Faith Popcorn wants to know everything about you – and I mean e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. From the vermouth in your martini to the groceries in your refrigerator. The world’s leading trend forecaster works from a town house in New York, ‘brailling the culture’. And there’s an awful lot of culture to braille in New York. “I remember driving through Harlem” says Popcorn. “This guy was wearing pants, and – I swear to God – they were the biggest pants I’ve ever seen. They were like a skirt. I stopped and asked if he’d made them himself. By sewing two pairs of pants together. I just had to know. If I understand people then I can really understand the future.” (more…)
This Friday, London’s street food sellers take on a challenge of Biblical proportions. They are feeding the 5,000 — in Trafalgar Square. And they’re hoping Nigella will lend the event her support. The domestic goddess did the catering for her own wedding, but when she left for honeymoon, she couldn’t help herself. She took leftovers. There she was, a rich wife with a rich husband, but she took on a chiller bag of scraps as hand luggage. Waste not want not.
We can see it in her television series. At the close of a show, after the credits have rolled, we see Nigella sneaking down to the fridge to wolf down the leftovers. It’s not just put on for the cameras. “To tell the truth,” she says, “I’m happy to eat them standing, leaning on the still-open refrigerator door, for my finger-picked breakfast. But I also love the culinary fiddling to which they can lend themselves with great satisfaction.” (more…)
I will always remember Marco Pierre White in the lobby of the Soho Grand, signing for breakfast. He put it on Room 320 – the only problem was that he was in Room 322. He was the worse for wear after a night on the sambuca – ‘the house cocktail’, as he called it. The aniseed spirit was lit, extinguished (with the palm of the hand) and shot – in one. Sure, it was against New York fire regulations, and everything that was good and decent. But it was very Marco Pierre White. And the burns from last night didn’t appear to be bothering him…
2009 was truly memorable – for many reasons. It was the year I discovered that 1) all Mexican food is the same – it’s just folded in different ways – and 2) ‘naked sushi’ really does exist. I saw it with my own eyes in a Japanese bar in New York. It’s only a matter of time before naked women, covered in cling film, come to a town near you and try and pass themselves off as serving platters for raw fish. Careful with your chopsticks.
Antony Worrall Thompson has just sent me this article. He wrote it for the Express, a few years ago, when he was — understandably — down on the whole idea of British street food. Now he’s coming to Ludlow to judge the British Street Food Awards. And he’s not doing it ironically. How times have changed — thank goodness.
“You’re on holiday, you’re feeling peckish, what do you do? You don’t really want the expense of a full blown meal, so you think to yourself ‘Do I trust the street vendors?’ The answer in many cases must be no.
My general rule of thumb is, if you’re in a western country (USA, UK, Germany, Australia), don’t touch them with a bargepole — unless, of course, you are into greasy nondescript burgers with boiled onions or boiled frankfurters with tasteless cotton wool bread. Let’s face it — we don’t do street food well. Except, of course, the great bacon buttie. As long as good quality bacon is used.
I don’t know if it was the coffee beans (Tanzanian Peaberry and Sumatran Mandeling), the hand grinder, the personal cafetiere or the trioxane pocket stove in her handbag that give it away. But I knew early-on that my wife was particular about coffee. Now, to make matters worse, she has gone and struck up a relationship with our local coffee cart. “Try one of these” she says, handing me a coffee with a spoon dipped in white chocolate. “You want cinnamon with that?” She’s lost her coffee-loving mind. But she says she’s tasted the future. And, apparently, it will be served with gingerbread biscotti.
I remember a time when it was different. When a ‘free refill’ was a threat rather than a promise. When coffee tasted like tea. I remember industry insiders talking about toasted bran and chicory as “the new coffee” because coffee was dead. But then came Frasier and Friends, and all of a sudden we were ordering double skinnies like we knew what it actually meant. Now coffee shops are everywhere. Baristas are busily swathing espressos in hot milk, whipped cream and flavoured syrup, and handing us back something that looks like an ice-cream sundae. Which isn’t always a good thing.
Okay this is getting really exciting. Aside from all the ‘trade’ attention the Awards have been getting (and I’ll blog about it soon), the rest of the world is starting to take notice too. Even the respectable Reader’s Digest. Yes. The Reader’s Digest. It’s the biggest selling magazine in the world. And the fact that the well-mannered, reasonable people who run it (with their jokes, general knowledge quizzes and terrific Word Power) want to reclaim the streets for good-quality food, cheers me no end. Thanks to them, the revolution will begin in the dentist’s waiting-room. Fantastic — and it makes my run-in with the Islington Gazette (see below) that bit easier to deal with…..
Pardon my French. But journalists do like to stir. And the journalists on the Islington Gazette are no different. According to one of their recent stories, everyone was up in arms about the launch of the British Street Food Awards at Whitecross Street Market in Islington because the event was “private”. Of course it was PRIVATE — it was a private launch.
For journalists, who were (hopefully) going to write about it. So I didn’t invite along the market traders. Or my friend Alan. Or my Mum. That’s torn it. If my Mum finds out, I’m in trouble.
After the launch, Marco and I went to his new-ish place at Stamford Bridge to talk about the judging process. It wasn’t a posh lunch. All we ate was custard tart. He wasn’t sure about the nutmeg — or the egginess of his custard. Graciously, I gave him my opinion.
September 2009 saw the launch of the British Street Food Awards at Whitecross Street Market in London. It was one heck of a job getting the banner there on the tube.
Can I just say — do you have any idea how much a banner costs? I didn’t. This one (and I did a bit of comparative shopping beforehand) came in at just over £150. So no wonder I’m holding it up for all the world to see. Which created a bit of a problem for Antony, who didn’t have his heels on. It was the culmination of a lot of hard work — and the beginning of a lot more.
Faith Popcorn wants to know everything about you – and I mean e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. From the vermouth in your martini to the groceries in your refrigerator. The world’s leading trend forecaster works from a town house in New York, ‘brailling the culture’. And there’s an awful lot of culture to braille in New York. “I remember driving through Harlem” says Popcorn. “This guy was wearing pants, and – I swear to God – they were the biggest pants I’ve ever seen. They were like a skirt. I stopped and asked if he’d made them himself. By sewing two pairs of pants together. I just had to know. If I understand people then I can really understand the future.” (more…)
2009 was truly memorable – for many reasons. It was the year I discovered that 1) all Mexican food is the same – it’s just folded in different ways – and 2) ‘naked sushi’ really does exist. I saw it with my own eyes in a Japanese bar in New York. It’s only a matter of time before naked women, covered in cling film, come to a town near you and try and pass themselves off as serving platters for raw fish. Careful with your chopsticks.
“You’re on holiday, you’re feeling peckish, what do you do? You don’t really want the expense of a full blown meal, so you think to yourself ‘Do I trust the street vendors?’ The answer in many cases must be no.
I remember a time when it was different. When a ‘free refill’ was a threat rather than a promise. When coffee tasted like tea. I remember industry insiders talking about toasted bran and chicory as “the new coffee” because coffee was dead. But then came Frasier and Friends, and all of a sudden we were ordering double skinnies like we knew what it actually meant. Now coffee shops are everywhere. Baristas are busily swathing espressos in hot milk, whipped cream and flavoured syrup, and handing us back something that looks like an ice-cream sundae. Which isn’t always a good thing.
Okay this is getting really exciting. Aside from all the ‘trade’ attention the Awards have been getting (and I’ll blog about it soon), the rest of the world is starting to take notice too. Even the respectable Reader’s Digest. Yes. The Reader’s Digest. It’s the biggest selling magazine in the world. And the fact that the well-mannered, reasonable people who run it (with their jokes, general knowledge quizzes and terrific Word Power) want to reclaim the streets for good-quality food, cheers me no end. Thanks to them, the revolution will begin in the dentist’s waiting-room. Fantastic — and it makes my run-in with the Islington Gazette (see below) that bit easier to deal with…..
Pardon my French. But journalists do like to stir. And the journalists on the Islington Gazette are no different. According to one of their recent stories, everyone was up in arms about the launch of the British Street Food Awards at Whitecross Street Market in Islington because the event was “private”. Of course it was PRIVATE — it was a private launch.
September 2009 saw the launch of the British Street Food Awards at Whitecross Street Market in London. It was one heck of a job getting the banner there on the tube.
