Thursday, October 13, 2005

iPod love - part 2

I have been doing rather lot of driving on the same stretch of M6 recently and consequently my brain is in overdrive as it disengages with the actual road signeage.
Back to the iPod - I was thinking of the analogy of pot-pourri, but a pot-pourri where each and every distinct scented fragment transports you somewhere absolutely now - the school hymn book, your grandmothers house, your mother's embrace.
One of the compelling but potentially dangerous aspects of the iPod is its capacity to hold literally thousands of pieces of music that have a direct and powerful emotional effect on you - all available (and discard-able) within a millisecond. Think of the music that transports you back to your teenage years, to school or to heartbreak. Think of how rarely most of us encountered that music before. Maybe while screeling through a radio dial in a hired car, or at a friends wedding, and remember how viscerally it affected you.
Like many I am sure, I have filled the little beast with only the creme de la creme of my musical taste, scouring the Web for downloads "christ, Magazine - I haven't hear that since I was 15!") and consequently it's now like a quietly ticking bomb, a genies lamp.
What does the iPod's ability to fast-track us to the most heightened emotional states of our lives do? I find myself on perpetual 'shuffle' mode, gorging on successive memories at 95mph on the motorway, then skipping ruthlessly through the opening bars of dozens of them thinking 'Christ, not Magazine again!'

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

iPod – the ladies’ friend


Is iPod - at last – the life-soundtrack every girl’s been waiting for?
I had a CD Walkman for years but could never be arsed complicating my travel arrangements even more by sorting out CDs and batteries before leaving the house. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many women I have seen using a Walkman outside of a gym.
Maybe, just maybe, as I’ve got older I need to block out more of other people. Whatever – I find myself addicted to my sleek lime green friend, nurturing it (him? Her?), feeding it new music at regular intervals, clothing it in a sensible zipup case when not in use (i.e rarely) and even conversing with it during our long car journeys together with Teach Yourself Japanese.
Oh, and because it's autumn you should be mushroom-hunting. Here's a photo of some exquisite chanterelles to get you inspired.

Monday, October 10, 2005

“Vegan Banquet”

Like ‘friendly fire’, these words feel uncomfortable, even improbable, together.
But, hey, I’m one of the many thirty-somethings who in the past trained themselves to consume ‘milks’ called ‘Rice Dream’ and ‘Soy Delicious’ before finding out that female mice fed on GM soy beans were growing penises. And anyway, putting stuff in your tea that actually curdles on contact makes you start really enjoying the ever-reliable, mechanised consistency of some really unhealthy products like Coke and Big Macs.
When I stayed in New York, imagined mid-life crises around dairy-intolerance became a regular conversation topic at parties. When we left our apartment I had a T shirt made for my landlord / friend – a major exponent of the theory that milk products were killing us all. It said ‘Dairy Happens’, and went down a storm.
Now, this is my blog and I don’t have to be fair - but having ranted against Lake District food here, I really have to haul a recent ‘vegan banquet’ (their words) consumed in London recently, right over the coals. Which, incidentally, might have helped furnish the dishes with that elusive but important culinary feature – flavour.
The cafe was in one of the last central London hippie / squatter enclaves, and so you’re eating in what almost feels like a theme restaurant in this age of bleached laminate-flooring and chrome light fittings. Bizarre throwbacks such as freestyle jazz and allowing smoking compound the retro vibe. You can almost imagine staff being issued with uniforms of ratty dred wigs and piercings behind the kitchen door. Anyway, suffice to say that the tepid mush served us had all the classic vegan attributes – no seasoning, undercooked pulses, overcooked vegetables and a certain holier than thou miserliness – no fresh coriander (they even manage that at the tandoori in Maryport for God’s sake) and certainly nothing as needlessly raunchy as a popadum.

So, if you find yourself mysteriously craving a vegan banquet in central London, take my advice and eat at one of the many fabulous and economical South Indian restaurants behind Euston train station on Drummond Street. You can even wig out completely and order a (dairy-filled) lassi with it.