...for the perfect espresso... (part nine)

I've been lucky of late in that I've tasted some very fine coffee. However I'm not sure whether the global standard of coffee-making is on the rise or my own standards are in steep decline. To be truthful I feel convinced that neither of these are in fact the case, and the net result has proved to be one of great pleasure to me.

For many years now coffee has been my constant companion. Wherever it was served, you'd find me present.

I've realised I won't find life's answers at the bottom of a demitasse, instead I'll discover all the reasons for being alive by looking beyond the rim of the cup and across to my companion.

When the book of my life is written, it will be measured not in the number of cups of coffee I have drunk, but instead through the quality of the company in which I consumed them.

...for the land of hope and pork pies...

Undeniably, the French know a thing or two about food. And fighting. So it takes no great leap of faith for one to believe Napoleon Bonaparte was well-informed and indeed accurate when he claimed “An army marches on its stomach”*.

We British, knowing less about food but nonetheless agreeing with Boney’s sentiment, went on to conquer two-thirds of the world’s landmass during the 19^th century fuelling an army purely on beer, beef, and pork pies (mixed with a cunning refusal to learn the native tongue).

Forced to retreat to these shores during the first half of the 20^th century, the reasons for the failure to create an enduring empire became apparent as we returned to this Sceptred Isle clutching such exotic delicacies as the balti, the pita, and the kebab. All admirable and delicious foods in their own right, but not manna for sustaining an occupying army.

Whilst the empire has long disappeared, fortunately those three staples of beer, beef and pork pies remain in great abundance. The first two are both well-known and have their own global iterations, so it is for the pork pie to stand alone as uniquely British.

Today, civilisation is divided in to two distinct spheres: those who adore a good pork pie, and those who have yet to taste one. They have become something of an obsession of mine.

In common with all the world's finest food, their concept is terribly simple. The traditional British pork pie consists of roughly chopped pork cooked in a hot water pastry crust. The pies are unique in that the base is raised by hand around a wooden ‘dolly’. The dolly is removed, the filling placed in, and a pastry lid seals the deal. Yes. The French raise their children by hand. The Austrians, no doubt, raise their veal calves by hand. But we, the Brits, raise our pork pies by hand.

The crowning glory of the humble pork pie is in its jelly. As the meat cooks it reduces, leaving a void within the pastry casing. As any pork pie aficionado knows, this just won’t do. In order to maintain moistness a jelly, made by boiling the pigs bones in water, is injected through a hole in the now deliciously golden crust. Really, what’s not to love?

And there you have it. A simple food borne of the English huntsman’s desire to have a tasty snack while out shooting fox and boar, and one that went on to feed those who felt the world’s riches were there to be plundered in the name of the king (or queen).

Throughout much of its history the pork pie has been associated with one town, Melton Mowbray. It is our Parma, our Kobe, our region de Champagne. And there, amongst the hills of Leicestershire, it lays quietly anticipating the second coming of the British Empire. It may be in for a long wait…

* Yes, for the pedants amongst us, it is far more likely that what Napoleon actually said was, “Une armée marche sur son estomac”. But no one likes a smart-arse, do they?

...for an achievable target...

i've given up on intelligence.

having spent many years of my life in a lazy attempt to boost my iq by consuming brain-foods (oily fish, walnuts, pumpkin and flax-seeds), i've finally given up the chase for membership of mensa (which requires an iq level of 140)

i've learned that my brain weighs around one and a half kilos, 

but using it gobbles up a whopping 20% of my daily calorie intake. 

no wonder i'm always hungry.

not only would i eat brain-cell boosting foods, 

sometimes i'd even give it some exercise and read a book.

however even this i shall quit, since one of the books i read extolled the virtues of giving the brain complete down-time.

i know from my cycling that muscles can be over-trained, and that recovery time is an important part of any athletes strategy. 

so that's it, i'm permanently resting my brain.

the clincher though was my discovery that the average iq

 of nobel prize winners is just 120. 120!

henceforth my aim shall be to reduce my iq in the hope that

 one day i shall be awarded a nobel prize.

finally, an achievable target.

...for the perfect espresso... (part eight)

this is what bicycles in heaven look like.

the perfect fusion of coffee and cycling.

the velopresso is a human-powered bicycle and coffee maker.

using two belt drives (one to move the bike, the other to grind the beans), the only fuel required is to boil the water. The designers (lasse oiva and amos field reid) are currently figuring out a way to extract ethanol fuel from the used grounds, 

giving a carbon neutral system.

 a flick of a lever and the transmission belt diverts to grind the beans. the perfect amount for a double shot of espresso can be delivered in just five seconds. four if you're doping.

 

the design has already won a deutsche bank award 2012 for design and 2nd place in the 2012 pininfarina design contest.

oh, look, here's a link to their website... hello!

...for the first mince pie of the season... (year two)

i have proof, as if it were needed, of the continuing

 degradation of civilised standards.

(for background reading click here if you like although, 

personally, i wouldn't bother)

the festive season has barely begun and yet, for me, 

it may as well be over.

after last year's devastation at the unveiling of 'luxury mince pies', i have returned to the scene of that particular culinary crime and uncovered this year's travesty - mince tart.

there's mince (but very little of it).

but (as indicated) it is not a pie, but a tart.

how hard can it be to stick to tradition?

i think this best sums up my mood...

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message There Are No Mince Pies,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

They were my North, my South, my East and West,

My Christmas Day and my New Year too,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would be with me for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Without Mince Pies.

(sincere apologies to wystan hugh auden)

...for a cause for which to fight...

i like to think that there are many things i'd fight for.

i'd fight for freedom (my own and of others), 

i'd fight for the truth.

i'd definitely fight for the last battenburg cake 

in marks & spencer's food hall.

so, my respect goes out to an elderly couple from zhejiang province in china whose intransigence has created this remarkable sight.

the unnamed elderly couple, who we will refer to as mr & mrs unnamedelderlycouple, refused to sign an agreement to allow their house to be demolished to make way for the building of a new road. they say that the compensation offered is not enough to cover relocation and rebuilding costs.

so chinese authorities built the road anyway.

...for the perfect espresso... (part seven)

exclusive to harrods - the world's most expensive coffee.

it's easy to spot when a luxury brand is getting nervous that it is losing its rarefied status, that's when they start talking 'most expensive' rather than 'the best'.

i offer the following, an extract from a recent harrods press release, as a perfect example:

"Renowned for being the most expensive and luxurious coffee in the world, Terra Nera launches exclusively at Harrods this December.

Sourced from Quechua in the south east of the Peruvian Andes, the production of this coffee is integral to its indulgent taste.

Coffee cherries pass through the stomachs of civet palm cats and are then collected, washed and dried on specially-built elevated tables to be processed immediately in the jungle. Known as Uchunari, civet palm cats live with the coffee farmer where they roam freely around the house and plantation.

The coffee is highly exclusive with limited availability that is dependent on the natural order and mood of the Uchunaries."

one presumes availability is also moderated by the regularity of the civet's bowel movements.

it seems that not only is the coffee being produced courtesy of civet palm cat's shite, it is also being promoted through some of the finest (or, at least, the most expensive) press release shite too.

of more than 300 words in the press release, only 30 make a reference to the taste (possibly shit-flavoured, it's not specific). far more words are devoted to the 'sterling silver and gold plated sacks' your roasted and ground turds will be delivered in.

terra nera coffee will be exclusively available to pre-order from saturday 1st december in the food halls, ground floor at harrods. prices range from £140 to £6,800.

you can call harrods on +44 20 7730 1234 to either place your order, or to tell them to get a life.

you decide which.

if you would like to read more about my search for the perfect espresso, 

allow me to point you to these locations:

still searching for the perfect espresso

...for xanadu...

or at least for sandy island.

so it now seems that a whole island we thought existed,

actually doesn't.

well, when i say 'we' i think i mean 'you' because until today i'd never heard of sandy island. and if i had i like to think i would have had enough about me to realise that even the name is clearly a giveaway to its fictitious status, 

it being rather too 'enid blyton' for my liking. 

apparently this south pacific non-island first appeared on google earth and google maps within the past few years, and has been replicated as other maps have lazily been produced.

once it appeared on a map its existence was confirmed. 

and unquestioned.

it seems terribly easy to invent an island.

perhaps it would even be possible to invent a whole country.

that would be a really neat trick.

although it could never really happen, because we're far too intelligent to let anyone get away with it.

wait a minute.

what about israel?

you can read more about sandy island by googling 'sandy island'

you can learn more about israel by googling 'historical region of palestine'

...for someone to believe in...

...so in the absence of this, i'll just be satisfied with a gripping political ad.

this thursday sees the latest in the series of what appear to be becoming bi-annual general elections here in the state of kuwait.

i can't vote, and i don't speak a word of arabic, so i'm just amusing myself by watching the circus.

this one caught my eye.

i do know enough about the history of this nation (both recent and further back) to know what is going on here.

what was once a decent country is being dragged down. and there are some people here who genuinely want to see a change, and to reclaim their country from the idiots.

these are the people i support.

if nothing else, we might at least get some moody tv here.

...for a happy pill...

to take on monday, 16th

or sunday, 15th.

to be honest i'm not sure when to take it.

and the worry of it is getting me down.

a few years ago some bright spark nominated the first day of the third week of january as the most depressing day of the year. he named it 'blue monday' because, where he comes from, the first day of the working week is monday. where i live the first day of the working week is sunday.

it's not as if i don't have enough on my mind without this additional projected burden.

his rationale was generally well thought through though:

* by this time most people will have failed miserably to keep their new year resolutions

* the realisation of debt accumulated during december's festivities will have hit home, and january's payday still feels an excruciatingly long way off

* january is typically dull. both in terms of daylight, and in terms of jovial things to do

* plus there are no public holidays due for the
 foreseeable future

regardless, even once blue monday is over, i suspect everything will be only slightly less depressing.

i'd have probably passed through the 15th and 16th days of the year without giving them any more thought than i shall the 14th and the 17th.

but now that i know that one of them is the most depressing day of the year, i shall fret until it has passed.

 and i shall still have to wait a full five months to reach the zenith of what is apparently the happiest day of the year -
june the 17th.

already i'm depressed that, come june the 18th, i shall have nothing left to look forward to in 2012.

apart from the end of the world. 


image effortlessly stolen from here

...for an assistant geek...

stephen hawking has advertised for an assistant.

i find myself under-qualified in the geekiness stakes to be able to apply, because although it involves wheelchair maintenance (#check) and dealing with the media and press (#check), it also calls for the applicant to be able to "maintain 'black box' systems with no instruction manual or technical support" (#monumentalfail)

however, perhaps you might like to apply:

Graduate Assistant to Stephen Hawking

The above post is expected to become available shortly, with a starting date around 20th-27th February 2012. The salary is expected to be in the region of £25k; the exact value will be confirmed in the near future.

Disclaimer: This is not an official job applications page, however similar it may look! The official applications process will be started when the post has been properly advertised, probably in mid-January. We will not be able to offer the post to anyone on the strength of this unofficial submission alone; we can only direct people to apply through the official channel. However, if you fit our requirements, we would like to hear from you.

The post is more accurately described by the title “Technical Assistant to Stephen Hawking.” It is not a PhD or Post-Doc position for academics looking to study physics, but a purely technical post to allow Prof. Hawking to function within the physics community and as a public speaker.

The original purpose of this position was “to aid Professor Hawking in those areas which he has difficulty due to his disability.” The job has since expanded and now includes:

Managing national and international travel for Prof. Hawking and his care team. Expect to spend around 3 months per year abroad!
Development and maintenance of Professor Hawking’s communication and speech systems
Procurement and maintenance of his wheelchairs and accessible van
Preparation of lecture graphics and public speaking
Dealing with the media and press
Answering inquiries from the public and maintaining the website

The post requires a wide range of skills, most importantly:
Ability to work under pressure
Maintenance of “black box” systems with no instruction manual or technical support
Computer literacy
Electronics knowledge
Ability to speak to a large audience
Ability to show others how to use complex systems

The role of ‘Graduate Assistant to Professor Hawking’ is funded as a research post at the University of Cambridge. Normally it has been under a 12 month contract, although recent graduate assistants have stayed on for several years.

Although the initial post has since been removed, interested parties are advised to check back here for further information as and when it becomes available.

...for more of the same...

and a solvent induced high.

the older i get the more convinced i am that

 'progress' isn't always a good thing.

i live in a world of indesign, photoshop, pdfs, dropbox

 and print-runs in their tens of thousands.

yet nothing evokes a feeling of achievement more than hand cranking out a limited run of facsimiles on a ditto (if you're american, more likely banda if you're british) machine.

they were a staple of every classroom long before whiteboards were ever dreamed of and were widely used in offices.

the shock of the purple words and the coolness of their touch

 as the alcohol evaporated from the moist paper combined with the heady rush garnered from the fumes produced an unforgettable experience. holding and sniffing a ipad just doesn't give the same kicks. not to me anyway.

i fear banda and ditto machines may have been consigned to the dustbin of history in the same way that typewriters, film photography and records all have.

wait a minute. aren't they all making a come-back?

in the same way that they cast the focus onto taking pleasure from raw creativity rather than impersonal digitisation, packaging and presentation, a ditto would surely do the same.

perhaps there could be a life for the ditto machine still yet.

...for a real apology...

from you, instead of a reverse apology from me.

recently, so infuriated have i become at the modern world's lack of etiquette and politeness, i have begun reverse apologising.

you've probably done it yourself, quite innocently.

you know the scenario: you go into a store and are told they don't have enough change for you to make your purchase. what do most people do? instead of saying "didn't it occur to you to make sure you had enough change to satisfy all your customers. it's part of running a business like this. why should i be expected to come in with the exact money" we offer a meek apology and return the unpaid for purchase to the shelf, i've even offered to go to the store next door to see if they have change. the apology should be travelling the other way. yet it rarely does.

or: an old lady in the supermarket inadvertently whacks your shin with her walking stick and what do you do? you apologise to her when what you really want to say is "why don't you watch where you're going you stupid old bitch".

i now go out of my way to offer effusive reverse apologies

 in the hope that they might stimulate the tiniest wave of recognition from the recipient.

"oh, i'm terribly sorry you kept me waiting".

of course they never do.

i also indulge myself with reverse etiquette.

invariably people rarely thank me for holding a door open

 for them so, as they pass, i thank them.

you probably think my actions are petty and small-minded,

 and you'd be right.

but i don't care. and i won't apologise for them.

...for the perfect espresso... (part six)

for the avoidance of being fobbed off with a viennois

 when you'd asked for a con panna.

there must remain honour amongst coffee drinkers.

it'll never happen to me again.

i'm having this graphic tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. 

i'll see it every time i blink.

graphic by orbitvisual.com

...for a licence to behave like an 89 year old baroness...

who flicked off a baron in the british house of lords, 

and then coolly returned to her crossword.

i can't believe i missed this when it happened last month

 during a debate to mark armistice day.

the baron, tom king, had referred to the fact that "survivors of world war two were getting on a bit these days", a comment that baroness trumpington (you couldn't make these names up, could you?) objected to, particularly since she is a survivor herself. 

now 89 she served her country admirably during the war.

the last thing she wanted was a 77 year old young-slip-of-a-thing like this getting cheeky with her.

the two fingered salute, although common, 

has never been accepted as polite behaviour.

but, so it seems, an 89 year old can do it at will and

 without fear of admonishment.

now that i know this, i can't wait until i'm 89. i'll be flicking people off all the time and never apologising for it.

you can see the feisty trumpington at work here:

the act itself is fascinating enough. 

invariably it is given purely as an insult.

the story goes that it has its origin during the hundred years war during the 1400s (france v england - apparently still continuing today on some levels).

those pesky french acquired the habit of lopping off the arrow-shooting figures of captured english archers and bowmen. digitally complete english militarymen took to showing off their two-fingers at the french before they engaged in battle.

the sentiment remains to this day deep within 

the heart of every true englishman:

"show me a frenchman, and i will show him two fingers"

just ask david cameron, he'll tell you the same.

...for cottage cheese...

and there's none to be found. anywhere.

which is weird.

i've even started looking at methods of how to make it myself.

which is disturbing and in any civilised society

 should be unnecessary.

i wonder if cottage cheese travels well through the mail?