"Life isn't a tiptoe through the tulips"

~Shannon Hoon

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Today was rather uneventful.  Mandi decided to have toast for breakfast, which is somewhat uncustomary since, more often than not, she is content with muesli alone. I, on the other hand, always begin my day with two slices of bread, lightly toasted and heavily buttered.  At this point, as I am very aware that I may have already started to bore you, I would like to apologise and ask that you bear with me. All this toast-talk is for a reason. Mandi and I are currently staying with a wonderful lady called June, who happens to own a wonderful toaster. I just wanted to share this with you (I am also aware that even the most mundane objects delight me, so I understand if this isn't as engrossing for you as it is for me):

Mandi went for lunch at the Sardo Cucina, where she had a frittata and a hot chocolate. I, meanwhile, was left to potter around the house, then around Sainsbury's, and then around the house again.  

Sardo Cucina, 112 Whitfield Street W1T 5EE (map)

Once we were reunited, our minds turned once again to food, specifically an almost out-of-date lasagne and two very much out-of-date chicken kievs with some moderately out-of-date green vegetables. I had been so busy pottering that I completely forgot to eat lunch, and so I had my microwaveable lasagne while Mandi put the kievs in the oven.  

Half an hour later, my lasagne was just about finished and the kievs were just about done.  Today was one of those days when I ate my meals in quicker succession than is perhaps appropriate.  So we all had a plum to make ourselves feel healthier, then a few Munchies that Mandi picked up from the corner store.

Actually, I don't even know why I'm bothering to write anything for today. I didn't go anywhere, or see anything.  I just sat around and read and ate.  Fortunately, Mandi provided some art for me to look at, by arranging some dying tulips in a heart formation on June's kitchen floor, before pressing them.  So here's something pretty for all of you to look at.

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'I never met a color I didn't like'

~ Dale Chihuly

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More photos here

After conducting some light research on TimeOut, we decided on the Halcyon Gallery on New Bond Street for today’s destination where the seductively colourful works of the innovative artist-glassblower-entrepreneur Chihuly is currently on display.  I had no idea how enthralled I could be by blown glass until today.  I’ve seen documentaries about Venetian glass blowers and know how much skill is required to make even a simple vase or a glass marble using this age-old technique.

More photos here

The way Chihuly manipulates the glass to create what he does is awe-inspiring.  From the bowls which form Chihuly’s earliest series of pieces to the impossibly intricate chandeliers constructed from hundreds of individual pieces of blown glass, Chihuly creates something truly mesmerising. His love of nature is unmistakable, and as I wander around the gallery it feels like a journey through a glass garden, with its vivid colours, gentle lighting and delicate, floral shapes.  A flick through one of his books shows how seamlessly Chihuly is able to not only incorporate nature in his art, but also incorporate his art back into nature, creating outdoor 'fiori' installations for display in world-famous botanical gardens. 

More photos here

The eye candy of the exhibition at the Halcyon Gallery is on display in the mezzanine.  The specially constructed Mille Fiori is a 24-foot long breathtaking – and I mean literally breathtaking – masterpiece, which evokes the feeling of being in some enchanted underwater world.  (“It was so beautiful. It made my heart hurt.” – Mandi.)  As well as the glass pieces, Chihuly’s sketches and paintings are also exhibited, which are as lustrous and richly-coloured as his glass works.  There’s not much more I can say, other than to inform you that the exhibition closes on the 29^th February 2012 – don’t miss out.

See more photos from the exhibition here

The Coach and Horses, Bruton Street

Mandi and I strolled towards Mayfair, passing the cutest pub ever.  The Coach and Horses pub is a quaint mock-tudor style building at 5 Bruton Street. It used to be one of the oldest buildings in the area until damage meant it had to be torn down and rebuilt. Much of the interior, however, is still original, and - another tittle of trivia for you - Queen Elizabeth II was born only a few doors down at number 17. We walked on to Berkeley Square, where we saw a house which was tied with a giant ribbon to look like an impressive present, before wandering into a little side street with Mandi desperately on the lookout for a loo.  

Carmen and Armando

We stopped to ask a lady sitting outside a small café, called La Strada if she could direct us to the nearest public toilet, to which she replied, ‘Come in, come in, you can use the toilet here... if you buy a drink.’  Deal. This Spanish-born, Italian-speaking woman, who we later find out is called Carmen, is the most fun and loveable waitress I have ever met, and provided us with endless entertainment during our meal.  Walking into this place feels more like receiving the warmest invitation into an open house: it is as though we are being welcomed into a family.  (However, those who use the toilet and then refuse to buy a drink are seen off by Carmen with “next time you do it in your pants!”)  

La Strada's Rambler

Mandi and I both order ‘La Strada’s Rambler’, a huge all-day brunch which was served with the best Americano I’ve had for a long, long time. Even the buttered toast was ridiculously tasty! The menu also includes a selection of traditional, home-cooked Italian pasta dishes, curries, sandwiches, pastries, scones and cakes, all to eat in or take away. Anything you can think of is on offer, and if it’s not, I have a sense that they’ll make it for you.  

By Mandi - amandaflynn.co.uk

And to think we almost settled for Starbucks – thank goodness Mandi needed the toilet! So next time you’re looking for somewhere to warm your hands and your heart, La Strada in Mayfair is just what you need.

La Strada, 4-5 Lansdowne Row, London, W1J 6DS (map)

On the way home, a Chagall in the window of the Opera Gallery caught Mandi’s eye, and we went in to see what other pieces the gallery was selling. We made the slightly disturbing observations that I’m drawn to artwork with themes death and erotica, usually simultaneously, while Mandi prefers picturesque scenes of efflorescing love.  We rediscovered my soft side in Berkeley Square, where we stopped to read the dedicatory plaques on the benches. These little expressions of love and friendship tell of lasting friendships, family ties, tranquil reflection and rekindled romances.  Reading them created the perfect end to the perfect day out.

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Our two souls therefore, which are one, 
Though I must go, endure not yet 

A breach, but an expansion, 

Like gold to aery thinness beat.

~ John Donne, A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

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This morning brought with it terrible news, as Mandi wandered towards the kitchen saying ‘There’s no food in this house.’ It turned out that there were some scones in the freezer and a jar of mouldy jam in the fridge, so we managed to create a delicious breakfast after all, although I don’t agree with Mandi putting condensed milk in my tea. Some things just don’t need to be sweetened. We hopped on a train back to London and for the first time in a week made separate plans for our evening entertainment. Mandi was to meet a friend for a wander around Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland, while I was to grab some cheap Chinese and hang out at my mum’s place with Chiara, a girl I know from uni. 

For the first time in my life, I managed to reach our designated meeting point, King’s Cross station, before Chiara. I have to admit punctuality is not a strong point of mine. We headed over to ‘Chop Chop’ a cheerful restaurant cum take-away opposite the station, for dinner on a budget. I ordered my two favourite dishes to share between us, laksa and seafood sar ho fun, disguising my selfishness by telling Chiara she should just trust my extensive knowledge of Chinese food. Our food arrived promptly, and I at once saw the huge dishes before us as an unspoken challenge. There was no way we could finish all that, surely. 

I have to say, I’m pretty proud of how much we did manage to get through, leaving only a small pile of vermicelli noodles uneaten so that Chiara had something to play with while we chatted. After that, it was on to my mum’s place, where Chiara and my mother decided to gang up against me, and I became the victim of some form of emotional bullying. I knew I shouldn’t have left them alone. So I sent my mum off back to Kent so that Chiara and I continued our dinner-and-drink-on-a-very-tight-budget by finding a 1.5l bottle of cherry Lambrini and a £3.50 bottle of red wine in the local mini mart. I haven’t had cherry Lambrini since I was 18, and seeing and tasting the bright pink liquid foaming away in my mug, I remember why. Memories of those good old student days came flooding back as we drank and chatted and chatted and drank, before eventually falling asleep.

As for Mandi, all I know is she ate a giant cheese and ham pretzel.

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"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore"

~ Jack Brooks

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On the fourth day we rested, opting for a lazy day in.  It wasn’t long before we became restless and decided to go out in search of some food.  I had been craving macaroni cheese for a while, so decided to buy some from Sainsbury’s. Perhaps choosing the tinned version over the fresh, chilled version wasn’t the best idea, but with a bit of salad on the side it almost looked edible.  Mandi was in the mood for Japanese and so popped into Wasabi for ‘those triangles of rice’, which, according to her, ‘weren’t that great, a bit overrated really.  Like some men.’

Evening came and we trundled back to Tunbridge Wells for Mandi’s work Christmas dinner.  I went along as her plus one, because apparently Mandi and I only come as a pair these days. Mandi and Megan, m&m, M² or something like that. We’re just better together.  Unsurprisingly, quite a few people at the dinner asked if we were lesbians.  We’re not.  But we are both single….

We dined at Prezzo, where the set menu made it much easier and quicker for me to decide what to eat.  Mandi went straight for the Mozzarella in Carrozza with pomodoro sauce, a.k.a. deep-fried cheese with ketchup.  I chose the slightly healthier grana padano-filled baked mushrooms with garlic mayo.  

The Pizza Vesuvio main was… well, a pepperoni pizza.  A really good pepperoni pizza at that, made better with a good drizzle of chili oil. We finished with an ice-cream and hazelnut bombe, with was rather nice: a bit of meringue enveloped in ice-cream and lavishly covered with hazelnuts.  

I have to admit I ended up leaving most of my bombe and helping myself to other people’s abandoned profiteroles, inversed, so that they had a chocolate filling and a vanilla topping – how novel! 

Okay, let’s be honest, there’s not much you can say about a standard high street Italian restaurant.  I can’t make it sound new or exciting or irresistibly tempting.  All I do is fill this post with a disproportional number of photos and say is the food was good, as was the company. Plus, we got to go to the pub afterwards and watch drunk people showcasing their best Mariah and Bono impressions on the karaoke machine.

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There are three forms of visual art: painting is art to look at, sculpture is art you can walk around, and architecture is art you can walk through.

~ Dan Rice

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RIBA, 66 Portland Place

Our explorations continued today with a trip to the less eclectic RIBA (Royal Institute of British Architects) at 66 Portland Place.  This couldn’t be more different from the orderly chaos of YumChaa, and clearly appeals to the professional rather than the scatter-brained, unemployed types (I refer here to Mandi and myself).  We sat upstairs while men in business suits had serious discussions about important things, and women in smart skirts and blouses gossiped in a manner that made them sound incredibly intellectual.  Mandi and I, on the other hand, spent most of our time laughing so much that we choked on our food several times.  The building itself pretty much summed up the quotes on the main staircase, which reminded us about the importance of architecture within society:

 “The mother art is architecture. Without an architecture of our own we have no soul of our own civilization.” (~Frank Lloyd Wright)

“Architecture, of all the arts, is the one which acts the most slowly, but the most surely, on the soul” (~Ernest Dimnet)

Architecture: art meets functionality; creativity meets science. With its rich applied decoration and sculpture, the RIBA headquarters are a classic and stunning example of early 1930s Art Deco architecture.  Okay, okay, I lifted that straight from the website.  But the design of the building is great, as you’d expect from such an institution as RIBA.  If you’re really interested in the design of RIBA’s headquarters, there’s a very helpful downloadable guide which you may find enlightening.  

Mandi and I, as ever, were interested only in the food, and we were not let down.  A turkey and ham sandwich and a butternut squash filo tart have never tasted so good.  

The portions were more than generous and the available side salads all looked far too delicious to be healthy.  Mandi and I both opted for the roasted carrot, rocket, mozzarella and sundried tomato salad to accompany our food. It was divine.  I have no more to say.

Once again, Mandi set about sketching while I, her muse, managed to multi-task by both being her sitter and reading a book. 

Imagination Gallery, Store street

Soon, the staff began clear up the café area and started to put two foot tall martini glasses in the centre of each table.  While Mandi and I watched on curiously and eavesdropped on the conversations between panicked event organisers and the arriving musicians, a woman approached us and politely asked us to leave: the London Clinic was holding a function, and we weren’t invited.  So Mandi and I trudged out into the dreary, rainy, British winter and decided to head (the long way) towards the School of African and Oriental Studies, where Mandi spent four long years of her life studying Chinese and Development Studies. I’m sure she felt right at home back in the JCR surrounded by all those hard-working students, inhaling the pungent odour of weed.  

Mandi, Steph and me, SOAS

Our friend Steph met us and we ended the day in style, feasting on the most readily available of all student foods. Note to self: gravy and ketchup do not go. But before we rushed off home, Mandi insisted, we couldn’t leave this world-class institution, a leading centre at the forefront of all things African and Oriental, without seeing the lodestone of the university: a vending machine that will make and cook a pizza to order, all in less than 3 minutes.  

This amazing device, an invention that Claudio Torghele of Italy dedicated 10 years of his life to perfecting, mixes the base, stretches it out, adds the tomato paste and your desired toppings, and then bakes the whole thing before serving it in a cardboard box, and all while you watching in admiration through the Perspex front. I don’t know whether to be in awe or slightly despondent. Is this the future of pizza, and all those other dishes that have formed the foundation of countless traditional cuisines around the world? I don’t know. Despite the obvious novelty of watching a bright red machine cook a pizza, I still think I’d rather watch a tall, dark, handsome Italian working away to produce this classic dish for me.

Umm, yes please!

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