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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Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage

~ Catherine Douzel

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YumChaa, 9-11 Tottenham Street, W1T 2AQ (website | map)

Today we visited YumChaa on Tottenham street, the fourth and most recent addition to this mini-chain of quirky tea shops.  The friendly staff were quick to make recommendations and explain what they had on offer.  The industrial decor had the perfect amount of homely, with half-stripped wallpaper and mismatched furniture.  But most impressive thing about this place is their tea (which is only fitting for a tea shop, I suppose). 

I stared for a while at the 30 or so milk jugs which contain samples of all their loose leaf teas (don't expect to find a menu here!), with names such as 'Blueberry Hill', 'Wanderlust' and 'Gentle Giant'. I have a choice between black, green, white and red teas, blended with an array of dried fruit, spices and petals.  If you know me, you will know that these so-called 'trivial' decisions are somewhat impossible for me to make, and so I begin to deliberate as though my life depended on it.   

Eventually, the shop assistant kindly suggested I smell the teas to get an idea of the taste (and there I was thinking the colour of the blossoms would be enough to guide me).  I picked up a rooibos-based blend labelled 'Adventure', liked what I smelt, and so went ahead and ordered, half-hoping that we are we we drink and that the beverage would leave me feeling emboldened and reckless.  I can't say I'm any more inclined to live life on the edge having had my fill of 'Adventure', but nevertheless the mix of fruity, flowery and spicy was really delicious!  

Mandi was feeling peckish and so opted for a salami and mozzarella bagel.  I take it from her silent appreciation and the look of disappointment as she realised she'd finished the final bite that it was a good bagel.  Inspired by her surroundings, she then opened her sketch book to begin her page for the day.  While I record my experiences in writing, Mandi sets down her thoughts and memories in her sketch book. Her surroundings, her conversations, her ruminations are all artfully splashed across a page of sketches and phrases.  She has a true talent for capturing the atmosphere of each café, drawing only what she sees.  One medium and no rubbers: any mistakes remain for all to see.  Luckily for her, she doesn't seem to make many mistakes!

The atmosphere was great and relaxed, and Mandi and I happily sat in our little corner for a good couple of hours.  On a side note, everyone there appeared to be better-looking than average, with a slightly alternative edge.  Not that Mandi and I encourage superficial judgements; it’s just something we noticed.  Needless to say, we fitted right in.

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Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

"Seize the day, trusting tomorrow as little as possible." 
~Horace Odes I.11

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So, while other graduates have enter the big, bad world of work, Mandi and I remain unemployed, with little or no desire to settle down into any career just yet.   We're staying in London for a while, and we've decided to take things one day at a time - strictly no planning, no organising, no "to do" lists. So far, so good. We're spending our time trying out new cafés and seeking out the unknown.  Mandi draws and contemplates the big questions about life, love and eternity, while I read, write and pretend to think equally deep thoughts, and we're both here to share it all with you (you fortunate people).

We kicked off our adventures on Monday night with a trip to a Sichuan restaurant called Sanxia Renjia on Goodge street, in order to satisfy our noodle cravings.  I've never had much Sichuan food – I only knew it was like Chinese, but spicy.  Even though I expected my hot and sour noodle soup to be, well, hot (and sour), I was not prepared for the bowl of chilli oil-drenched noodles that came out, teeming with dried chillies and garnished with a liberal scattering of freshly cut chilli.  I guess the little image of a chili on the menu was there for a reason after all.  Mandi played it cool, opting for the more sensible house special chow mein, although she then asked them to make it extra hot.  Fortunately for Mandi, they didn’t manage to make the noodles hot and so served her dish with a bowl of chilli on the side.  She tucked in, and realised pretty soon that when the waitresses said ‘not very hot’, what they actually meant was ‘don’t worry, the spice will numb you mouth so quickly you won’t feel the scorching pain’. 

I eyed up my bowl of chilli with noodles for a while, then decided to face the challenge.  After the initial choking as I instantly bit into a chilli seed and scrambled for my jasmine tea (much to the amusement of the waitresses), I began to acclimatise and even started to enjoy my dinner.  I’m proud to say Mandi and I both finished our meals – which, coincidentally, were delicious underneath all the heat.  I also suspect that we are wimps when it comes to spice… maybe we should work on that!  

Sanxia Renjia, 29 Goodge Street (website | map)

The restaurant also provides a karaoke bar for private hire, although our entertainment for the night was provided by the waitresses, who chatted freely about the two of us.  Well, that was Mandi’s entertainment at least.  Since I don’t understand Mandarin, my amusement depended on the possibly drunk and definitely underdressed girl running to and from the karaoke room in a half-hearted attempt to evade the amorous pursuits of a young gentleman.  Isn’t it wonderful how the combination of alcohol and a girl who’s forgotten to put on her jeans can fuel a young man’s passion?

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