jane brocket

leftovers

 

'Fabergé egg cosies' (pattern in the book) made with small amounts of leftover yarns, and embellished with beads and sequins. Because if I can't afford a real Fabergé egg, I can at least afford a Fabergé egg cosy or two.

That's the fun of leftovers: it's worth keeping them as you never know what they can be turned into. And if you keep enough, they accumulate until you have enough to make something quite sizeable.  Like this post, which is a collection of various leftovers that haven't made it into recent posts, but need tidying up before we go on holiday this weekend.

:: How to Be Alone had me completely engrossed. It's not an easy read (one of the essays is about 'difficult' books) but it's a very thought-provoking one, and I think Franzen is spot-on and ahead of his time in his analysis of contemporary reading and culture (this was published in 2002 and most of the essays were published in the 90s). Plus, the cover sold me the books before I'd even opened it. What a beautiful, evocative photo taken in this book store - enough to make you want to be a solitary, winter-evenings-in-the-city-reader for ever. (It must also qualify as one of the best books to read in public on your own if you don't want to be bothered.)

:: I've now moved onto The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, at the suggestion of Rachel. But I'm not putting in a link as I really don't want to know how it ends, and am sure I'll peek at any review. I'm hooked.

:: One thing I meant to do before the holiday is organise my bulb order. Now is the time to get hold of the catalogues and spend an hour or so in a tulip reverie. When I get round to it, I'm buying mostly from Peter Nyssen (plus a few varieties from Bloms).

:: The Glamour of the Gods exhibition at the NPG is full of fabulous black & white portraits but feels a little hollow. All that air-brushing; I think I prefer Joan Crawford with her freckles and tiny wrinkles than with a Plasticene-smooth brow and porcelain skin (I suppose air-brushing is better than Botox, although both conspire to leave the viewer with a sense of unreality and manipulation). The portraits I liked most were the ones that made me swoon (Robert Taylor, Rock Hudson, Gary Cooper), just as the Hollywood studios intended. 

:: I shall be taking part in the Warwick Words literary festival on Tuesday 4th October. (Great programme.)

:: On Saturday we are going away for the best part of two weeks. I have a fine pile of books left over from the last twelve months of good-but-failed intentions to take with me, and absolutely no plans other than to read and have a good time.

Thank you for the comments on Capital Cake. (Just to clarify, a book deal didn't fall through.) I'll be posting more reviews when I get back (and have eaten some more cake).

 

capital cake: gail's (notting hill)

For the third and final review of the week, I've moved across town from Soho to Notting Hill.

3. Gail’s (Notting Hill branch)

Gail’s styles itself as a ‘local’ and ‘artisan’ bakery, and the world would undoubtedly be a better place if we all had a Gail’s on our doorstep. This branch on Portobello Road, in the heart of Notting Hill, is a gift for locals and visitors alike, and there’s a good mix on busy Saturday mornings when the market is in full swing outside.  The café is a good size and exemplifies the current trend in café-bakery style of what could be termed 'rustic-moderne’, with solid wooden tables and exposed brick walls, plenty of seating, a pleasant atmosphere, and smiling and helpful staff.

But the real draw is the integrity and quality of the baking. One large counter is devoted to a huge selection of cakes, small cakes, cheesecakes, tarts and tartlets, fondants and brownies. It’s a baking tour de force with all sorts of international influences and it creates anxious moments of indecision and mind-changing for non-locals overwhelmed by the choice.

So if you aren’t a local, the best way to have your cake here is to not hold back. When we visited, a maple finger cake (soft, moist, deliciously sweet and pecan-nutty, £2.70), a passion fruit meringue tart (crisp pastry shell, sweetly rich curd, and perfectly judged lightly toasted meringue peak, £3.95), a chocolate toffee mini tart (chocolate pastry, gooey filling with a tiny, crunch chocolate Florentine on top, £3.50) and a sticky, spicy, fresh and bready hot cross bun (£1.50) seemed as good a way as any to tackle Gail’s best. Future visits are based on the need to try the adorable mini kugelhofs, sludgy pecan brownies, a pale and interesting ricotta tart, a tiny dolls’ house raspberry and corn cake, and a slice of the spectacularly engineered, layered carrot cake.

Any bakery such as this is to be cherished, but there is major one problem with the ‘local’ ethos and that’s that there are no customer toilet facilities on the premises (do they really think that everyone has a loo round the corner to nip home to?). There is a free public toilet just outside Gail’s, but on market days the queue can be distressingly long.

NOTE: Mark-ups on the prices for eating in are high, so you might want to go for the take-home option or one of the 'moveable feast' lunch boxes.

Various cakes: £2.25 - £4.50

Tea: £1.75 (take out), £2.35 (in cafe)

Coffee:  £2.10 (take out), £2.50 (in cafe)

138 Portobello Road

London W11 2DZ

Tel: 020 7460 0766

Website: www.gailsbread.co.uk

Branches: nine in total (not all the bakeries have a café), check website for details and opening times

Open: Mon to Sat: 7 am - 7.30 pm, Sun & Bank Hols: 8 am - 7.30 pm

Also offers: catering service for picnics, parties, and ‘relaxed feasts’

And a slice of culture: Portobello Market, Portobello Road antiques shops, Electric Cinema (most comfy seats ever), legendary Books for Cooks, Piers Gough's 'Turquoise Island' which houses public toilets/Wild at Heart flowers, colourful Notting Hill terraced houses, various classic NH film locations.

 

capital cake: fernandez & wells

You know me. I like to have my cake and eat it, most often in London. It's a city crammed with cafes, tea rooms, bakeries, hotels, food halls and stalls selling amazing cakes and baked treats. We have a brilliant baking tradition here and, as I have discovered recently, London has more than its fair share of passionate, independent bakers.

Never tiring of London or of cake, I decided a while ago that a guide to the capital's best cakes would be worth researching and writing, and the publishing side was sorted out. So I went looking in earnest for London's best cakes (I was always keen, but this was with even more determination) and found some fantastic places. The only trouble is that the planned guide has now stalled for various reasons, and I find myself with a stack of cake reviews and an album of cakey photos which will all go to waste if I don't use them somewhere. So this blog is now that somewhere, and I'll be posting the reviews here.

I had fun with the title. It could have been Have Your Cake and Eat It in London, or just Have Your Cake: London. But today I've decided on a new title: Capital Cake. Because that's what it is.

(All the photos are taken with an iPhone, for a specific reason.)

1. Fernandez & Wells

Although Fernandez & Wells has a wonderful deli/sandwich shop round the corner on Lexington Street, this is the F&W place for cake. In fact, it’s one of the places for cake in London. Behind an unassuming black wood and glass facade is a light and airy, plain and simple, long and narrow cafe with a long counter filled with generous arrangements of utterly delicious-looking cakes and baked goods on simple slate trays. There is good coffee and newspapers, and scrubbed wooden counters and tables to sit at with your chosen cake .

And herein lies the problem, as this the kind of place that outs you in a major dilemma. Do you come back many times to work your way through the cakes, go all out for a one-off grande bouffe, or turn up with a crowd of friends and family so that you can order one of everything and share?

Whatever your chosen solution to dealing with such temptation, you can’t go wrong. There are loaf cakes, sliced cakes, little cakes, biscuits and the best pasteis de nata (Portuguese custard tarts) this side of Lisbon. Cakes are classic (coffee and walnut, carrot, lemon polenta) or novel and intriguing (Amalfi orange, pear, buttermilk and lavender, chocolate and brandy), and there are big, fluffy croissants, pale buttery shortbread, generous portions of flapjack, and thick bars of millionaire’s shortbread that don’t cost a fortune. Prices are fair, the staff are friendly, and the location is close to all the attractions of Soho. And it sells Barry’s Irish tea in proper tea pots. A true gem.

 

Slice of cake: £3.20 - £3.50

Tea: £2.00

Coffee: £2.50

73 Beak Street

London W1F 9SR

Tel: 020 7287 8124

Website: www.fernandezandwells.com

Open: Mon – Fri 7.30 – 6, Sat 9 – 6, Sun 9 - 5

And a slice of culture: F&W is in walking distance of the Royal Academy, Shaftesbury Ave theatres, Curzon Cinema, Liberty of London, Berwick Street fabric shops, the Marshall Street Baths, and the delights of Soho.

 

summery

Little wool flowers in summery colours. I made these to decorate a tea cosy in the knitting book, and may just have got carried away with quantities as they looked so nice, scattered like flower heads, on the carpet.

Cascade 220 yarn, instructions in book (see sidebar as TypePad won't let me create links at the moment.)

coming up and up and coming

The High Line has been extended, with beautiful curves and long benches, small inclines, narrow passes, and beautiful framing of streets and vistas. It's now an up and coming area to live; new apartments are appearing along its length and boast views of the High Line (but if you live at High Line level it also means the High Line can get a good view of you).

As you come up the stairs and leave the streets thirty feet below, you reach what is now a modern incarnation of the old-fashioned Promenade (they could do a contemporary version of Easter Parade here - in fact, it's only a matter of time before the High Line appears in films). Although it's empty at 7 am except for runners and people being shouted out by their personal trainers, it is packed with promenaders later in the day.

Maybe it's to see and be seen, but far better to go for the spectacular planting, the brilliant designs and details, the feeling of being elevated in all senses.

If Central Park is the green lung of Manhattan, the High Line is its green artery, giving new life to Chelsea.

The surrounding buildings look as though they have come up through the grasses, shrubs, flowers, and trees. The spots of colour and the tall plants match the urban lanscape perfectly. And the huge numbers of people coming up and down the line, like the old trains, add motion and vitality. It's an amazing place.

(It's also ideal for two quick branch line detours. One to Chelsea Market for bread at Amy's, books at Posman Books, and fruit at the Manhattan Fruit Exchange. And one, worth the detour from anywhere, to Billy's Bakery for key lime pie.)

 

celebration

 

[Ladies Who Lunch Beryl Cook]

I went to Bristol for one celebration, and found another.

One of the professors in the university Russian Dept is retiring this summer after 36 years at Bristol, and a surprise dinner was organised. I rarely go to this sort of thing as I'm not one for formal programmes or dressing-up (and, would you believe it, on the night there was someone else in the same dress - just goes to show that I should have stuck to jeans and a clean T-shirt...). But the opportunity to see the teaching staff again after all this time, as well as graduates from my year, was too much to resist. And I was so I went. Apart from the fear that I wouldn't understand a word of Russian in the speeches (I didn't, but it didn't matter - I wasn't the only blank one), it was a wonderful celebration of a very special subject, department, and some very unusual shared experiences.

 

[Percy at the Fridge Beryl Cook]

In the afternoon I went to the Bristol Art Gallery which was one of my favourite, warm refuges when I was a student, and still feels beautifully grand and old-fashioned. I wanted to see the Beryl Cook exhibition (link to good selection of paintings) because I've always been aware of her funny, supremely well observed, colourful, and very popular paintings, and liked them. What I didn't realise, though, was the extent to which the establishmen art world has been terribly snooty about and dismissive of her work and that despite the fact that her prints and cards and calendars sell like hot cakes, there are very few of her paintings in public collections. It seems the gallery directors and committees buy what they think the public ought to like, rather than what they do like. (It's very much the same story with LS Lowry, another immensely popular artist whose paintings are rarely seen in galleries.) [just found this]

 

[The Last Gasp Beryl Cook]

The exhibition is a lovely celebration of a celebratory artist. It was very busy and full of people smiling and often laughing. (Sadly, there were no ladies done up in green eyeshadow and red cupid bow's lips, huge furs, fabulous coiffures, dangling earrings, and outrageous shoes - but they would not have been out of place.) BC had a warm sense of humour, was a keen observer, and loved the everyday, vulgar, and noisy. She reminds me of the master of saucy seaside cards, Donald McGill, and there are some very large bottoms and smothering bosoms on show. Her paintings are clearly influenced by Stanley Spencer (lots of loud patterns on clothes, unusual - often undignified - angles, very carefully painted trees and foliage) and there is the same feeling of warm, buxom humanity and enjoyment. Beryl Cook was also very keen on needlepoint and knitting and there were some of her needlepoint pieces on show - full of colour and detail in unique designs.

 

[Ladies' Night Beryl Cook. This one is for my Mum]

 I came away feeling uplifted and amused, for this is a real celebration of life and people and foibles and often very private passions. Later on, at 1.30 in the morning, I walked down the steep hill of Park Street which was full of people out on the town, and there were the very characters I'd seen in the paintings in the afternoon. BC lived in Bristol for five years until the hills proved too much for her legs, but on Saturday night/Sunday morning everything she enjoyed was there to be observed and celebrated. And not, for the first time that day, I was reminded that Bristol is a good place to spend a few years.

refreshment

 

It turns out that I spent a whole year in Bristol without realising the flat I shared virtually overlooked the abandoned Clifton Lido. I never even knew it was there - maybe the weeds were so tall they obscured it - but I do remember catching a glimpse of the once-beautiful Victorian pool from a different vantage point and wondering about its story.

These days, I would love to live that close to the Lido, where yesterday I met Charlotte for copious amounts of tea and conversation. The restoration and modernisation of the pool and changing rooms is marvellous, and the refreshed pool looks amazingly inviting (I didn't swim because you need to book a package at the weekend). There's a cafe, a restaurant and a spa, and it's all very much a modern-day version of the Roman baths (eg Baths of Caracalla) minus the slaves working away underneath, keeping the fires burning to heat the water (I hope).

 

I find it very difficult to sit next to water like this without leaping in, so I'll be going back with my cossie, Simon, and a toga-styled towel. Having seen photos of the pool at dusk with steam above the water, I think a cold, autumn day would ideal. After all, now I know it's there, I've got to make up for lost time.

tiredness/happiness ratings

 

Phoebe is not happy. She is tired and fed up with GCSE pressure at school (she takes them next year, but it's never too early to start the anxiety, it seems).

Tom is happy. He is also tired because he working twelve-hour days at the Hampton Court Flower Show to earn money for a holiday with friends next week. (He hasn't seen a single flower, but he has seen a lot of pints as he is doing bar work.)

Alice is very happy. She is extremely tired because she is having a holiday (funded by a Saturday job in Boots) in Portugal with friends, and is getting in after nights out at a time I now associate with getting up.

Simon is pretty much always happy, especially when the Tour de France is on TV. He tired as he hardly been at home for the past fortnight, and is mostly to be found pretending to be awake and listening to the droning commentary.

I am happy because a very exciting new project has just been agreed this week, I am going to Bristol tomorrow for a special event, and am off for a few days at the end of next week. Then I will be really tired.

Despite Phoebe's tiredness, she made the cake for a friend's birthday last night. She was very weary and couldn't think of a clever decorating idea, so I said she should just call it a 'jewel cake' and go to bed early. Which she did.

viscosey posies

 

Well, thank you for all the comments about the quilt top.

  

I considered the various options suggested here, and in the end have decided on something very simple which I was inspired to cut out last night after re-reading Rebecca's comment. I also very much like the idea of a binding made from Liberty Tana lawn, but probably won't do that because I don't own any, and I'm trying to use up the fabrics I have. In addition, I have chosen the fabrics for the back after many trips up and down the stairs (my fabrics are in a chest of drawers upstairs); I hadn't quite realised how few pale/white background fabrics I have (about four). Now all I have to do is finish the border, make the back, tie the layers, and bind it all, and the crinoline ladies will be well and truly ensconced in pastures new.

 

And I shall also move onto pastures new in the form of posies and vases stitched on viscose (aka rayon).

 

Now I would never knowingly part with money for something made from viscose. I simply don't like it; I know this from working for Courtaulds plc in the 1980s, and being part of a small team that went to Moscow every month to sell the trio of Courtaulds'  man-made fibres - acrylic (Courtelle), acetate, and viscose - to the Soviet Union. (If I digressed into vodka, snow, and Communism at this point, I'd be here a long time.)

 

I know that viscose is the most natural of the three as it's made from wood pulp, but it has terrible thermal properties, creases as soon as you touch it, and has what I find to be an unpleasant handle that sets my teeth on edge.

 

Yet I have some really lovely, cheerful, colourful, confident stitching done on viscose which I have bought believing the sellers who described the background as cotton. It's funny how this fabric attracted such exuberant colours and dense stitching, and a particular kind of cotton crewel-work. 

 

Amongst its various failings, viscose also frays and develops holes very easily, so many embroidered old pieces are very much worse for wear. But I think the stitching is of a kind that is worth keeping in the form of a big, show-off-and-admire quilt top. So this is my next project, even though I'm already gearing up to getting very cross with machine-piecing the slippery, slidy, viscosey posies and vases.

liberated ladies

 

Hell's bells and buckets of blood, as my Mum would say. Much as I believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinions and in the joys of free speech, I can't help but think that in comparison to some of the terrible things that happen in this life (of which I have had a fair helping), cutting up a few worn-out table linens is hardly something worth getting het up about. I mean, when it comes down to it, the loss of the wholeness of a tablecloth is hardly a tragedy. I'm not being flippant here, I am being deadly serious.

Anyway. I felt it wouldn't be fair not to show you what I'm making. I took out as many small areas of good quality, long-lasting stitching as possible from a number of old tablecloths, tray covers and assorted small pieces. I spent ages (years) thinking about how to use my 'touchable' tablecloths so as to revitalise the lovely stitching that went into them. I'd thought of a quilt top made up of irregular squares and rectangles, cut to frame the stitching I want to show, but kept wilting at the thought of dealing with a jigsaw of pieces. Then I saw sense, and realised that it would all be much easier if I stuck to one size of square, and cut out the best bits to fit into it. I decided a 6" x 6" square was a good finished size, so cut out about ninety 6.5" x 6.5" squares and laid them out. In the end, the top is 8 squares across and 10 squares down, and I spent some time arranging the squares so that there aren't whole processions of crinoline ladies along certain rows, or too many pieces from a single cloth too close together.

What I've ended up with is something like a densely stitched tablecloth (it reminds me of children's illustrated book pages) which will give anyone who is bored and sitting under it something to look at for ages and ages. Because there are crinoline ladies, dogs, chimneys, a Welsh lady and a mountain, sprays and posies, baskets and lattice-work, hollyhocks and herbaceous borders, French knots, lazy daisies, button-hole stitch, stem stitch, and all sorts of daintiness and colour. It isn't finished yet; I am still pondering a border (or maybe not), and I need to make a back. I won't quilt it because there is quite enough stitching on there already, so it will be tied with different colours of thread.

 

There are lots of liberated crinoline ladies in there. That may sound like a contradiction in terms, crinolines being the work of the devil and all that, but I have to say they do look good in their new garden surroundings. (The photo above makes it look as though I'm also wearing a crinoline. Sorry to disappoint, but that's just my dress.)

Added: An omission. I forgot both yesterday and earlier today to say that Hen and Harriet do lovely things with vintage embroideries (and fabrics).