a day so full that 9pm feels more like midnight Tweet

Much went on today, though most of it impossible or forbidden to document or tell, which leaves for sharing a nighttime photo of a London building, the immense satisfaction of coming home knackered to find a freshly made bed (I'm the queen of cleaning tasks lists, and blessed to have a cleaner quite open to repeated, vicious training), and a couple unknown yet handy facts about brewing coffee, as shared by the Square Mile lot. Wish I could go to bed NOW.


Created with flickr slideshow.

the white stuff is back Tweet

Indeed, on a day previously forecasted as warm, if not even sunny, we woke up to a white London once more, and postponed meetings yet again. Could be the last time this year, though, so I won't complain. Especially as it seems it'll clear by the time we hop on a plane this Saturday. It feels like ages since we traveled last! My first thoughts this morning had been rather different, however. Somehow needed to find a metaphor for a start-up to work for me. The best so far? I proved my worth as a Colonel commanding an army, pretty much, and now I've been promoted to General, though I only command a few fresh privates. This may sound better if the second part becomes: and now I've started a guerilla war with a few other rebels—in other words, the General bit is still to follow. Somehow neither sounds positive and motivating enough to me, so I figure a tad of NLP might be needed to change beliefs regarding guerilla actions—i.e. they're quick, exciting, agile, varied, and creative due to severe limitations. Too heavy for this hour? Let's revert to the white stuff, then.


Created with flickr slideshow.

spotted, and tried: thirst, 21 bateman street, london Tweet

I don't remember when and how we stumbled upon Thirst in Soho, but we keep stumbling upon it even more since we've discovered that at least half of the bartenders take a looong time to stir the Old Fashioned, like they should, and with one's choice of bourbon. Plus, if you're there more or less when they open, you can get a seat even on a Friday or a Saturday, as not every damn chair can be reserved. Oh, and there are chairs OUTSIDE, regardless of season, for smokers. Or those who love hanging out with the smokers. For a student bar from Oxford (I think), so few details hint at that younger market that we needn't try hard to feel at home. Just don't let the manager(s) mix your drinks.


Created with flickr slideshow.

spotted, and tried: cilantro cafe, 100 tottenham court road, london Tweet

On Friday I finally got round to take some photos of Cilantro Cafe, the place where we had most of our meetings in the past months for lack of a better room or equally large cafe. Whenever we walk in, there's a table available for us, the coffee is hot and quick, and it comes with the tiniest brownie in the world. Yeah, the staff is a bit too enthusiastic, like the American attitude generally feels outside America, but service is good, so can't complain. The pita bread falafel is the quickest, tastiest lunch you can grab in the area without feeling like a nap afterwards, especially if you had too much Pret that week, or homemade cheese sandwiches, for that matter. The coffee is inoffensive, though clearly above Starbucks, which counts for something, and the best yet? This cafe is open past 6pm. Even past 7pm. In Central London. Make sure you stop by and have a hazelnut decaf or something :)


Created with flickr slideshow.

chez adrideo: pork terrine Tweet

Stop reading now if you've got anything against slaughtering pigs. And DO NOT LOOK AT THE PHOTOS. In fact, close the window entirely, quickly, take a deep breath and congratulate yourself on account of those reflexes. Still with me? The head chef tackled something even more serious than me today: the mighty pork terrine of Nigel Slater that has become one of THE Christmas dishes of this family unit. The main trouble with the gorgeous, long-lasting delight is quality ingredients and the extinction of proper butchers in London. Upmarket Ginger Pig, The, while delivering good produce, essentially exists to rip one off in various ways and generally mock one's intent and attempt to put homemade goodness on the table. They won't sell pork liver, won't mince pork, won't give you the quantity you ask for but the significantly larger one they'd like to get rid off. If they have it. If they like your face today. Etcetera. Enter Allens of Mayfair, more sympathetic to one's search of the perfect ingredients as they provide for restaurants—that's how far up we have to go, and couldn't be happier for it. Also, enter resident mincing machine acquired for next to nothing in Romania. And too many jars of juniper berries that somehow gathered under our roof last winter and have been having a ball in the absence of a personal gin distillery. All in all, two hours of work after, and three of cooking, there's murder, I tell you, tasty murder on the plate and the palate. If you're one for slaughtering pigs, do yourself a favor and cook this once.


Created with flickr slideshow.

chez gorgeoux: boeuf salad Tweet

One hour or so in the kitchen and a generous hand from the head chef and I finally got round to putting together the treat known as boeuf salad to Romanians. Ideally, we would have eaten this around New Year's Eve, but I was too busy resting and the piles of food in the house, while delicious, were mental. As such, preventing me from adding anything to the mix. This rendition isn't perfect, though as close as possible: there's homemade mayo, roast beef, pickled cucumbers, boiled potatoes, carrots and peas. All mixing their flavors in the fridge right now, peacefully. It will taste great, as usual (we couldn't stop licking the dishes and the spoons earlier, to give you the least shaming indication of quality), yet different than last year's (when we experimented with much needed but wrong quality pickled bell peppers) and even more different than my mother's original version, which suffered diet and market induced changes itself across the years. I will try harder in the future (notice how precise the deadline is), as soon as I figure out the path of least effort: pickling my own bell peppers or roaming the Turkish/ Polish/ Hungarian/ German/ you-name-it shops in London.


Created with flickr slideshow.

on the subject of shoes. again Tweet

Today I finally walked inside that Marylebone High Street shop where I occasionally noticed really cool casual boots, and quickly ended up gathering more than that around me.

all three wrong somehow, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

That's where the fun ended, however: the pair on the left hand side was so narrow that I nearly had a case of Cinderella's older sister cutting off a toe or so in order to get into such beauty—and I won't even develop on how ancient female fascination with shoes must be since one source of the Grimm's brothers was Dorothea Viehmann (1755-1815).

The seemingly solid sneaker-come-boot in the middle was the least comfortable of all three pairs, then, if that's even possible in the context. The laces were done up in some weird fashion, too, which made it painful to even consider fiddling with them. And finally, the teal ankle boot on the right hand side, which wouldn't be my first choice of style in any circumstance, proved a perfect fit to the point I fell in love with its comfy hidden platform and stable stiletto heel.

Except it was the last pair. And the shoe in the box had a lovely cut on its front. And the shop keeper tried to convince me that suede, you know, has all kinds of shades and that. It took her a few minutes to accept that there was a cut and to point that no, there was no other pair, at least not in my size and not in that color. And she sat there expectantly, making her case poorly and thinking I'd pay the full 80 or 90 pounds for a damaged pair of shoes.

I later found some lovely shoes and boots in another shop, though in different styles and colors, but spent some of the evening digging the interwebs for the real thing. And I learned a lot: the shop I was in actually is the flagship store of Ash, a business started ten years ago. The shoe goes by the full name Ash Allure Ankle Boot (and it has tons of allure if I hunted it online having ALREADY bought other shoes) and only two online shops ever carried it. It sold out in one and it still exists in a much less interesting black leather AND WRONG SIZE in the other. How old a model is it? Unclear. The official website doesn't list anything like it in the current collection of that of 2008, and I found out somewhere else that the line has been discontinued, anyway.

My guess? The shop keeper doesn't really want to sell them, or buy them; she's secretly wearing them herself, here and then, which explains for the deep cut in the shoe that should have been stored safely away in the box for most of its life so far. My other guess? I can never be cured of shoemania and, as NLP would have it, I don't really want to be cured. Not when something normally outside my radar can provoke such a crush. I remain disappointed at the interwebs not fulfilling my wish this time (after all, I'm the number one believer in anything-can-be-found-online) and yet hopeful in my future adventures online. Because a magenta suede boot from another shop, again crush-worthy AND IN THE WRONG SIZE has just been added to my Amazon wishlist—except in the right size.

Meanwhile, London girls have opted to wear their wellies everywhere, in combination with leggings, peep-buttock-skirts or bouffant shorts, which actually makes for a more fun and sexy street fashion than I could have ever expected out of this surprising winter (global warming? really? can we call it climate change, at least?).

silver wellies, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

I nearly cried earlier, next to guess what? THE WRONG SIZE pink wedge wellies (that's WEDGE wellies, ladies!) even though I'm equipped with very much the right size of pink wellies already. I estimate that my personal shopping assistant discretely pulled out half his hair while he watched, kind yet despaired as I tried on another improbable win. But no worries, the day he goes totally bald I'll buy him the best wig that ever there was. In the right size and some fashionable shade.

Update, April 26th 2010: Can you believe that these lovely boots are made by Ash? How did they manage to lose comfort (function, if you like) across a single year, while keeping the style solid?

paying winter a visit Tweet

Apart from the odd snowflake and the dangerous layers of on every square meter of pavement around our house, winter didn't make it to our street. So today we took a trip to neighboring Regent's Park to check it out, seeing it was snowing again. And snowed it has, all throughout our walk, which somehow ended up on Marylebone High Street. Before that, though, we marveled at the endless robins coming to say hello (or, more so, what-are-you-doing-on-my-territory and have-you-got-some-food-for-me) and the successful team work of various ducks pushing huge slabs of ice around the lake in order to get from here to there (with the added bonus of the less inspired duckling being chased around by two black swans, only aiming to warm themselves up, we bet). We spent a while in the Japanese garden, which is as close as public gardens get to what we'll create ourselves one day, for more private use however, and I failed at teaching a rebel how to catch snowflakes with one's tongue.


Created with flickr slideshow.

good morning, finally Tweet

This is what it feels like: a great cup of coffee, some shiny flower, cufflinks, and morning sun. It's not often that I get it this right. And I admit, I had some helpers.

good morning, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

I planned to say good morning Tweet

Last morning. When the house was quiet and birds sang outside my window, relieved they needn't go hunting for worms and stuff under that bloomin' ice. Oh, well, this will have to do. And I'll try again tomorrow. Good night!


Created with flickr slideshow.

feeble snow in central london Tweet

Though a lot of ice in the street, which turns everyone into Bambi. It snowed a bit today, which didn't help matters, but at least I was there, enjoying it and capturing it. And staying away from becoming Bambi myself. The famed 6 or even 12 inches of snow of other neighborhoods would help, both walking and the scenery, and maybe suicidal bikers would even leave their wheels at home. But -18 near Selkirk, where Stuart lives, would make it too much of a winter even for my Romanian taste. Stuart? My love's brilliant uncle, which reminds me I owe him an email and you—some photos of Scotland.


Created with flickr slideshow.

london under snow, and loving it Tweet

For the second time this season, it snows in London and it's supposed to last for a few days—the snowfall, the snow. I shot most of this videos last February, when snow in London seemed a sweet miracle, and only managed to piece everything together about a month ago. I had no idea I'd have reason to post it soon, but hey-ho, I've been positively surprised by the unpredictability of English weather (less mild than locals and green babies would have it) and the new found talents of the forecasters. The only thing that could make this better would be an open fire, yet with a landlord incapable of installing a dishwasher for six months and an ancient law that forbids open fires in London, I'm not holding my breath just yet. Goes without saying that the flames in my video are not shot in London, but Richmond, on which matter Virginia Woolf had the last words. Here's to the violent jolt of the capital, though it may appear richmondian under snow! And here's to my favourite poet and his exquisite haiku one night last week, magically flowing off his sleeping lips at a time when I could catch it:

It seems as white as snow
But if you brush it
It jingles like silver.

the rumors are true: only one gent left for all them ladies Tweet

ladies & gent, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

spotted, and tried: kaffeine, 66 great titchfield street, london Tweet

I've already had the pleasure of consuming yummy concoctions from Kaffeine, both on the premises and at home, but only now did I get round to capturing a bit more of it for you. With sweet staff, perfect coffee, minimalist design, the best savory muffins yet (wait, even sweet ones to my taste!) and a pleasant and considerate owner whose wife is about to give birth in three weeks, I couldn't recommend this cafe more. Getting so many things right makes Kaffeine number one for me at this point in Central London, neatly ahead first line Flat White and Milk Bar, and waaay ahead second line Cilantro, Lantana, Fernandez & Wells, Princi, Monmouth and Scandinavian Kitchen. If nothing else, Kaffeine turned this muffin-hater into a muffin- and muffin-baking-aficionado with one bite alone, and sold her the Square Mile coffee that rightly lives up to its fame—silky, pricey, and damn hard to buy, what's not to like? I wish it was earlier in the day so I could brew some and get baking on my trip to muffin-mastery.


Created with flickr slideshow.

back to school Tweet

After a holiday (staycation?!) of aimlessly pottering about the house waiting for our colds to evaporate, sleeping like there's no afterlife, watching a movie nearly every day, consuming large quantities of premium foods and drinks and staying the hell away from clocks, business thoughts, and expensive trips abroad, it comes as no surprise that we opted for a slow start. Incidentally, it allows for the reinvigoration of this blog and much needed shopping escapades that see me wearing school shoes (though a lady my mother's age fell in love with their 1920s look, rather) and brand new jeans of no obvious holes. Here's wishing that going into 5th gear is a rare and wise option rather than the state of affairs in 2010, and that time to live, dream, learn, make real things and document all that play together nicely again.

school shoes, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

the promise of spring Tweet

In our travels today we came about a very delicate and fresh, if inappropriate display of spring, a pot of muscari that has found a new home with us (funny that!). While the flowers have always fascinated me and I'm looking forward to the contrast between them and the forecasted snow, my biggest win are the bulbs: years and years of grape hyacinths to come, bulbs sprouting more bulbs until all our pots are blue like the skies of said spring. Though considering our other bulbs didn't bother with any blooms last year, we might equally end up with pots no bluer than grass, just more diverse in their foliage. Until mother nature messes up with them, however, the future stays blue in my head. This blue.

muscari, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.