jobs: to complete the process in your kitchen, and then polish off the results.

 

 

Chicken & ox tongue pie

 

 

A chicken & smoked ox tongue pie served two of us generously over two nights. It came with an enamelled pie dish, sufficient pastry for the top, and a length of marrow bone. The marrow enriches the gravy, while the bone serves as pie funnel.

(If you’re not a fan of tongue, the pieces are large enough to allow easy removal, once they’ve imparted their soothing smokiness to the pie).

 

 

Potted Pork with cornichons; tomato salad “model’s own”

 

 

As well as the pie, which we ate over two days, we ordered all the optional ‘add-ons’ to complete the treat: ‘anchovy gunge’ to nibble on, potted pork & cornichons to start.

There was ginger loaf, butterscotch sauce & clotted cream to follow.

There were Welsh rarebit and miniatures of Fernet Branca for the Morning After, and a chocolate brownie for tea. And an Eccles cake with Lancashire cheese. Just in case we got famished before dinner….

 

Our latest experiment? José Pizarro’s Paella Box.

 

You’ll find the full menu via the link below. The tapas provided were enough as dinner on Saturday, with some left over as a starter for the paella the following day. We chose the wild mushroom and artichoke paella, and were amazed by the intensity of flavour. The correct sized pan is included in the box, and can be re-used again if you’re tempted to reproduce the recipe yourself.

There was enough Alioli (garlic mayonnaise) for the Patatas Bravas as well as a transformative dollop to go on the paella.

 

Mushroom paella with artichokes; brown food, but in a good way.

 

If your tapas need deep frying, the instructions tell you roughly what size pan to use. There’s a tub of the right amount of rapeseed oil, and a little tin of Maldon salt, enough for a generous seasoning. There’s a chunk of sourdough bread in the box, for mopping.

Deep frying at home can be quite challenging, another time I (or, rather, The Carer) might try cooking the blue cheese croquetas in a hot oven, and using less oil for the Padron peppers.

The Basque cheesecake with lavender honey? We were speechless with admiration….

 

‘Beef and Liberty’ from Hawksmoor

 

Liberty? If only….

 

This was another gift, aimed more at the kitchen-weary carer, I suspect.

Hawksmoor is a restaurant group known for its beef; they offer their own service, delivering steaks, or in this case a Roast Beef dinner for two. The worry and stress of preparation has been lifted from your shoulders, just follow the instructions (intelligently!) and don’t get distracted!

The beef in question was a 35 day dry-aged rolled rump. Don’t be tempted to reduce the amount of salt they advise you to throw on it while searing before it goes into the oven – the end result won’t be over seasoned.

The rested beef didn’t throw out any blood or juice when carved. It was pink, moist and perfectly tender, with the aroma of well aged meat.

The meat cooked at 200° C, and conveniently everything else reheats at the same temperature, even the perfect (substantial!) Yorkshire puddings.

Everything on the plate tasted intensely of itself.

 

Roast beef with everything prepared and ready to finish in the oven

 

Potatoes were roasted in beef fat, with whole cloves of garlic that oozed mild sweetness when squeezed open.

Again, everything is included, the fat, the Maldon salt, even a piece of marrow bone to scrape into the gravy (don’t let it dissolve, just let it soften till the sauce ‘throbs’ on the heat). Chantenay carrots & buttered greens are provided, and a sticky toffee pudding.

We kept the cauliflower cheese to eat with the leftover beef the next day (it has no other part to play in a roast, in my opinion).

The meal reminded me very much of the fantastic restaurant ‘A.G.’ In Stockholm, where the steaks are generous, and you just want to keep eating everything. http://www.amaroandtwisted.com/2019/10/09/vegetarians-look-away-now/

 

Overview of Dishpatch

Dishpatch was founded in 2020 during the first lockdown. They work with London restaurants to create meal kits that can be posted anywhere in the UK. The restaurants do what they do best by preparing the food, while Dishpatch handles logistics, delivery and customer service.

Since starting, Dishpatch has delivered well over 75,000 boxes.

We’ve found their service excellent. On only one occasion we had a minor issue with a couple of products which we fed back to the support team at Dishpatch by email. They responded very quickly and professionally, with a partial refund as recompense, and a generous voucher to spend on a future order.

Prices are comparable with a local takeaway, ranging from around £25 for a one-course meal for two, to £70 for a complete dinner; if that sounds expensive, be reassured the contents of the latter will provide more than enough for a feast, or more likely two.

Our local restaurants do not include Mexican, Japanese or Korean among the options, to name just three of the cuisines in the Dishpatch portfolio.

 

https://www.dishpatch.co.uk/menu

 

Hawksmoor is not a participant in Dishpatch, you can find their menus on their website here: https://thehawksmoor.com/hawksmoor-at-home/

I had my say in The Sunday Telegraph

The Telegraph was my parents’ paper of choice, and my sister still subscribes.

She tipped me off about the weekly writing competition ‘Your say’ in the travel pages on Sunday.

This week the brief was to describe a favourite sweet treat discovered on your travels, in no more than 150 words.

My entry was printed in a very slightly edited form. Here it is in full:

 

A favourite ‘sweet treat’ from my travels

 

Frìtole in Venetian dialect (frittelle in Italian) are traditionally devoured only during the Venice Carnival, a celebration of gluttony and excess which ends on Shrove Tuesday, before the austere days of Lent begin.

Days are often foggy and cold, and revellers seek out fried treats in the misshapen form of frìtole, found in pastry shops and cafés throughout the city.

They’re knobbly little doughnuts, studded with candied citrus peel, pinenuts, and raisins (which, if you’re lucky, will have been soused in grappa) then fried and dusted with sugar.

Carnevale is not only for tourists; on one night of our stay we managed to get seated in a crowded dining room of a busy Osteria. At the neighbouring table there was a party who were clearly Venetians, finishing a tray of warm frìtole: a Renaissance prince, a nineteenth century admiral, and a Mikado who started singing arias in Italian….

 

 

The Sunday Telegraph, 11 April 2021

Red Gingham Tablecloths

Red gingham is a bit of a cliché, the ubiquitous table covering of an unpretentious traditional bistro in provincial France. Or so I thought.

In 2013 I came across Ristorante Tromlin in the hills overlooking the Italian city of Turin.

Torino was the capital of the Kingdom of Savoy, which also ruled Nizza, now better known as the French city of Nice.

I developed a theory that perhaps the red-and-white check entered French culture through this historical back door.

 

Ristorante Tromlin

 

The bistros of Paris were opened by people from the countryside who migrated to the city, and classic dishes from the French regions, notably Beaujolais, Alsace, and (not forgetting) Savoie became staples.

One of my favourites is La Fontaine de Mars, where the menu is firmly rooted in the French Southwest. Jambon de Bayonne is freshly cut on the red enamel slicer that gleams at you as you’re shown to your table, to nibble as you decide whether to choose cassoulet or confit de canard.

 

La Fontaine de Mars

 

Last time we were there we startled our waiter by asking if we could have a green salad with the cheese course.

‘Une salade avec du fromage? Vraiement?(shrugs)

Vive la difference!’

 

(The tablecloths are red and white gingham in my memory, but when I found this photo I realised they are actually pink. Perhaps the effect of a glass too many of their finest Cahors).

 

Then there’s Polidor, the restaurant that time forgot. The blackboard proclaims that ‘we haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’.

Woody Allen chose it as a location for ‘Midnight in Paris’, when the lead character accepts a lift by a stranger’s car which transports him back to the literary heyday of the 1920’s, where he encounters F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway in the restaurant.

 

‘We haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’

 

 

 

I remembered a visit to Mamma Mia, an Italian restaurant in Dublin.

No mistake this time, the tablecloths are proudly chequered.

 

 

Mamma Mia

 

Maybe there’s something in my theory after all.

Savoie to Paris, by way of Dublin?

I look forward to resuming the necessary research.

‘Twas the night before lockdown

I was walking in the local park on Sunday 1st November last year when my mobile rang.

It was Laura calling from the 606 Jazz Club.

I had booked tickets for Saturday 7th to see Brandon Allen. I knew booking was a risk, we were expecting to hear that a third lockdown was due to be announced any day.

Sure enough it was announced on Monday, and the Lockdown would start on Wednesday 4th.

 

“I’m ringing round to say we’re trying to juggle the schedule. If we can make the numbers work, Brandon’s available to play on Tuesday….

 

“Would you be interested? We’d like to go out with one last hurrah!”

 

I said yes immediately, we had little else in the diary that week…..

 

The 606 promised to call me the next day to let me know the outcome. In fact they rang again about an hour later – the show was on!

 

The Brandon Allen Quartet

 

The Brandon Allen Quartet on stage, November 2020

 

‘Brandon Allen is arguably the most exciting tenor player in Britain today’  Jazzwise

 

We knew Brandon Allen as the saxophonist with the Kyle Eastwood Band. An expat Australian, he’s a highly regarded jazz musician in his own right, and the 606 was showcasing his own band, the Brandon Allen Quartet.

He’s played with many big names, and has also had an occasional side hustle playing with The Blockheads.

This show would take as its subject another sax player, Stanley Turrentine, featuring his work on the Bluenote and CTI labels, along with Turrentine’s renditions of rock and pop hits of the 60’s and 70’s.

 

 

The 606 Club

 

My first time at the 606 was almost exactly two years before, to see two more members of The Kyle Eastwood Band: Quentin Collins on trumpet and Andrew McCormack on piano.

 

Quentin Collins, 2020

 

Quentin Collins described the 606 as ‘the most authentic jazz room in London’, and he’s not wrong.

Even with social distancing in place we couldn’t have been much more than two metres from the stage. It’s all you would expect a jazz club to be, an intimate space in a basement.

 

Waiting for showtime at 606, 2019

 

This time the club staff were very welcoming, and handled all the restrictions and precautions really well and without fuss.

(We enjoyed a chicken curry with a bottle of wine – remember those days?)

Between sets we were able to browse some CDs and were advised by the manager to choose Brandon’s ‘Gene Ammons Project’, the closest to the style of music we were listening to that evening.

The last year has been a tough time for musicians who want nothing more than to play for a live audience, and for the venues that exist to enable them to do just that.

 

In the meantime, the 606 are broadcasting a series of state-of-the-art streamed performances.

To view their upcoming Live Streamed Performances, click here:

 

https://www.606club.co.uk/account/videos/live/

 

606 Online Premium Membership costs £12.95 a year, and allows you to access an archive of past performances, and a discount on 606 Live Streams.

The Brandon Allen Quartet live stream is showing again tomorrow, Saturday 20 February at 8pm, and will cost you the princely sum of £5.95.

You can also access his concert from August 2020 for just £3.50, and all Pay to View fees go directly to the musicians.

 

 

Brandon Allen, 4 November 2020

 

 

I’ll be there to enjoy some ‘swing, invention and stunning instrumental technique’ from saxophonist Brandon Allen…. 

 

 

 

 

‘You can’t furlough fish’

ChalkStream Trout first appeared at Twickenham Farmers Market on 7th November last year, which was the market’s 20th Anniversary. I’m pleased to see they have started to attend regularly.

Unlike many other traders, Arthur was standing in front of his stall, engaging with anyone who showed an interest in his product.

He explained that the main thrust of the business had been to supply restaurants, which of course was impossible in the first lockdown, and was extremely erratic in the following months.

They had to adapt quickly to the changing circumstances.

As Arthur memorably put it:

 

‘You can’t furlough fish’

 

ChalkStream Smoked Trout Pate

 

 

Chalkstream Trout set about selling their products directly to consumers at farmers markets around London. They also sell online, and you can subscribe to their newsletter on the website https://www.chalkstreamfoods.co.uk/

As well as smoked trout, you’ll find fresh sides, whole small fish, fishcakes and a lovely paté.

 

 

A “Totally Swedish” Moment – putting together a simple Smörgåsbord: https://wp.me/p7AW4i-HE

 

We’re fortunate in Twickenham that we have Sandy’s Fishmongers, who were already a stockist. It was there that I first came across Chalkstream Trout, and mentioned the product in the post, ‘A “Totally Swedish” Moment’, where I suggested it as an alternative to salmon when curing your own gravlax; the fillets are not as thick as salmon, so the cure penetrates the flesh more quickly.

 

 

 

On that first encounter, Arthur asked for our thoughts about the market.

We’ve become increasingly supportive of the market since lockdown, in fact it’s usually the highlight of our week.

 

Twickenham Farmers Market

To make a good food market, you need the right mix of stalls, giving niche products their opportunity to shine without too much competition.

It should represent the staples of a weekly shopping expedition for fresh food: fish, meat, fruit & veg, baked goods, cheese & dairy. Most traders at Twickenham attend weekly, others come once or twice a month. Alongside the core products we have a stall dedicated to wild game, occasionally a local beekeeper with honey, garden plants in the summer, and at Christmas even an award winning English sparkling wine.

 

How can you get fish from a Haggis?

As well as having the fishmonger on Twickenham High Street, we’re doubly lucky to have a fish stall at the market.

The choice there depends on what the fisherman has caught that week in his day boat, the ‘True to the Core’, in the North Sea off Walton-on-the-Naze, on the Essex coast. You can be assured that the fish is as fresh as it can be, unless you live near a quayside.

The stall is manned by the fisherman himself, Gary Haggis. He usually has a queue, waiting patiently while Gary deftly fillets and trims to the next customer’s requirements.

 

Favourite Stall

Customers are invited to vote for their favourite trader in February each year. In 2020 this was awarded to Lee House Farm, who have attended since the market opened; Twickenham is now their main retail outlet.

 

Queuing in an orderly fashion for Lee House Farm

 

The farmer in question is Grant Roffey, who brings his organic lamb, beef, chicken and eggs to market, ably assisted by his sidekick Tom.

Grant raises feisty chickens, slow grown to maturity to maximise their flavour; they produce outstanding eggs which sell out quickly; it’s worth pre-ordering online. It’s pleasing to see local restaurateurs carrying away trays of eggs.

There’s also competition for less obvious products; you’ll have to join the queue early in the morning if you’re looking for chickens’ feet!

They make a wonderful jellied stock, rich in collagen. Freeze it in cubes to add body and flavour to your cooking.

 

If you’re squeamish, look away now!

 

Grant’s feet (so to speak….)

 

 

 

Remembering Michael Gough

We heard recently that our dear friend Michael Gough had died suddenly of a heart attack in November 2020.

We inherited Michael as a friend. Stephen Balme, my brother-in-law Richard Groves and I were working at Les Amis du Vin in the 1980s, and we came up with the idea of occasional ‘tasting dinners’.

Each guest or couple would bring a good bottle of wine from a nominated region, and probably another to go with the supper, which the host would prepare, something from the same region as the wine.

The flaw in the concept was the quantity, not the quality, of the wine.

I think it was at the pink champagne evening that we first met Michael. The evening was hosted by Stephen and his wife Shelley Gare in their flat in Ockendon Road in Islington.

When Shelley and Stephen returned to their native Australia in 1986, their fellow Australian Michael bought the flat, and we became friends with him.

 

Michael surveying the carnage. Mid 1980s

 

It was much later that Michael confessed that he was stopped by the police on his way home that night, and taken into Kings Cross police station. He engaged the desk sergeant in conversation, whose son, as luck would have it, was living in Australia.

They must have hit it off; Michael was discreetly released without charge the following morning.

Michael worked as a copywriter in the heady world of advertising in the 1980s, a world of extravagant photoshoots and hedonistic lunches. The agencies had big budgets, and they weren’t afraid to use them.

He would quote from his portfolio, with some pride, some gems: ‘Du vin. Du pain. Du Boursin’. He was less pleased with the strap line he came up with for a since forgotten wine brand, ‘Le Soir….. pour le Bon Soir’.

Best loved in our circle was his summing up of Richard’s business:

‘Richard Groves Catering. It’s a Question of Confidence’.

 

 

He was a master of the comedy pause. When I was working in the wine trade a fellow dinner guest asked me the dreaded question: ‘what’s your favourite wine?’

I later learned to say something straight away, giving the sort of answer they wanted to hear: aged Sangiovese, or a fine champagne, but that night I paused a little too long, trying to think of a suitable response.

After what seemed like an interminable silence, Michael murmured:

‘No rush Al, but tonight would be good….’

 

 

An endlessly entertaining raconteur, Michael was an acute observer of people, and he showed amusement with a chuckle, or sometimes a snort of laughter.

You could tell If he found something really funny; he would fall silent, but his shoulders would continue to rise and fall.

Michael joined us on several holidays over the years. The first was in Tuscany in 1991.

It was there that we noticed a group of attractive and excitable adolescent Italians gathering outside the bar in the town square, prompting Michael’s inimitable comment:

‘Let’s get out of here, before someone gets pregnant’.

 

 

At the end of a good evening, when the others had retired to bed, Michael and I would find a bench somewhere in whatever garden we were in. We would watch the shooting stars in the night sky in Tuscany, or the lights of the flight path to Heathrow over Twickenham.

We would linger over another glass of red wine or perhaps of grappa, and usually, in those days, a small cigar.

Asked the next day what we had talked about, I never had the faintest recollection, but Michael once claimed I had fretted late into the night about the declining stocks of sardines off the coast of Portugal.

 

Michael on holiday in Chablis

 

I was due to start a temporary job in December 1999 and had a week to spare. Michael invited me to join him in an apartment he was renting on a farm in Tuscany.

On the first morning we walked up the track to the village for a coffee, and to buy the wherewithal for lunch. When we got back to the farm, I realised I had lost the envelope containing all my Italian currency.

Michael was a patient man. We retraced our steps up the hill, and sure enough there was the crisp white envelope, lying where it had fallen out of my pocket onto the road.

‘Let me explain to you the concept of a folding piece of leather you put your banknotes in, Al, it’s called a wallet. We’ll buy you one when we go into Florence’.

There had been a hard frost that morning, but it was warm enough to sit out on the terrace for lunch. I can even remember wine we drank, Poggio Alle Gazze (a  Sauvignon Blanc from the Ornellaia estate, since you ask).

Time spent with Michael was always memorable.

 

 

At the Enoteca

 

Michael returned to Melbourne in c1989, but would travel every year or two, so we continued to see him when he was in the UK; he would set up an itinerary of friends to stay with. An exemplary guest, a bottle of champagne and a good red burgundy would typically be proffered on arrival.

He had friends on the other side of the Thames, and he would go to them after he had stayed with us, describing himself as being like the child of divorced parents, spending time with each one in turn.

We continued to see him in Italy too, where we linked up for two holidays in Venice.

In 2014 he joined us on a rowing lesson in the Venetian lagoon. After we had all had a go at steering, our instructor rewarded us with cicheti and wine tastings at a couple of canalside bars.

 

At the tiller

 

Michael expressed regret that day that he hadn’t tried longer to row standing up, like a gondolier. It reminded me of his strap line.

‘It’s a question of confidence’

 

Michael afloat in Canareggio – here ended the lesson

 

Since we heard the news of Michael’s death, I’ve been thinking about his talents and remembering the pursuits he enjoyed:

He was self – deprecating, describing his physique as ‘the body that men admire, and women crave’

He was a writer who encouraged me to write, leading to the creation of this blog.

A talented photographer, he was also a collector of vintage typewriters.

An avid reader of ‘an improving book’, he especially enjoyed the works of Virginia Woolf.

He was a yachtsman; during his time in the UK he loved to spend time on Chichester Harbour on his ‘junk rig’.

Less well known was his skill as an amateur pilot; he liked nothing better than to land an aircraft in challenging weather conditions, at an unfamiliar airfield….

Fortunately he only pursued this risky pastime on his laptop.

Michael was always a wonderful guest, and a generous host; a bon viveur and raconteur.

No mean cook himself, Michael enjoyed watching others at work in the kitchen.

We still feel his presence today, sensing that he’s standing behind us, murmuring approval, or chuckling at some domestic dispute at the stove.