Blink and you’ll miss it. That’s 2020 for me – and for you, too, I imagine. (I can’t be the only one looking at a sea of blank squares on the calendar and wondering how… More
[veuillez défiler vers le bas pour la version française] Which of a pâtisserie’s many treats takes your fancy? A tangy tarte au citron? A chocolate éclair, erupting with creamy crème pâtissière? Me? Almost every time, I’ll plump for a raspberry tart: a delectable combination of crumbly, sweet pastry, smooth crème pâtissière and juicy raspberries, topped with a dusting of icing sugar or a jelly glaze.
[veuillez défiler vers le bas pour la version française] Coconut slice is a recipe I’ve turned to a few times in recent weeks, partly because it’s very tasty (one slice quickly becomes two in this house) and partly because it doesn’t involve flour (which is proving rather elusive right now). It’s my Gran’s recipe, but if it weren’t for my Dad craving a batch of coconut slice and asking my auntie for the recipe, this delicious treat would never have come onto my radar. Years later, it’s still a firm favourite. Enjoy!
Life as we know it has changed, almost beyond recognition, in the space of a few short weeks. Staying at home – day in, day out – and only venturing out for food supplies or exercise is strange. Seeing Cambridge sans tourists on said outings is stranger still. Like you, I have good days (which mostly involve baked goods, calls with family and friends and sunshine) and bad days (which tend to feature stress-inducing supermarket trips and runners who don’t seem to know what two metres looks like).
What a month it’s been. Exactly a month ago, I was admiring King Tut’s treasures at the Saatchi Gallery. Today, I’ve read a few chapters of Unnatural Causes, been on a rather brisk walk across Grantchester Meadows for my daily dose of exercise and eaten half a packet of Tangfastics. Pre-lockdown, I found some gems in Cambridge’s charity shops: Cheryl Strayed’s memoir Wild; The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion; Celeste Ng’s début Everything I Never Told You; The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith (aka J.K. Rowling); and Peter Crouch’s autobiography How to Be a Footballer. I also stocked up on books from Cambridge Central Library, and bought a copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd from Heffers (ahead of what turned out to be our first virtual book club). Wherever you are, I hope you’re keeping well. If you’re after some book recommendations to get you through the next few weeks, you’ve come to the right place.
Some months flew by; others crawled. (And now? The UK is virtually grinding to a halt and we’re down to our last six loo rolls. Not words I ever thought I’d type, it must be said.) I’ve spent some lovely evenings with work friends, including a delicious (and very reasonably priced) meal at Cookhouse Joe. I followed that particular meal up with a detour to Carnaby Street: their Christmas lights installation, a collaboration with Project Zero, was something else. Closer to home, Laurence and I (finally) went for food at The Blue Ball in Grantchester, saw the Fitzwilliam Museum’s Feast and Fast exhibition, and returned to the ADC Theatre for Footlights Spring Revue 2020: Crossed Wires.
When I think of Cornwall, I think of rugged cliffs, rocky inlets and coves, cream teas and crumbly fudge.
Often overlooked in favour of Northern Italy’s other big hitters (Florence, Milan and Venice, I’m looking at you), Bologna is an underrated gem which, dare I say it, I much preferred to its northerly neighbour, Florence.
Florence is synonymous with the Renaissance, and I’d wager most visitors to Florence venture to at least one of its museums to catch a glimpse of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus or Michelangelo’s David. Not us.
Once upon a time, Ostia was a thriving port city with over fifty thousand inhabitants and a buzzing social scene (a theatre, plus public baths and taverns aplenty). Over time, attention shifted to Portus – a harbour on the north of the River Tiber – and Civitavecchia – a city sixty-odd kilometres to the north-west of Rome. Trade in Ostia slowed, and the city fell into decline.
Rome took me by surprise, in a good way. I expected it to be busy – and it was, but not excessively so (travelling in shoulder season certainly helped). I expected it to be rainy, because the weather forecast looked dire for the few days we’d be there – but it was balmy. I expected it to expensive – and while I’m sure it can be, I found it wasn’t all that difficult to visit on the cheap.