Times Are Changing

Awhile back I discovered that my friend Henry, a pianist from Hong Kong, is a huge food lover. And since he's been living in London for over half a decade, he has often tipped me on good restaurants to try and the like. Being the only male Chinese pianist at the Academy who also happens to tell funny jokes now and then makes him quite popular among the swarm of lady pianists.

Last weekend, Henry invited myself and a few other girls to his flat for dinner. He made one of my favourite Chinese dishes, dong po rou, the trademark dish of Hangzhou and named after revered Song Dynasty poet, artist and calligrapher Su Dongpo. Braised pork belly -- yummy!

The girls and I traveled to his flat at Canary Wharf, and as we got off the tube we received a phone call from him asking where we were -- the food was getting cold. We informed him that we were almost there, and told him to set the table and fill the rice bowls so we'll be ready to eat. Upon arriving at the flat, Henry and his flatmate 'Kong' (like Hong Kong, without the Hong) were bustling in the kitchen, scrambling to get dinner ready...while we ladies sat in the living room nonchalantly chatting. We might as well have been smoking pipes and talking politics. As we sat down to eat, Henry criticized his cooking like a properly modest Chinese woman. We talked and laughed, whilst shoving rice into our mouths and listened to Henry and Kong argue like an old married couple. They assure us they're not gay. Shrug. You never know with male musicians.

Now all we need is for men to give birth! Just kidding, they needn't be anymore confused than they already are.

I Heart Jurowski

Vladimir Jurowski is my new obsession. I heard him conduct the London Philharmonic tonight, and the Prokofiev Fourth Symphony was amazing. He is so intelligent, precise, wild but tender -- and he gets what he wants with the orchestra. The non-musician beside me kept checking the time, yawning, and wiggling in his seat which was rather funny, but no matter -- I was fixated on Jurowski!

I wonder if he's on Facebook, ha. Then I will join.

Vladimir Jurowski

My Heart's Delight

I lunched with a couple of pianists at Pied à Terre, and felt completely elated by the food. We had a wonderful time eating, talking, laughing.

Smoked Salmon Rolls with Pumpkin Cream Profiteroles

Nocellara del Belice Olives, Sicily

Confit Kid with Grelot Onions, Ragout of Mousserons, Thyme and Bacon Foam

Slow Cooked Pork Belly with Potato Gratin, Dutch Carrot Purée, Roasted Baby Carrots and Pommery Mustard Sauce

Apricot Bavarois with Caramelised Pistachios, Apricot and Sauternes Purée and Lemon Thyme Ice Cream

Marshmallow with Passion Fruit Cream and Rosemary, sample of the Petits fours

From Pied à Terre to Hamburger Union: Henry was not satisfied with the petite portions of our lunch. Gourmands are still men, after all. Here he is inhaling a Double Cheeseburger.

Che-ling, Taiwanese pianist, and I at Hamburger Union

Voted London's Coffee House of the Year, Café Vergnano 1882 serves a nice machiatto.

Queues, Rules, and Sandwiches Anyone?

Unmistakably English is the queue. That is a line-up. But it is not called a line-up, because it is a queue which can only be found in this nation -- that is to say, queues in this nation are especially long. One must queue for hours to complete even the simplest task, and people seem to accept this fact as life and patiently wait in queues that could easily stretch across the Atlantic.

Orwell once said, "One has only to look at their [the English] methods of town planning and water supply, their obstinate clinging to everything that is out of date and a nuisance, a spelling system that defies analysis, and a system of weights and measures that is intelligible only to the compilers of arithmetic books, to see how little they care about mere efficiency."

Hey, what did I say about hot and cold water coming out of separate faucets!

Secondly, the English adhere to rules of authority with stiff and religious conviction. They do not welcome any challenge to established rules, and to request any exception to the rule results only in having the original rule quoted back in a dismissive tone. One is expected to fully cooperate at all times, and if you don't like it, you know where to stick it.

And yes -- sandwiches, sandwiches, sandwiches. The English love their sandwiches, stuffed with rocket, prawns, avocado, bacon, cheddar, you name it. Grocery stores stock entire walls of sandwiches, tube stations sell sandwiches, Pret the sandwich chain appears on every corner -- one cannot avoid them, sandwiches are everything to everyone, everywhere. Admittedly, they are pretty tasty.

England is also perhaps the most class-ridden country there is. It is the land of snobbery and the privileged, old and silly money, boarding school and nannies. But the nation values its democracy and democracy is perhaps one of the few things in this country that is not a fraud. Along with patriotism. Perhaps true democracy can exist because England is not particularly a philosophizing nation, but a nation full of sleep-walking people that accepts whatever the governing-class decides. While democracy seems healthy here, one cannot help but feel at the same time oppressed, voiceless.

Yet some of the most lovely and gentle people I have ever met have been English, who have opened their homes and lives to me, who have imparted their support and wisdom in times of need, and who are dear friends whom I cherish.

Like most things in life, the more you know the more you realize how little you know.

Eating Away My Sorrows

What better way is there to come out of a musician's funk than to eat one's way out! (Just kidding, there really are better ways). Brenda was in London for work, and she treated me to dinner! The greater treat, however, was catching up with a friend from home.

Galvin Bistro:

Terrine of confit chicken and bayonne ham

Steamed fillet of smoked haddok, poached egg, mustard sauce
(on a grated potato patty)

Brie de Meaux and walnut bread

Speaking of sorrows, I made some rather sad pork chops tonight. I am definitely out of practise in the kitchen (been practising something else too much) -- I think I forgot how to cook. The pork chops were so horrible that I tossed the entire dish; I would not even subject my neighbour's dog to my...er, concoction. Hopefully this summer will be about a healthier balanced life.

Summer in London has arrived, and so have the roses.

Regent's Park: