Watch Out, There's a Hipster in Your Coffee!

I can't quite figure out how it came about. As my spoon cuts into the foam of my cappuccino and the cocoa constellation dissipates into the milky way of my cup, I look up across the packed out café and smile absent-mindedly. I vividly remember the turning point. At the turn of the millennium, the coffee revolution took us almost unawares and I welcomed it with open arms and a big kiss. In one swell swoop, it swept aside the shameless kettle and Nescafé combo, the gritty coffee pot at work whose treacle-like substance would be laced with lashes of full fat milk and a spoonful of sugar to tone the bitterness and general malevolence. The conservative coffee machine would not fare any better either if you were to self-proclaim coffee maestro. And tumble would the slightly higher-brow cafetière (French Press) that only ever had pride of place in those households that vacationed in France and Italy.

The London Coffee Festival 2015

At that point, coffee had ceased to be that monochrome, low budget, one-dimensional, nonchalant affair, black or white, one sugar, no sugar. Strong and you call it espresso like you're in the know. Weak and you call it Americano, once again if you want to flaunt your two words of Italian (three if we add 'pizza').

The London Coffee Festival

Coffee would be and it would be much more: a coffee named desire. Coffee was going to finally exist, express itself, albeit with attitude and a price tag that yells out indulgence. The Italian vocabulary would expand, and be re-invented should its linguistics become suddenly too limitative. Enter Frappuccino, the foam-at-the-mouth, shirty, expansive creation that makes the paltry espresso look like a size zero, deflated, monastic model. Savvy marketers gave themselves carte blanche to jazz up, sex up, amplify and yuppify coffee and make it indispensable under its new guises. Under the new paradigm, coffee became art creation, indulgence, a liquid brunch - and a neat, no-questions-asked multi-billion-dollar endeavour at the check-out.

The London Coffee Festival North 2016

The revolution would redefine coffee to the point where it would take a long sentence to define your drink to the barman, sorry the garçon, sorry the barista. Just so you can listen to yourself saying it in that all-knowing encompassing 'I'm in the club' way while the punter behind you in the queue quietly rehearses their prose before their grand finale, a brief, sudden verbal diarrhea of a purchasing interjection, cured by a fancy drink that costs a pretty penny.

The London Coffee Festival North 2016

Along with that morning white that suddenly became a long Ethiopian roast skinny decaff latte, the staff behind the counter would be redefined too. Enter Barista, full steam ahead, the busy body that is all arms, concentrated like a strong coffee! They whizz their magic within a few square feet perimeter on the other side of the counter like a storm in a teacup, precise, repetitive movements, attached to shiny expensive machinery with pumps and gaskets, and through the steam, the pulls and the metallic thuds, you would be forgiven to believe they're operating the Orient Express. They add the drama that you bought and paid for to your humble cup, tick boxes and scribble ancient codes on it, spin a thousand variants and combinations around coffee like they're the key to the Graal's safe, so many of them, they've morphed into algorithms. They froth up a hot beverage like a coiffeur teases a curl, with painstaking dedication. And if the impermanence of coffee art weren't fleetingly irrelevant, you have latte art to ponder about.




Now to the crux of the coffee is that correlation of late between fancy, jazzy, niche-market coffee from the café in the know, and the hipster. If we are to believe the hype, it's being percolated to us like it's non-negotiable.

Coffee has become art and science, especially in its percolation. Coffee is edgy: it has become the new absinthe. And in its heyday, absinthe was the poison of choice to the creative mind losing its mind in the buvettes of Montmartre. Modern creatives or wannabe creatives display their edge by drinking connoisseur coffee, a safer healthier option! They still look like the 1890s never quite went away, bar for the rolled-up sleeves displaying elaborate tattoos on their forearms. They wear the bushy beard, checkered shirts, suspenders. Unroll the sleeves to hide those arms, and the chaps wouldn't be out of place on those long-forgotten family photos circa 1890. But why, oh my, did fancy coffee and hipster become an item, if only for the fact that both are stuff of a fashion trend? I doubt I will eat my words on this one: fancy coffee will outlive the hipster but for the time being, chance is you'll spot them together like two coffee beans in a pod behind the counter, about to squeeze into that ristretto.




Hurry up if you wish to catch a gulp (sorry, a slice) of the action! The London Coffee Festival is taking place in a couple of days, 6th to 9th April, Old Truman Brewery, Brick Lane, London.

Rock the Twitterverse

In case you'd been missing me lately on the blog front - whether here at La Baguette Magique or a hop away at my sister site Mirabelle Design Inspiration, I wasn't actually that far off...

Because if you just can't get enough off me (awww!), surely you're aware that you can catch me in other ways: via Pinterest for my visual boards (I am a closet image bank curator!), and @baguettemagique + @MirabelleDesign for my thought-provoking tweets - and pertinent retweets like those included hereby.

'Fox Glance', photography by Sam Morris

National Geographic Photo Contest 2013 - 39 great images from the entries so far - http://t.co/fZ0BRyYabL #NatGeo pic.twitter.com/dBDCwXdxla
— In Focus (@in_focus) November 15, 2013

I am known to linger on Pinterest on some cosy late nights, lounging with my laptop in bed, chasing inspiration whenever the travel bug bites me: Hit the Road, Jack! is one great escape, or if you wanna hang around the cool crowds, Bohemian Like You does the trick! There's plenty more stylish boards to browse, like Personal Project Café (an ambition I hope to materialise!) or Palm Springs Hideaway, a sleek streamlined atmospheric design-led Southwestern theme with a Stepford Wife/ Barbie Doll vibe to it!

Meanwhile Twitter and I have shared an on-off affair for the last 4 years (sometimes off for weeks on end!) but a few months back I revived my interest in @baguettemagique as a platform to circulate my environmental/ ethical/ ecological information (gleaned via my numerous official newsletter subscriptions), and circulate petitions, most notably against ivory tusk trafficking, shark fin fishing, deforestation, palm oil cultures and animal cruelty.

Orangutan photography by Greenpeace

Holloween in Indonesia and Borneo. Damn #palmoil. Watch "Green". Humanity Strong Films http://t.co/0OpptJDyAi pic.twitter.com/YjbV5dcVs0
— Humanity Strong (@HumanityStrong) October 30, 2013

As a contrast to the seriousness and gravity of the information permeating @baguettemagique - and in pure Gemini duality (two-faced!) style - I decided to keep @MirabelleDesign as the light-hearted twin, solely concerned with all things culture, design, fashion, beauty and fluff... and some meditative quotes and personal insights (cos that's just the way I am!).

So then guys and gurls, I am never that far away from you after all! If I'm not here, you know where to find me.

'Exotic', oil on board by Chris Buzelli

New piece about "gaining access to exotic" funds for PLANSPONSOR magazine. "Exotic"/15"x20"/oil on board pic.twitter.com/S17L6ZgeC1
— Chris Buzelli (@buzelli) September 25, 2013

Cooling Down the Heat!

I have a confession to make: I have been on a meltdown. I've been indulging in all things fresh and cool and icy lately. I whipped up a wicked strawberry ice-cream from scratch, earlier in the season, which I served with a homemade warm dark chocolate sauce, the kind that makes you go 'ohhhh!' and 'ahhhh!' and not care if the world ends now!

Introducing the passion fruit gelato from my local café!

My mum made an apricot ice-cream last Sunday that was equally delish! And in between our homemade concoctions, I've had the odd cornetto, and the odd (the odd, haha!) gelato from my local café down the resort, from fig to coffee, from pistachio to passion fruit... With a terrace view to kill for - overlooking the beach cove. Who said life wasn't a beach?

P.S: I have another confession to make: homemade is best!

Hey, There is ONE Great Reason to Smile About!

OK, so NO you cannot change the world, but YES you can change YOUR world. You can change your world one step at a time, one habit at a time, one vision at a time, and make it a fairer place. Do your bit, recycle/ upcycle, reuse, go vegetarian/ vegan if only for one day a week, buy organic food whenever possible, grow your own fruit and veg, limit/ ban the use of chemicals at home, have principles as a consumer and stick to them (ex: not purchase bananas from banana republics, boycott unethical companies, never wear fur), pick up random plastic waste from the beach everytime you go for a walk (think of all those grateful sea creatures!), give a rescue pet a chance by adopting it, turn someone's junk into a treasure, get creative with those discarded wood pallets!

DIY Reclaimed pallet wood sign (pict source)

Swallow your vanity a notch and skip those designer coffees on the go served in styrofoam cups, and get extra mileage out of your existing mobile phone instead of rushing down the bandwagon to the latest all-singing all-dancing smartphone... Remember - what is trendy in the moment will be out of trend in the moment that follows (erm that's roughly within a week of purchase!).

Huh, I'm not asking you to be(come) boho, by the way - am I 'eck? Just to do your little bit by stretching slightly out of your comfort zone (no bungee jumping involved!) to show the planet that you DO care. I know you do.

And remember, a collective of little bits, that's a whole lot of a big bit! Ingenious!

Unlikely Friendship

I've struck an unlikely friendship with a retired lady neighbour of my parents. Her name is Janine and she is old enough to be my mum. Since living at my parents, I would occasionally bump into her in the street, we would say "Hello" and exchange the odd nicety, nothing less, nothing more. Her and I were poles apart.

Then back in September of last year, we got chatting in the street quite randomly. We poured our hearts out to each other about our lives as islanders and I found out how lonely and bored she feels here... Janine is from the city, independent, well-off, sophisticated, ultra-feminine and more acquainted with designer labels than plant tags. You get the picture: she is no country girl. She also happens to be married to a retired intrepid adventurer who made a living in the oil industry, from Scotland to Cameroon, from Mexico to Gabon, and it was her husband's idea (not hers!) to retire on the island, so he could indulge in boating, fishing, hunting and other earthly "pleasures"...

So far from the London buzz...

Recently Janine and I stumbled across each other again and we struck that unlikely friendship. It started off with a walk down the resort followed by a hot chocolate at the local café. But soon enough we agreed upon the fact that this sedate lifestyle was getting too much for us, and we needed to spice it up! Since then we have jumped in her VW Polo and taken to the roads less travelled of Corsica - at our peril, set that adrenaline rushing to the temples as we found out that quirky narrow mountain road abruptly turned into a piste and we had no other option than do a U turn in a tight portion of dirt track, wedged between a cliff face and a ravine.

We've ditched the sedate café for the trendy bar with deep carpets, lamé surfaces, dark corners, risqué beaux and fashionista waitresses, swaying gently to that pre-party ambient groove à la Ministry of Sound, clinked Champagne glasses, laughed dizzily and indulged in a glimpse of the lifestyle of the Housewives from Bravo! I can still picture Janine raising a perfect eyebrow from above her D&G glasses and pouting: "You have no idea how solo dining in a restaurant is soooo not fun!" And we exchanged that knowing look as high-profile culinary escapades are to be next on our list!

The Mercedes E-Class Coupé

Oh, I'm liking it. And I'm liking it much more than my bank manager as this burgeoning friendship promises to be high maintenance and a potential threat to my overdraft. But it takes my mind off my mundane preoccupations, and makes me indulge in a more shallow part of my personality. Janine and I have already planned to hit the top-end tourist hotspots when the weather hots up.

As she readjusted her designer clutch in the trendy bar, pensively admiring her French manicure, she leant towards me and casually added: "And for the occasion, we'll make sure that we hit the promenade in my other car, the coupé convertible". Talk about getting noticed in style! In preparation, maybe I should start giving Net-à-Porter a bit more of the attention it deserves... and worry about the cash later! Ahh, life is a breeze - a seabreeze even!

The (Late) Lowdown on London (Part 3)

So then what do I make out of my nine-day London city break? In an ideal world I might have made more of an adventure out of it rather than stick to the roads well travelled that span an area comprised between Covent Garden and Oxford Street but on this particular occasion I realised that I was more after a break than an actual city break.

I still managed to stretch my comfort zone to a long walk across The Mall and down The Embankment on that glorious Spring day, play the tourist with my latest digital camera in tow, massage my ego down Bond Street, pay Fenwick a visit and lose myself in the Britishness of Fortnum & Mason. I purchased some of my all-time favourite Charbonnel & Walker chocolates and Farrah toffee, succumbed to the joys of high tea served in plush tea rooms, treated myself to coffee & walnut cake - my favourite British delicacy. I sampled those already familiar little bits of (eye) candy that make Britannia what it stands for in my mind: well-packaged, delicate and exquisite. The devil was in the detail.

Down the line I even took the time to strike up lovely conversations with some lovely folks and even won a huge box of Thorntons chocolates from a random HSBC branch I was randomly walking past! These all made my day in their own special way!

London in a nutshell was a breath of fresh air for the city girl in me who had been living the rural island life for over two years now and who had been banging on about the buzz, the pulse, the vibe, the visual identity of the big city. I needed that. I needed to immerse myself in it, go crowd surfing, dizzily transported past tall elegant architectural buildings with things to notice, people to watch and a nod to familiar concepts from my career past: brand identity, retail theatre and consumer behaviour. Yeah as cliché as this may sound, you can take me out of marketing but you can't take marketing out of me!

The Covent Garden Academy of Flowers

The (Late) Lowdown on London (Part 2)

Sorry Mr Lou Reed but when in London I didn't "walk on the wild side". Rather I took the road well travelled. Staying so close to what the capital city has to offer in terms of "mainstream" action, I even had the luxury to be able to walk here, there and everywhere. No need for the Tube, for buses, carts or horses, yay!

This was one of the advantages about the Kingsley by Thistle Hotel, Bloomsbury Way. As you step out, you turn right and carry all the way up. Or you might nip to the back like I did and wander down the back streets in order to avoid the heavier traffic, past the British Museum, down Charlotte Street, and end up towards Harley Street (if vanity is your thing!). I actually had a bit of a field day down the Charlotte Street area, past the media agencies and advertising studios. That took me back years when I used to work in the industry.

As long as your London tastes are pretty tame, you will find the Kingsley Hotel to be at the heart of the action in relation to London's main shopping venues including Oxford Street and Covent Garden, museums (British Museum, Tate Britain) and entertaining hotspots (The West End). The beauty of it was that I could even nip back to the hotel during the day if I wanted to put my feet up for a while, change shoes, brew up a coffee or whatever tickled my fancy. This was no rock'n'roll city break, and this is probably why I got bored somehow!

In terms of refreshments taking you from AM to PM, there's only so many Starbucks, Prêt A Mangers and Costa Coffees you can handle. They have watered down the high street to saturation level and if you are telling me their expansionist mission has not yet reached its peak I scream!

On the retail front, some stores had me wobbly with anticipation but sadly didn't live up to my (somewhat inflated) expectations. Anthropologie (on Regent Street) was one of them. As much as I find the brand identity cool online, it fell pretty flat on the high street, in terms of store design and display. The wares looked lost in store. Interestingly I am told that Regent Street used to be a pretty exclusive shopping destination, once boasting an array of high-end one-of-a-kind flagship stores whereas now it seems to be nothing more than an extension of Oxford Street, pure and simple.

Kate Spade London (Covent Garden)

Talking of Oxford Street, I was left disappointed by another American brand that had me raving years ago when I first discovered it on a trip to Santa Barbara, CA: Urban Outfitters. The one on Oxford Street failed the test. The store design was a shambles and no wares actually caught my eye. I left empty-handed. Where are those cool vintage tee-shirts?

A trip to London wouldn't have been so without Liberty and Selfridges on the list. Liberty is still packed-full with style and character, despite my initial fears. Their stationery department is a treasure trove, and the iconic Liberty floral fabrics still have that magnetic hold on visitors.

Liberty's fresh flower stall

Selfridges is one big high-end shopping mecca, a house of mostly luxury brands that enabled me to get close and personal with the likes of Christian Louboutin and wonder what this is all about, unless you are planning to trade your looks as Belle de Jour... I wandered down the Tiffany aisle and then even treated myself to a deluxe microdermabrasion facial at Groom.

While I was at it, I even booked a hair colour from the Toni & Guy Academy (New Oxford Street) across from my hotel. I might as well have. The colour was fabulous and it made me feel good for the rest of my stay. (to be continued)

The (Late) Lowdown on London (Part 1)

Crikey, here is a piece I had planned to write on my return from London at the end of March! I got sidetracked somehow. I wish I had a valid excuse as to why I couldn't deliver the goods there and then rather than five months later, almost as an after-thought, but erm actually I don't have any excuses. Will you ever forgive me though?

There's probably a hidden message there somewhere. Sure there is. London was London, I just wasn't me for the whole nine days I was there. When I go to England, I go 'home' to Manchester, my hometown of 16 years. I just slip into that comfort zone, the familiar haunts, familiar faces, recapture memories and let my moods tickle my fancy.

London just isn't home. Nobody forced me to go to London, I just went along an idea I'd had with a girl friend of mine, Isabelle, and off we went.

The London I had experienced years ago had been exhilarating. The London I experienced back in March was... erm flat boring. I wanted excitement. I imagine the lack of it was a bit like how an out-of-body experience must feel: you are somewhere else but know you are not supposed to be there, your heart's not in it.

I stayed in luxury in a Bloomsbury hotel, but I'd had more fun times staying in grotty B&Bs those years back. Back then London was full of opportunities and possibilities to me. Now there was nothing it could offer me that I was looking for. No happiness, no satisfaction. No contentment. I tried to amuse myself with the London shopping experience, but once the initial awe had subsided after I stepped into Selfridges and Bond Street, I couldn't help but feel lonely, feel at odds with it all.

I became moody. I didn't like my own company anymore. I started missing people and that wasn't a good sign. Isabelle and I who should have got on like a house on fire, ended up avoiding each other and go our separate ways. As much as I love and cherish England, as much as I am a fan of London, on this occasion I wanted to go home.

Then as soon as I landed back on French soil, I got busy, I got caught up in life... Better, faster, shinier things to do and experience I guess than finalise that post about London... I put the blog on hold. I understand now that I had to come full circle before I could come to terms with that journey. As much as a geographical trip, it had been a personal journey, a life journey. I was lost and it took me five months to refocus my energy and determine where I stand in life. I am in a better place today and there is no stopping me! (to be continued)

End of Season

The season was brief this year, 5 weeks if that, from mid-July. Hordes of tourists pouring onto every beach, every coastline path, every scenic spot, camper vans, motorbikes, family cars converging towards every resort across the island, traffic jams, heatwave, full-on madness.

Us year-long residents get caught into that big holiday buzz that gives off that artificial happy vibe although we are not part of it. Tourists and residents glide past each other, each to their own with no or little interaction unless you are a tourist-based service provider. The buzz just ceases as quickly as it fused in the first place. A mirage all to itself.

The vast majority of tourists and visitors are now gone, and it feels eerily silent. Not that we felt part of the buzz in the first place as I said, just that we got caught in it through our daily lives. To me it feels like I have been beached. They've all gone back to the reality of modern urban life, their hectic lifestyle in the city, their careers, their fast-paced social activities that I can't help but embellish in my mind and envy... Up in the sticks on the island I feel totally out of it, totally left out, like I am missing something, like I am stuck in a bubble.

I am a city girl at heart who happens to live on an island. I've been here for two and a half years now and I am still adjusting. Island life deserves a blogpost all to itself and I will let out some steam about it in the coming weeks, no doubt.

Tourists love it: the hot weather, the profusion of beaches, water sports, trendy bars and clubs, music festivals, tanned chicks with foreign accents strolling past wearing little more than insouciance, a heady cocktail of sea, sex and sun. They love it so much that they don't wanna leave, but they always do though. City life beckons. They come here for the good times, but don't necessarily want to know about the reality of it 365 days a year, when you lot end up finding yourself stuck with that same old clique of locals, going round in circles in your head and in your car (it's an island, man!), the dragging October-March months that cut you off the rest of the world. The internet might be a godsend but it is hardly a substitute for life...

Yeah people do get lonely in cities, I agree. Now how about lonely in the countryside, I'm asking you? Lonely sat on that great stretch of sandy beach, lonely standing on that mountaintop with commanding views across the island, lonely down that bucolic forest path, in the middle of that charming village square, in your lovely little house up the hill...

Every week-end I get invited to parties and I turn most of them down. Not sure what the reason for the parties is, there is usually no birthday nor engagement nor divorce nor job promotion in sight, nothing worth celebrating. It's more to do with people wanting to get together, to kill time, forget their problems with booze and try to find themselves in this common denominator of solitude. There is an air of defeat about. Some individuals have indulged for so long now that they are paying the price and are well on their way of losing the plot altogether. One or two even look like they have never come down since ten solstices ago. Some believe they are still in Koh Phi Phi. One Iggy Pop-lookalike even calls himself a guru. It's unnerving. This is not my scene. I choose life.

I know some natives old enough to be my parents who have spent their whole lives silently suffering solitude and physical and mental isolation. They tell me no-one can get used to this, so it's best to just resign oneself to the idea, yet they are incapable of locking that front door one last time and board the next mainland ferry once and for all to experience something else out of life!

As for me, I'm gonna do something about it. I have a plan.

March 2012 - Five Random Faves (Part 3)

Fave #3: Get the London look without Kate Moss fluttering her Rimmel lashes at you, oh no!

From London with Love, how else?

As we speak, La Baguette should be starting to think about packing up those bags as we are due in the Big Smog for 14th March for a 9-day stay with a friend of mine, Isabelle.

Last time I'd had a proper London break was almost exactly one decade ago (2002! Blimey, time flies!). I'd managed to pack in some cultural visits (Tate Modern, the definite highlight to my trip, and bits of the National Gallery) interspersed with long walks around the Covent Garden area enjoying the balmy afternoons between cappuccinos and sweet treats, and taking the pulse of a capital city that has kept its fashion and cultural edge in check.

From London with Love

I'd also made what became some of my wisest shopping purchases: a cool top from Esprit, heavenly E'spa Spafresh, courier bag from Gap and pink sunglasses from Nine West that were to become my all-time favourites and have lasted me to this day for only a couple of tenners! Winner!

It goes without saying that London is more than a museum and shopping destination: it is also a very atmospheric city, that marries tradition and avant-garde, whether in architecture, design, style or everyday life. It is a place of great fascination, a trend-setter and ever young, like Dorian Gray without the side effects! Can't wait to go back! (to be continued)

January 2012 - Five Random Faves (Part 4)

Fave #4: Getting old gracefully with Converse!

Some gentlemen age gracefully. Take George Clooney. What else?



George Clooney per Nespresso: il backstage del nuovo spot from Caterina di Iorgi on Vimeo.

Some products age gracefully. Take the Chuck Taylor All Star Converse sneakers that were never meant to stay prim and proper. In fact, the more they get battered with age and use, the better they look, and the more mileage they clock, the more rock 'n' roll street cred they get. Just check this well-travelled pair, now totally rain-washed, with two careless owners to boot, not quite destined for the bin just yet despite being holey in different places. Kurt Cobain would have been proud! (to be continued)

Ill-Fated Journeys (Part 2)

I set off on the second leg of my journey at night fall, slightly apprehensive. Yep, some of us call it a gut feeling. It seemed that everything was too good to be true. I tried brushing off any fear or self-doubt, and just place my trust in the birthday friend who should have been wise enough to ensure his guests had the basic information they needed in order to attend his party, as in where and when. Hmm... And the basic information in my possession was as vague as the promise of a lottery win.

'Winter Morning in Corte, Corsica', by Patrick Morand

I got to Corte at 7:00pm. I had two options: either head for the old fortified town and its array of steep narrow streets or take a more conservative approach via the university quarters. I was only trying to be practical: parking areas would be more readily available in the new town than the old, also I assumed that the pulse of the town would resonate off the student area like it does - let's say - in Manchester, UK (my former stomping ground). How wrong could I be! It looked eerily quiet and by then I was becoming too worried about that party to even search further for that elusive student life and student bars I had heard about.

Last time I had been in Corte was probably two decades ago, in the Summer, on a quick two-hour tourist tour of the citadel with my parents and brother. Now it was a different kettle of fish: on my own on a Saturday night, all dressed up and with that increasing feeling that I had been taken for a ride. Or at least that's the way it felt to me. I tried ringing my birthday mate and all I got was his voicemail. I tried ringing his best mate and then again I was faced with a frustrating recorded message. I hanged up.

'See No Evil', Photographic Journal by Ben Merrington, via Tumblr

Sat alone in one's car facing some battered iron fence with a row of austere-looking student halls stretching at the back was probably the last sight one would contemplate on a Saturday night. I rang my parents to say everything was ok, I was about to join the party. I had to save face. I rang back the birthday boy, not once but three or four times, left voicemails, then launched into a frenzy of texts.  By then one hour had painfully elapsed. I was feeling the cold from the dropping temperatures. I was feeling hungry too. All of a sudden the whole party scenario seemed foolish.

Then I got annoyed. I felt like I had been stood up. I felt like I should have asked more questions rather than blindfully place trust into someone who had the reputation for being a happy-go-lucky scatter-brain. The situation was totally uncool. The party was over. (to be continued)

Ill-Fated Journeys (Part 1)

Sometimes you wonder why you bother... You'd looked forward to it, you'd got it all planned out (or so you thought at the time!), set off on your journey, and then... And then there's that last-minute glitch, that skid into the twilight zone, a forced foray into a parallel universe. A case of 'that thing' that had eluded you all the way, that you'd overlooked somehow and that was gonna bring unplanned consequences to your physical and metaphorical journey, taking you from the high-speed motorway to the rocky tracks... An ill-fated journey, that's it! Which is actually what happened to me last night, and don't you giggle, because this could even happen to you!

Playing happy families with Richard Perez, aka Skinny Ships

So here we are... One of my mates was celebrating his 28th. Mind you, let me rephrase it. One of my mates had been coaxed into celebrating his 28th. By nature our guy doesn't like celebrating his own birthday(s), although he's partial to gatecrashing other people's parties. Human nature, eh! But that's not our point. On Friday last thing, our mate had loosely told me - almost under duress - that his 'unwanted' birthday party would take place in Corte, Central Corsica.

It was understood we would all meet up down the bars there on Saturday night and party on from there. This was as much information I was gonna get but, used to my friend's mindset, I was satisfied enough. I told him casually that I would ring him closer to the time to check the finer details. And there we parted off.

The writing's on the wall... Illustration by Richard Perez via Urban Graphic

Yesterday (Saturday), I had a lie-in, then got ready for my 2-hour journey across the mountains. I packed a bag, although I had strictly no idea about where I would spend the night... Yet I didn't quite fancy the idea of an all-nighter. I spent some time in the bathroom fixing my hair, slapping creams on, trying on brand new clothes I'd bought months ago but never got round to wear. I felt great! Maybe I should have double-checked the meaning of the lunar calendar I'd casually flicked through at work: something about a knot in Mercury... Mercury, my ruling planet as a Gemini. With a looming full moon to boot... Astrologers would have called this an ill-fated journey in the making!

I threw caution to the wind, drove down to Bastia, stopped over for a couple of hours, treated myself to the salon, bought card and fancy gel pens, breezed down to the Café Napoléon for a good old-fashioned cuppa, while I overstretched my calligraphic skills to pen one of my poems in Nat-fashion-styley to the birthday boy! (to be continued)

Hop & Shop in Candy Shades!

A couple of weeks ago I took my mum to Manchester (U.K.) on a four-day trip packed full with appointments and commitments, but we managed to squeeze a spot of shopping in between!

The mugs are from John Lewis

We visited two familiar retail haunts which also rate high as personal favourites: John Lewis (Cheadle) and Kendals (where my mum took advantage of the amazing sale to invest in Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein nightwear for my dad). I took my mum to Lakeland (Handforth), the British kitchen domestics equivalent to Mathon (the Mathon catalogue is virtually my mum's bedside read!). She loved it there in Lakeland, and amongst other items, purchased individual 1950s style enamel oblong pie dishes, with the promise of culinary delights to come!

We whizzed down to Sainsburys to stock up on crumpets, custard creams, golden syrup, cake decorations, tea cakes, Battenberg cake, organic white tea and we even pushed the button further by purchasing... flour! This is in fact so that I can recreate the 'perfect' Victorian Sponge back in Corsica using the most appropriate ingredients! How British was that for a shopping list, by the way!

Every cloud (made of chocolate) has a silver lining!

Our tight timetable was such that there wasn't any time left for wandering or exploring further shopping venues (apart from the obligatory trips down to the local DIY store as this is developed further down this article). Meanwhile I had been looking forward to a cake shop & tea parlour in West Didsbury called And The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon which I had found out about via Twitter, but had to cross it off our list as we were defeated by time... Instead we stumbled across a Costa Coffee down the Altrincham high street and that one had to do!

To be fair, it would have been nice to add an extra couple of days to our schedule and dedicate that extra time purely to shop and treats, but with a new job looming on the horizon of our planned return date, this would have been impossible for me to honour.

Coconut ice from John Lewis

We stayed at The Village Hotel Cheadle, which I will talk about in more detail in my next article. Cheadle is a Stockport suburb located in South Manchester, and the hotel was a handy base for our to-ing and fro-ing around the Cheshire fringes of Timperley-Altrincham-Handforth for most of my scheduled appointments. Last but not least, our Cheadle base was also within accessible radius of my little house which I am currently renting out via a property agent.

My mum and I had taken advantage of the fact that the tenancy had come to an end, in order to go down to the house for inspection, replace a couple of bathroom fixtures, and add a few touches to the property to make it even cosier. We also took up the task of tidying the garden: three bins worth of cuttings, dead leaves, overgrown branches and weeds! Although my elderly tenant looked after the house beautifully, the garden clearly wasn't her cup of tea, although I had offered her (via the agency) the services of a gardener to help her keep on top of it but she had declined...

Easy does it at John Lewis!

Anyway I'll let you swoon over a small selection of the sweet nothings in candy shades that my mum and I brought back from the UK (further evidenced by the excess luggage charge that we incurred from the EasyJet desk on the day of departure)... But in the end, it was all good and we loved every minute of it! Now I can't wait to return, if only for the shopping fix which I will never get out of my system, especially now as a 'recluse' islander in the Med, in a place that is a galaxy away from the fast-lane premium shopping experience that any major UK city hands you over on a plate!

On these pictures I am sure you'll agree that not only are the sugary colours covetable, but those amongst us with a soft spot for packaging design, typefaces and typesetting will be equally sensitive to the charms they exude. Looks so good, you don't want to spoil the fun by cracking open the boxes to raid their contents!

Ready for Fathers Day!

So French yet so British!

Our candy theme all the way down to menswear!

(B)Rambling On (Part 1)

When you have been a hardcore urbanite all of your life - except for the last 17 months - chance is, the countryside will still hold some secrets to you and still take you by surprise. No disrespect, but my (rather remote and sedate) experience of the countryside for the 16 years preceding the last 17 months (are you still following me, btw?) erred (tottered) on the posh side, and I shall only drop the name: Cheshire.

Property for sale in Prestbury, Cheshire (POA), at Jackson-Stops & Staff

'Nuff said, I lived on the wrong side of the Cheshire county border, yet only a hop away from the coveted plush pads of Hale & Hale Barns, Knutsford, Dunham Massey, Woodford and Alderley Edge. I'll bypass Wilmslow on this one, as Wilmslow is too obvious an option, Wilmslow is brash and nouveau riche (in my opinion). Anyway, the Cheshire countryside I was aware of was nothing to do with the deep, middle-of-nowhere, muddy, dusty, back-breaking farming heartland countryside, I must concede. Rather it was Manchester's extended Southbound spread of charming little satellite towns and villages flirting with the outskirts of suburbia and stretching just over the green belt that circumnavigates our marvelous Northern city.

Me and my mates would nip across to Cheshire like one would nip down the corner shop, whenever we felt like it, as a pick-me-up, with no particular reason, for a wander mostly or even in search of lifestyle inspiration. We 'targeted' the trendy bars (where we liked to be seen), quintessentially English pubs (where we felt cosy in Winter), and stylish restaurants (only if we felt flush that month!).

Sweet talking at The Rams Head, in Disley

You get it, we'd nip across to Cheshire mostly to kid ourselves, pretend we were one of them, and try blending in with the beautiful crowds, even passing judgement like only a bunch of girls would, from the safety of their group and assurance gained after that first glass of wine: 'That one over there, she can't be from round here, you can tell from that dress, and look at that hair, is she desperate or what?' - we'd quip with a frown (as if we shouldn't have known better ourselves!) and then we'd giggle, like a bunch of silly teenage girls, 30 going on 13!

I slummed it a notch when taking Tickle to the parks and country parks of Cheshire (mainly Styal and Dunham Massey), on those long lazy Summer week-ends, even later in season. I felt safe, rested and incredibly inspired there, cut off from the stress of the city. I'd go for a drive down the narrow country lanes of Cheshire, just to reconnect with myself and with my thoughts. I'd clear my head, solve problems, find brief contentment. Me and a friend would sometimes make a whole day out of our Cheshire trip, visit the odd boutique and succumb to purchase temptation, visit an antiques dealer for inspiration, on a whim and on a daydream, then down to the garden centre, or the local tea room for a treat.

'Dunham Massey Mill in the Snow', by © Ed O'Keeffe Photography

What fascinated us was that those 'little towns in the country' boasted virtually all the conveniences of the bigger towns (maybe minus good transportation links), with the added advantage of quality, originality and exclusivity, which in turn resulted in the distinct disadvantage of the price tag. When down in Knutsford, which virtually consists of two parallel and narrow high streets that you can walk up and down in less than ten minutes (excluding window-shopping), we'd marvel at those designer kitchen showrooms, glamorous hair and beauty salons, trendy wine bars and bijou designer boutiques.

At the estate agents windows, we'd coo at the rows of noughts sitting within the price of the 'For Sale' properties from the Cheshire set. We'd wow past those handkerchief-sized character cottages with their neat topiary box hedges, doll-house picket fence and expensive-looking plant tubs from Heal's or Barton Grange, with elaborate colourful arrangements spilling out of them. Those houses had kerb appeal by the bucket-load.

Source: Marie Claire Maison

We'd think, we'd hope: 'One day, it will be me!' We'd live the daydream while we were there, then head home and land back into the reality of our financial situations... Anyway this was the kind of countryside we liked: polished, civilised, designer-led... and townie. And fake - let's admit it. (to be continued)

On and Off the Magic Milky Way (Part 2)

Within the wider dairy produce arena, I was also a Rachel's Organic and Yeo Valley Organic customer (two well-established UK organic dairy brands fondly remembered for their creamy yoghurts and scrumptious yet simple desserts. Obviously if I were still living in England right this moment, I wouldn't put the sentences in the past like this just isn't true anymore. If still in England I would indeed still purchase those brands as I am totally sold to their ethics, philosophy and quality produce.

Back to our UK years, if no organic milk was available from the store, I would reluctantly relent to the mass-produced non-organic standard alternative, and would (more happily) compromise with a couple of tins of Carnation milk, as the processed (evaporated) milk somewhat tastes nicer than standard milk, it tastes like caramel to me. What I would do with Carnation was cut it with a third water, before heating up in a pan for my daily breakfast muesli (Alpen, occasionally Dorset Cereals and even posher ones if I felt flush, or simply stick to Sainsbury's own continental style which was decent enough).

So yes, I consumed my muesli in a very continental way, blended with chocolate-flavoured hot milk (although this might just be my version of continental, I'm not quite sure, just that I can't stand the taste of milk on its own, and simply abhor cold milk - and yes I am daring to dedicate an article to milk while cultivating so many particularities about it!). The girl is strange.

Dairy high: Victoria Sandwich

With Carnation evaporated milk and its caramel undertones, the issue of cow welfare would be sneakily shifted to the back of my mind, to the back burner. Cow welfare? What is that strange girl on about? Oh yes, in the context of industrial farming, when you taste that mass-produced standard milk whose carton price has been squeezed even tighter by the notorious supermarket purchasing lobbies at the expense of the producer's profit margins and subsistence, and to give the end-consumer that elusive feeling that they are making a bargain while the one winner really is the retail chain, the dairy producer has no other option than turn to even cheaper feed for his cows and inflict more crammed living conditions onto them, while increasing his milk quotas, and that means demanding an even higher return on investment from the herd. Therefore expect a higher, faster, more intensive milk turnover with all the consequences that go along. Some French dairy producers push the boat even further by moving their production altogether to cheaper countries like Romania, spelling an even harsher life for the cows.

The objective is for the dairy cow to produce more milk and be milked round-the-clock to exhaustion, until both the milk and the animal's life have drained out! This gives the idiom 'milking it' its powerful significance. Cows develop a weakened immune system despite the battery of antibiotics that they are subjected to, many develop lameness. Besides their over-worked udders are susceptible to mastitis (sores, pus, blisters) that not only cause the cow terrible discomfort, but also run the added risk of discharge into the actual milk output, as Heather Mills (ex-Mrs Paul McCartney) had highlighted to the press once.

The cow's ultimate reward for that thankless life of labour is to have its already shortened life taken away while still a few years away from 'retirement', with the ultimate stress of the abattoir lottery (some slaughterhouses being less 'humane' to the animals on death row than others, shall we say...). And at the end of the line, that's our dairy cow ending up hacked, chopped, filleted and minced to pieces. From a froth of hot milk sitting nicely onto your cappuccino, all the way down the food chain to that steak fighting the French fries for space on your plate, that's all in one day's work when you are a cow!

Life as a standard non-organic mass-production dairy cow is pretty bleak, as we've just seen: the cow as a relentless milk factory on legs with basic - even miserable - life conditions, whose life ends up as a meat factory, the four legs up. This is basically and simplistically the picture, and it would be naive for the consumer to assume otherwise. I too used to kid myself until recently that 'maybe oh so maybe' dairy cows got spared the gun and simply produced milk at a leisurely pace, after their daily wander in some lush postcard-perfect clover-rich pasture, all in all enjoying a long and merry life before naturally dying of old age...

Dairy high: Pasticciu (Corsican custard speciality)

Enters the next instalment in our mass-production milk saga, relayed this time by UK charity WSPA (World Society for the Protection of Animals) via its punchily energetic and innovative Not In My Cuppa campaign fighting proposals for the planned controversial super-mega Nocton dairy farm in Lincolnshire (UK) that would have spelled further doom for the cows in the name of higher yield. The original proposal was for the mega dairy to house 8,100 battery cows, with a view to produce at least 38 million litres of industrial milk a year (19,300 pints per cow per year), enough for 2.5 billion cups of tea, according to The Soil Association. The mind boggles! Then the proposal was revised down to 3,770 cows, before the plans were withdrawn in February 2011. It's a victory and I am personally delighted! Yet Not In My Cuppa campaigners and supporters need to remain vigilant as similar proposals could spring up again in future.

Of course organically-certified dairy cows are not spared the fate of turning into meat chops. But at least - in principle, and I do weigh those words carefully - they are guaranteed more acceptable welfare conditions than their industrial-farming counterparts. Meanwhile as consumers we have the power to vote with our feet.

Leading by example: London's Kaffeine only uses organic milk

Thus for our cappuccino or cream tea, would we not be prepared to pay that little extra and demand from our favourite cafés to switch to organic milk alongside us, in order not only to safeguard our conscience but ultimately the dairy cows living conditions, and the incidence these conditions have on the quality and taste of the milk? Milk from miserable, overworked, weakened, exploited cows: no way! Milk from happier, less-crowded, better-fed, better-looked-after cows: yes please, we're in! I'll put the kettle on right away!

Further resources:

• The Soil Association, a UK charity campaigning for environmentally-friendly farming practices
• WSPA (World Society for the Protection of Animals), the world’s largest alliance of humane societies and animal protection organisations, representing over 1000 member societies in more than 150 countries, with consultative status at the United Nations and the Council of Europe
• CIWF (Compassion In World Farming), the leading farm animal welfare charity.

On and Off the Magic Milky Way (Part 1)

Here is a four-letter word that is so part of our lives that we almost forget it's there. Rest assured, that four-letter word is not offensive, it is pretty safe and friendly too, if not essential - to most of us. It is a basic food commodity, just like eggs, bread, 'tatties', pasta, rice, sugar, tea or coffee.

Sweet Paul's Strawberry Shake (Spring 2011): click image for recipe

It forms an essential part of the non-vegan diet, consumed in its simplest unadulterated form with the breakfast bowl of porridge, cornflakes or muesli. Yes, that four-letter word is milk. And once we start skimming beyond its surface, we start to discover the complexities of an otherwise easy-going life companion.

Milk is available not only in its liquid form (as whole i.e. full-fat, semi-skimmed or skimmed), or a thicker richer stickier form (as condensed or evaporated, a must for cheesecakes, banana banoffee pies, and generally to achieve creamier puddings), or in powdered form that is reconstituted by adding water. Milk is available either fresh (arguably the best, yet with a shorter shelf life and the necessity to keep it refrigerated at all times), or pasteurised/ UHT (Ultra-Heat Treated) for that guarantee of a longer shelf life (at least while the container remains unopened).

Sweetapolita's 'Inside-Out Neapolitan Layer Cake'

In certain countries like the UK, milk is still home-delivered early each morning by the milkman from the local dairy, a tradition and convenience now sadly losing its mojo, especially in towns and cities where the competition and market penetration from the supermarket chains has become fiercer than ever, and this despite the fact that milkmen have diversified their activities with the provision of other dairy products, fruit juices, eggs and even bread: breakfast ingredients par excellence delivered to your doorstep!

Milk comes in a glass or plastic bottle, in a brick, in a tin or - for those of us lucky enough to trace it back to the source, from the cow's udder. Although mind you, milk is not solely restricted to the cows. That would be disregarding other mammals, like the goat, and those which too breastfeed their youngs but whose milk is not channelled down the humain food chain for human consumption (cat milk anyone?). There are other types of milk out there which have opened up new horizons to our vegan friends: soy milk, almond milk, coconut milk, etc.

The Design Observer Group, 'A Collection of Vintage Cheese Labels'

Back to our cow's milk, it is also available processed into dairy products: butter, spreads, cheese, yoghurt, fromage frais, custard, cream (single, double, whipped, clotted), ice-creams and shakes, or used as a key-ingredient in a number of desserts, chocolate bars, sauces and savoury dishes (gratins, mashes), without forgetting our hot drink fixes in the form of cappuccinos, lattes, macchiatos, hot chocolates and café mochas which simply wouldn't be so without their milk addition... You got it, milk is everywhere and trying to avoid it altogether is no mean feat: just ask a vegan once they step out of the safety of their home in search of ingredients or an eaterie that caters for their needs...

With its high calcium content, milk is recognised as a nutritive and healthy option by nutritionists. The recommended milk intake assists children in their growth, it benefits adults too by assisting them in taking care of their teeth and bones, and is said to limit the effects of osteoporosis in later life. It is however fatty and those seeking to reduce a high cholesterol level will resort to the semi-skimmed or skimmed version, although moving to skinny lattes after years of indulgent full fat lattes might take a little while.

Source: Plan59

Nevertheless detractors claim that cow's milk is only directly beneficial to its calves as it is designed to feed them first and foremost, just like human breast milk is designed for human babies. We cannot argue on these laws of nature. However in Part 2, I will have the opportunity to touch on the ethics of dairy farming.

Oh, and one last 'detail', actually the detail that prompted me to write this article: milk may be purchased either as organic or standard (i.e. non-organic). Ten years ago sourcing organic milk across all four major UK supermarket chains (Tesco, Sainsbury's, Asda/ Walmart, Morrisons), upmarket food chains (M&S, Waitrose etc.) and down the high street grocers and delis, was no mean feat...  

Thankfully I was able to source organic British milk from my local Sainsbury's (Cheadle, Stockport) for most of the last decade (despite single brand exclusivity, with limited supplies at times, or stocks running out altogether, forcing me to switch to non-organic. The one organic milk brand that sticks to my mind throughout the last decade as a staple favourite on my shopping list was Moo (how quirky is that for a brand!). (to be continued)