A tough nut to crack

Every little girl dreams of being the Sugar Plum Fairy. Amidst the complex tale of The Nutcracker, she embodies magic: a beautiful ballerina who glistens like freshly-fallen snow and wins the heart of the handsome Prince. The challenge with this quintessential ballet is how to make it stand out from a crowd of Nutcracker pasts. Besides the enchanting Tchaikovsky score and headache of a plot, the rest is pure, artistic licence. But Wayne Eagling, the Artistic Director of the English National Ballet’s Nutcracker, well, his imagination nearly misses the point. It is Clara’s adolescent dream of first love- the charm of the Sugar Plum Fairy- which becomes the kernel of his production. But, in stripping away the intricate wrappings of the story, he has tried to be too clever- and the result is a darkly sinister spin which bewilders the audience and dulls the magic. The ballet’s pivotal transformation scenes become laboured and muddled, particularly the moment when Clara dreams herself into the Sugar Plum Fairy who dances with her dashing Prince. The tale itself is already a myriad of toys and magic, dream and reality- and Eagling loses the plot, the Nutcracker darkly morphing into Drosselmeyer’s handsome nephew and back again, a few too many times. The battle scene between the Mouse King and the tin soldiers also lacks wattage - yes, the giant mousetrap moment made us all laugh, but the choreography was too much movement and not nearly enough panache. It’s too apocalyptic, set against ugly brown walls- lacking the colour and charm that would have it compete with other productions.

But with artistic licence comes the need for subjectivity. And, at moments, you can see why Eagling’s darker, more traditional take on this much-loved classic shines. Act One’s Christmas party is enchantingly staged by Peter Farmer, simply presided over by a giant Christmas tree (which later will be conjured into a supersized forest pine). The party guests even arrive at the dark Edwardian house on ice-skates, a bit of gliding theatrical magic on a frozen Thames. Magic is also retained in the exquisite costumes (oh those glittering Swarovski diamonds in the Dance of the Snowflakes) and who isn’t mesmerised by a giant hot air balloon that lifts Clara and the Nutcracker Prince to the Land of Sweets? Against the flurry of snowflakes, it’s irresistibly festive. In the end, every Nutcracker hinges on the choreographic chemistry of the lead couple in the final pas de deux. We caught the cast with Elena Glurjidze and Fabian Reimair, who danced with an exquisite magic that left the darker, more bemused elements of the production buried in snow- and ensured that the Sugar Plum Fairy remains every little girl’s Christmas wish. 

Noises Off, Laughter On

Last night, I laughed. Proper hysterical laughter that worked my stomach muscles and made my mascara run. It was not my intention to giggle so hard, but the farcical comedy “Noises Off” at the Old Vic exceeded all expectations- and redefined the term side-splitting. Written by Michael Frayn, the play’s core concept is clever: a play within a play seen first from the front, then from backstage, and then the front again- as a touring theatre company muddle their way through frantic rehearsals to a terrible first night - and an even worse final performance. In the first act, we witness the shambolic dress rehearsal of the play within a play, “Nothing On”, as the cast fumble their entrances, their exits....and their lines. From the word go, it’s mayhem: a dizzy blur of sardines and fake sheiks, banging doors and backstage affairs. But you can’t help admire how controlled this mayhem must be. The comic timing was absolutely spot on- and the brilliance of it is any genuine mistakes just add to the chaotic comedy value. The second act reverses our viewpoint- and now we see the hectic, hilarious commotion backstage on the play’s opening night. Blossoming rehearsal romances from Act One now descend into public performances of petty rivalry and lovers’ spats. This repeated gag is nothing short of hysterical- culminating as the play’s female lead (played by a brilliant Celia Imrie) attempts to get her revenge by tying her lover’s shoelaces together. As he is hilariously forced to jump up the stairs as if on an invisible pogo stick, it would have been fair to say that the entire audience laughed out loud. At full-throttle momentum, the action then switches again- and the chaos of the play’s opening night is now repeated from the front. Cue yet even more disaster, tantrums, and cringe. It’s fun viewing- pure, perfected bedlam. Of course, dramatic irony functions overtime throughout - and, in this sense, the Fawlty Towers-esque music is entirely befitting. The play is riotous and ridiculous - a wonderful throwback to comedy in a truly British sense- farcical, chaotic, and universally appealing. “Noises Off” may be inspired by the stage direction indicating the noises offstage, but last night the entire theatre certainly rang loud with the raucous sound of laughter. With “One Man, Two Guvnors” booked up until mid-Feb, don’t hang around- it’s fairly obvious which ticket will be the next hottest in town.

http://www.oldvictheatre.com/whatson.php?id=80&gclid=CLLltr31lq0CFZMhtAodWC3Vug

From Russia with Love

On paper, it seems a disastrous premise: an English-Russian restaurant attempting to combine the most ‘luxurious’ dishes from two of the world’s worst possible cuisines. Cue nauseating memories of questionably lumpy school dinners, from pie and stroganoff to casseroles and dumplings. But Bob Bob Ricard, the retro Anglo-Russo brasserie, situated on Upper James Street in the beating heart of Soho, defiantly shows a gloved finger to such preconceptions. From the moment we were ushered through the door, it felt like a guilty pleasure, a naughty treat as fun as its bouncy name suggests- from the sparkly pink Christmas tree by the entrance to the green leather booth seating throughout. It felt like dining on Agatha Christie's Orient Express: combining art nouveau decor, polished brass and antique portraits, with elegant but in-your-face service (it took at least three waiters to help take our coats). We arrived without a reservation, so ended up dining at the bar- recommended if you like your cocktails shaken with a little conversation. Order the rhubarb gin and tonic- it isn't the signature cocktail for nothing. The most eccentric part of the whole shebang is the menu: a colourful, eclectic range of dishes that encompasses all the English and Russian classics (hello chicken pie and Bob’s chicken kiev) and adds in some oysters, caviar and jellied ox tongue for decadent measure. I paired an unusual starter- a Russian salad vodka shot with shavings of black truffle (surprisingly good, if a little too rich)-  with a cautious main course of eggs royale with smoked salmon (delicious, but not fancy enough given the price tag). After all, when hungry you can never be too risky. Thankfully, we can also recommend the truffled potato and mushroom vareniki (basically dumplings) - a relief considering we had no idea what it would be. Verdict? The menu can be a bit of a stab in the dark if you want to shy away from borsch and burgers and, in typical eastern European style, everything is perhaps too decadent- upmarket trash palpably demonstrated by the champagne button at each table. And Bob Bob Ricard itself is just a ridiculous name. But the secret is to just embrace it. This is more than just dining- it’s a step back into nostalgia: the golden glamour of elegant waiters in faded pink jackets and white gloves attending to your every need, champagne literally a button away. It's deliberately overly-done, outlandish with intent. And in a city dominated by tedious restaurant chains and fast food joints, Bob Bob Ricard’s kitsch personality is wholly refreshing. 

http://www.bobbobricard.com/

Rolling out of Roka

Three months of endless tapas in Salamanca was fun, but after a while the taste buds yearn for something that doesn’t involve chorizo. Okay, so that’s a little exaggerated, but still- in a city that doesn’t even do a decent curry takeaway, this was a somewhat challenging period for my adventurous appetite. No surprises, then, that I couldn’t wait to eat some sushi upon my return to London. And what better restaurant to jump back into the city’s great metropolitan eating than Roka, home to exquisite contemporary Japanese cuisine. Zuma’s little sister on Charlotte Street (there’s also another one in Canary Wharf) serves up the same menu at a slightly more affordable price (don’t be fooled- the menu prices are still a little eyewatering). The restaurant’s centrepiece- a huge robata grill- plainly visible from outside through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows- divulges the promise of a great culinary experience. To kickstart the evening, we sampled their cocktail menu downstairs in the Shochu lounge bar- the pear suppai, in particular, is worth ordering for its powerful, fresh taste. Our appetites perfectly whetted, we wondered upstairs for dinner, holding our breath in greedy anticipation. Just like the restaurant itself, the focal point of the menu is the robata grill- trust us and order the grilled black cod marinated in yuzu miso: each flake of this beautifully cooked cod is a wonder to behold. The softshell crab maki roll, alongside the yellowtail tuna sashimi with truffle yuzu sauce, is also another dish worth trying- magic in your mouth. We ate our bodyweight in sushi and then (maki) rolled our way back downstairs to the bar, where a cocktail bizarrely named “Lawnmower” more than adequately rounded off the evening. Zuma may attract all the stars, but Roka proves that all little sisters learn from the best. 

http://www.rokarestaurant.com/

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

A crisp December morning- and the candied aroma of Christmas pudding is swimming about me in the kitchen.

“There’s something about baking a Christmas pudding that always gets me in the festive mood”, remarks my mother, merrily whipping a magical-smelling cake batter. “I’m feeling quite heady”.

“You mean you’re getting drunk vicariously through a cake”, I cynically respond through a mouthful of Special K. After all, it’s 10am on a chilly Sunday morning and I’ve only just dragged myself out my warm, cosy bed.

“Well, I’m breathing in the lovely fumes of alcohol-infused fruit and it must be quite strong”, she frowns- whisking her own fingers in the process. Definitely too much sherry.

This is my mother’s December tradition- and it never fails to put her in the festive spirit. Five alcoholic puddings later (we go big at Christmas), carols in the background, and having nearly cried at the legendary Mr Attenborough’s Wonderful World video on You Tube- anyone would think it’s Christmas Day.

So, I decided that it was high time I went in search of London’s festive feeling.

My first stop? Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland. Shamelessly seasonal, but enchanting nevertheless, this is guaranteed to put you in the Christmas mood. From an ice rink to a giant observational wheel (think small-scale, rickety version of the London Eye- but with views that are just as breathtaking), two circuses to crowded German Christmas markets, Hyde Park delivers exactly what it says on the tin: a land of wonder. It’s undeniably busy, and the queues are offensively long, but sneak round the back towards the Serpentine Café and you’ll find another gate. The talking tree here really is quite annoying (it repeatedly tells terrible jokes featuring polar bears and gin & tonic), but it’s worth it to avoid the main queue and enjoy the park's atmospheric feel. Besides, the smell of mulled wine should be enough to keep you enticed.

If this doesn’t float your boat, then celebrate Christmas at Covent Garden with its beautiful supersized decorations, animated nativity scenes, and Dickensian carol singers. As busy as Hyde Park, it at least boasts a more sophisticated feel and, best of all, you can pet reindeers (who cares if it’s meant for the kids? Move aside and let me through). Finally, if you want to escape Oxford Street’s tourist bubble and admire some beautiful Christmas lights, then why not head to St Christopher’s Place and feast your eyes on its dreamily reflective baubles, or wander through the sparkling arches on South Molton Street. It’s almost as festive as a slice of Christmas cake, and much less calorific. 

For those who sensibly want to stay warm: just stick on some carols and dance around the tree. Nobody will judge you. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8WHKRzkCOY&feature=share