Monday 30 January 2012

Miista




It’s 5pm and I’m walking down a narrow back alley somewhere deep in Hackney. Up ahead, a tall slim woman is waiting for us, illuminated by a halo of light spilling out from a fire exit behind her. She is Laura Villasenin, the visionary founder of independent urban shoe brand Miista- a self-proclaimed fashion-forward label that has retailed in high street stores such as Topshop and Urban Outfitters whilst simultaneously making waves across the pond in New York and LA. Miista’s speedy success (they drafted a business plan last May and have since expanded into the global market with effortless ease) should come as little surprise. Villasenin knows exactly what market niche she wants to march into: to make shoes for women with character but at realistic prices. And Miista’s style is definitely unique: bringing together conflicting elements with elegance, irreverence and confidence. These are shoes to strut the street: affordable, out of the ordinary, and with a creative twist. You just need to admire the sky-high heels, the exquisite leather crafted into uncommon designs, and the robust platforms to realise that these are not aimed at the ultra-feminine- all pastel colours, floral dresses, and lollipops. No, these shoes are for women who want to kick up a style storm- and then tower over their contemporaries to boot. Take the Naia Grey, for example. At 12 cm tall, these heels are not for the faint-hearted- and the beautiful woven design (fashioned from cotton shoe laces and leather) juxtaposes the pragmatism of Mexican huarache influences with the delicate, if somewhat impractical, aesthetic of the high heel. Walking the fine line between refined and hedonistic, headstrong and submissive with utter conviction. And with price rates below £200, Miista proves that such incredibly unique designs needn’t break the bank. My advice? Get a head start now: as the brand goes stellar, stock is selling out quicker than you can say Miista- and with their website currently on sale, you’re sure to walk away with a steal. 

http://miista.com/

Saturday 28 January 2012

A Pocket of Spain


One of the main things I’ve missed since moving back from Spain has been the food. Besides inventing the perfect excuse to nap mid-afternoon, tapas is easily Spain’s best contribution to the world. My flatmate and I made tapas bar crawling a hobby (best hobby I ever had) so it’s a relief to discover a tapas bar in the heart of London that effortlessly matches the quality of authentic Spanish food. Thank you Tapas Brindisa Soho for bringing a little pocket of Spain to cold, rainy London. Cosy and bright with its rustic red walls, this cafe-like tapas bar serves authentic dishes made with freshly imported Spanish ingredients. We arrived mid-week for lunch and already it was buzzing- any earlier and we would have queued for our seats. This is a bar designed in the style of proper tapas eateries- with the bar overlooking the kitchen and diners rubbing elbows with their neighbours as they enthusiastically tuck into their food. The only thing noticeably missing was the upturned wine barrels for tables, but hey you can’t have everything. 
Seated at the main tapas bar at the back of the restaurant- a bright airy space beneath a wide skylight overlooking the kitchen- it felt like we could have been back in Spain. Especially as the menu was slightly difficult to navigate - with its confusing subheadings, it may as well have been written in Spanish. However, once served, the food proved that steering through the menu was well worth it. The iberico recebo ham was delicious, fragile thinly cut slices that had clearly been cured and carved by a professional.  So, too, was the seafood: the octopus could easily have been served in any self-respecting Galician outpost, and the scallops in pumpkin sauce were great if slightly lukewarm. It was the morcilla tortilla that sadly let down the whole affair- tragically lacking in anything remotely resembling egg, it was more like a confused bundle of ingredients than a traditional pan-fried tortilla. Think omelette without the egg, or worse, a sandwich without the bread. Sacrilegious, isn’t it? For all their tortilla offences, though, this little tapas bar was a brilliant find. Sure, you won’t quite be able to tapas bar hop like any true Spaniard, for fear of fighting for a seat, but as a one-off place to enjoy great food, this should definitely be your first stop. If you play your cards right, they may even give you their famous croquettes on-the-house. Not sure what we did, but anywhere that serves free food gets my vote…

http://www.brindisa.com/restaurants/tapas-brindisa-soho/
Tapas Brindisa on Urbanspoon

Sunday 22 January 2012

North of Piccadilly



Yotam Ottolenghi is something of a gourmet sensation. Since bursting onto London’s restaurant scene last year, this Israeli-born gastronome has gone stellar- rapidly rising through the restaurant ranks from his upmarket takeout spot in Notting Hill to his most recent venue, Nopi, which regularly attracts queues of culinary customers eager to sample his delicate flavours and signature salads. And no wonder, too: Nopi (bizarrely named for being located north of Piccadilly) is a bright spark on Soho’s dining scene- with its all-white tile interior, marble floors and many, many mirrors (the disorientating toilets seriously play with your head). It’s fresh and clean- the perfect setting to enjoy his punchy, unique cuisine that wonderfully fuses Middle Eastern and Asian influences. Fans may know him for his bestselling vegetarian cookbook Plenty- his sunny salads and creative dishes with a twist- but the team at Nopi successfully deliver his food philosophy with innovation, dedication, and delicacy to Soho’s restaurant racket. Here, exotic ingredients and fresh, full-bodied flavours are the order of the day. Meat-lovers need not worry: the menu is divided into vegetable, seafood and meat sections, to ensure there is something to suit all tastes. But selfish diners should take note. Dining here is something of a lesson in generosity, with dishes exclusively designed to share. Goodbye food envy. No starters, no mains: it’s just one big bun fight once the plates are put in the middle. Forks and knives at the ready, everyone. 
Vegetable-wise, we tried the aubergine with spiced yoghurt, dukkah and pomegranate seeds and the five-spice tofu with cardamom passata. The flavours were exquisite and wonderfully fresh, and the tofu in particular easily carried the curious blend of Orient and the Middle East. From the ocean came baby octopus with skordalia, ras el hanout spices and hibiscus, whilst the land offered tea-smoked quail with cumquat and satsuma. Both were delicious, particularly the aromatic quail- each mouthful an explosion of strong flavours and creative zest. There’s no denying the portions were tiny, especially given their price tag, but hey- you can always just order more of the menu’s incredible dishes. Just make sure you save some space for dessert: to finish, we had the guava compote and the caramel and pecan icecream- a cherry on top that perfectly crowned this culinary feat.
NOPI on Urbanspoon

Saturday 21 January 2012

The Lion in Winter

A lion should rule his kingdom with territorial ferocity. Yes, he’ll laze around in the sun for most of the day - but every now and then he’ll roar loudly to remind the savannah who’s boss. But this fictional history play, written by James Goldman in 1966 and currently enjoying a revival at the Haymarket Theatre under the artistic direction of Sir Trevor Nunn, is more like a Cub in Spring.
It’s 1183 and it’s Christmas time in King Henry II’s royal court. The whole family is assembled: King Henry, ageing but with his wits intact; his young mistress Alais; his estranged wife, the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine, who he has granted temporary release from imprisonment for leading a revolt against him; his “greedy little trinity” of sons Richard, Geoffrey and John; and the King of France. Henry needs to choose an heir - and whilst he wants the small, spotty John, Eleanor backs their strapping eldest Richard. (Poor Geoffrey, suffering typical middle child syndrome, feels forgotten). As Henry and Eleanor bicker over who should succeed the throne, the Christmas gathering quickly turns wintry – becoming a cold game of chess in which everyone else is a pawn. Like every family at Christmas, there’s definitely enough drama and political scheming going on here to make a good play. As Eleanor quips, “What family doesn’t have problems?”
But Goldman’s script is disappointing. Historically and politically inaccurate, it’s filled with anachronistic one-liners that reverberate limply in the medieval setting. In short, it’s a Plantagenet soap opera, a preposterous 12th century sitcom. Imagine one of the great Shakespearean history plays has descended into a farce of Blackadder proportions. At times, it works. It’s light-hearted and fun, a history play plonked on a modern stage. Robert Lindsay shines as the powerful, swaggering King Henry, delivering his lines with just the right amount of wisecracking humour and sardonic roaring. His verbal sparring with Joanna Lumley’s Queen Eleanor is often hilarious- words dripping in poison and then coated in barbs. They’re just your regular dysfunctional, estranged husband and wife- with occasional flashes of long-lost chemistry and tenderness. After all, there’s a very fine line between love and hate. And Lumley’s performance as Eleanor is apt. “Of course he’s got a knife we have all got a knife, it’s 1183 and we are still barbarians,” she bellows to the delight of the audience, and any Ab Fab fans. She may as well have been clutching a fag between her two bejewelled fingers. Her Eleanor is all catty sniping masking a shrewd, scheming mind. Largely, however, the jokey script seemed weirdly incongruous against the medieval backdrop. Goldman attempts to give Henry’s political decision a modern-day relevance but it doesn’t work. Instead, this is a Christmas family romp filled with fairly farcical action (namely the scene where Henry comes to the King of France’s bedroom for a serious political discussion only to discover all three sons hiding behind a tapestry and that Richard has been indulging in a gay affair with the French King). Ridiculous, to say the least. 
In the end, though, Nunn effectively revives this limp turkey of a play. It tickles the audience and Stephen Brimson Lewis’s incredibly stylish set is brilliant: designed with receding marble arches to give the convincing impression of a castle hall, the actors’ voices even echoed atmospherically throughout the dungeon scene. The cast, Lindsay and Lumley in particular, deliver their lines as best they can even though the script offers them nothing meaty to play with. For me, it’s the script that lets down this whole affair. It lacks real tension and the one-liners end up wilting into a pointless stalemate. In short, nothing memorable happens. As loud as the leonine King Henry roars, in the end this is one lion who almost gets rather lost. It’s just lucky that Nunn and his cast were on hand to show him the way.  

Thursday 19 January 2012

"It's all make-believe"




Fashion has stepped through the mirror and into the illustrated world.  Lula, the illustrated editrix of the sketched blog http://thesubjectiknowbest.com/, has turned her pencil to a newly-launched biannual fashion magazine HERSELF- and it’s entirely made up of sketched self-portraits and cartoonised celebrities, even down to the hand-illustrated ads. The magazine is the first of its kind to turn contemporary fashion completely on its pretty head, its pages overflowing with dreamlike drawings and fantastical ideas. Beginning as a simple sketch, the editor Lula- a strange sort of comic strip superprincess- has walked into the illustrated pages of HERSELF magazine- acquiring expensive diamonds, beautiful dresses, and killer heels along the way. The Portrait Issue, as the first edition is called, is more than just a collection of self-portraits by stylish superwomen such as Anna Della Russo and Margherita Missoni- at 248 pages long, it’s a sketchbook tome. The illustrations are certainly magical- whimsical drawings of famous women past, present and imaginary, including Michelle Obama, Kate Moss, Barbie, Cinderella, Frida Kahlo- and even the Greek goddess Athena. There are make-believe interviews with Grace Kelly and Jackie Kennedy; features with Audrey Hepburn and Maria Callas. In this sense, it’s a celebration of fashion as a dynamic, creative and visually striking industry- a reminder that behind today’s perceived ideal of beauty lie real women sketched from legend. In short, the magazine erases all boundaries to the imagination- and instead draws women as they want to be seen. No wands, no magic lamps- just pen and paper.  
Some might see HERSELF as completely pointless and utterly pretentious, and in many ways it’s easy to understand why. What’s the point in drawing comic strip conversations where Marilyn Monroe tells Lula that it’s all make-believe? What’s the point if none of it is real? But I disagree. Isn’t that the point of fashion- it doesn’t matter whether it’s real or drawn, what matters is how you react, whether it makes you think and see the world in a different light. Fashion is art, after all. It exists in the same way Vogue exists, or the same way an art catalogue or comic book exists. It’s not right or wrong, it’s just a new magazine trying to give free reign to our imagination. In the words of that famously-drawn female Jessica Rabbit: “I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way”.

Wednesday 18 January 2012

Random Acts


Billed as “television as art, rather than about art”, Random Acts is a collaborative project between Channel 4 and Dazed & Confused, featuring a series of exciting three-minute films which will be aired on Channel 4 throughout 2012. Disrupting the post-watershed schedule every weekday (11.05pm seems to be the moment, folks), it’s a surprisingly diverse range. The all-encompassing content includes dance, video art, music, animation and spoken word- commissioning both firmly established artists as well as budding talent. Each and every Random Act is a startlingly original expression of creativity- little pockets of fresh, unconstrained thought that are wonderfully unfettered by inane presenters and conservative habits of mainstream TV. Good riddance, Rulebook. As Captain Barbossa rightly says in Pirates, they were more like guidelines anyway.
So far, the project has showcased the very best in imaginative talent- featuring mini films by ingenious groups such as Tate Media, wind-up visual artists Jake & Dinos Chapman, and visionary fashion photographer Rankin. Last Thursday Rankin presented his Random entry entitled 'Rachael'- a cinematic glimpse of a seemingly normal family in post-war Britain. Penned by Irvine “Trainspotting” Welsh, the short art film starred Holliday Grainger (the insufferable Katherine Howard in The Tudors) as Rachael, a girl whose youthful innocent appearance in the bathroom mirror belied darker, deeper stirrings. And last night, it was the turn for Henka Dance to shine- as contemporary dancer Fukiko Takase physically took flight with bold, ballet-like movements in what looked like a disused warehouse. It was visually arresting, the close-ups powerfully involving us in her choreographed swan song. So if you’re looking to escape the endless barrage of soaps (the list is painfully, painfully endless) and dumb dramas (the big culprit being Zooey Deschanel’s disappointing New Girl), then why not flick to Channel 4 at 11.05pm? Next Monday’s Random offering of poetry by Polar Bear looks intriguing- and at just 3 minutes long, I think it’ll be a brief burst of refreshing creativity just before bed.

Sunday 15 January 2012

War Horse




There’s a scene towards the end of Steven Spielberg’s War Horse set in a ghostly No Man’s Land featuring nothing more than a horse snared in wire, a pair of wirecutters, and a simple, moving dialogue between an English soldier from Tyneside and a German soldier from Hamburg. It lasts no more than ten minutes, but it is perfectly wrought- a pivotal and powerfully understated moment that transforms this film from just another Spielberg war blockbuster to one that might just stand the test of generations. This is classic Spielberg back at his best: a brief moment of ceasefire that aligns itself closely with the very human element of the war- the individual losses that brought a generation to its knees. And screenwriters Lee Hall and Richard "Love Actually"  Curtis definitely spare no prisoners with their sentimental script - it's calculatingly emotional, reducing you (well, me anyway) to tears at all the right moments. Critics have branded it too schmaltzy- the tear-jerking script and saturated hues of the countryside scenes deliberately angled like arrows to the heart. These critics should just trot on. For me, War Horse clears all the jumps, humanising the war without any bloodshot or gore. What a relief, too: those who have seen the play might wonder how the film ensures the horse, Joey, remains the story's very heart. The book does it with his first-person horsey narration, the play does it with magnificent equine puppets. Of course, the film has neither but what it does do is to superbly explore the human bond that draws each character closer to Joey. In this sense, it's actually more like E.T. than Saving Private Ryan- we all understand why the characters seek comfort and love with Joey during a terrible time of war. Dreamlike, powerful, and sweeping- the breathtaking cinematography achieves much more than the stage production, effectively developing the story of one horse's odyssey through the First World War into a moving account of individual loss and a simple bond of love. Some might find the golden sunsets a little too obvious, and at times the story strands feel a little too episodic. For all that, though, this is a classic- the cast effectively delivering a heartwarming tale filled with tears and laughter (special mention has to go to the naughty goose, lovingly nicked from the play). And whilst at over two and a half hours long, Spielberg certainly goes the distance, I still say it's worth every bottom-numbing minute. I mean, you'd have to have a heart of pure, solid stone not to even be a tiny bit bewitched by the beautifully-trained horses.

Wednesday 11 January 2012

Heavenly Hakkasan

Hakkasan, London’s stylish Chinese restaurant, is an express route to food heaven. From the inventively delicate morsels of food to the impeccably stylish service, the entire experience seduces. The food is so good that hours (even days) later, when you’re back at home moodily chewing your own (rubbish) culinary creation, your taste buds can still recreate that magical taste. From memory, they continue to pinpoint every flavour. I mean, it really is that good. From the signature roasted silver cod with champagne and chinese honey to the stir fry Chilean seabass, and the pan-fried wagyu beef to the exquisite lotus and gai-lan stirfry, the menu offers pearl after pearl. And I haven’t even started describing the dim sum yet. For that, the menu is genuinely staggering: parcels of heaven including tender Alaskan snow crab wrapped in crisp fried vermicelli and xo sauce, puff-spiced with cardamom and fennel seed and mooli spring roll with bean curd puff and yam roll to longingly list just a few. Never has dim sum been so sophisticated and original. All the Chinese takeaways you’ve ever consumed (and there are a lot of them) gradually line-up in embarrassment, hanging their greasy heads in shame. For Hakkasan serves Chinese cuisine with a twist of fusion- updated, enhanced, and turned on its head by westernized flavours. It’s by no means authentic Chinese food, but neither is the fare offered by your local takeaway store (yes tourist prawn toast, I’m looking at you). Instead, Hakkasan’s culinary creations are a salute to one of the best-loved cuisines in the world – proof that Chinese food can be just as stylish as its Japanese cousin.
You only need to breathe in the subtly-spiced incense and admire the sleek wooden décor to understand where Hakkasan’s owners are trying to go with their franchise. We ate downstairs, in the Mayfair branch on Bruton Street, a subterranean vault with mellow nightclub lighting and relaxed background music that seemed perfectly calibrated to the restaurant’s insistent chic. Delicately carved lattice screens separate this space into intimate dining areas- ancient China smuggled into the 21st century. The New York nightclub feel is wonderfully reflected in the cocktail menu (what meal is complete without a good drink?) The rose-petal martini was offensively girly (it was served complete with an actual flower, but I don’t care- it was delicious) as is the pink Mao-Mao –a wonderful concoction of watermelon, strawberries, Belvedere vodka, Akashi-tai sake, and strawberry liqueur that was delicious but, unsurprisingly, incredibly pink. One not to try is the curiously-named Sushi Bartender’s Breakfast- that was a rookie error - a meal in itself, it nearly filled me up before the food had even begun. Curiosity killed the cat.
It isn’t difficult to see why the newer, shinier Mayfair branch trumps over its original, older sibling in Hanway Place. I found the staff to be much friendlier, and I always felt the dodgy alleyway entrance to the original Hakkasan behind Tottenham Court Road to be more seedy than it was sexy. In the end, though, both serve the same epicurean delights – meaning that whichever of the two branches you choose, you and your tastebuds will be blown away. Just make sure you can dig deep into your pockets- those who complain about the prices aren’t telling you a lie. But, then again, you will be paying for heavenly quality that won’t disappoint - making Hakkasan a firm favourite amongst those who enjoy an all-round dining treat.

Hakkasan Mayfair on Urbanspoon

Tuesday 10 January 2012

Life from the Top Deck



Another day, another bus, another long commute. You're lost in fragmented, overlapping thought, waiting impatiently for your everyday journey to end. It’s tiring, this repetitive aspect of your life- each morning punctuated by snapshot moments, fleeting thoughts and anonymous crowds. After a while, each day seems so similar that eventually it all just blurs into one. Now, Top Deck, a photo exhibition that launches this Thursday (12th January) at Downstairs at Mother London, is re-injecting some meaning into this routine aspect of our lives. An inspiring series of photos snapped by photographers Will Robson-Scott and James Pearson-Howes over two years on the top decks of east London’s buses, it redefines the morning commute. By translating commuters’ partial pensive wanderings into a photographic myriad, it captures the singular moments that we no longer notice, or appreciate. Certainly enough to make me think twice about burying my head in the paper. The London-based duo behind Top Deck was partly-inspired by street photographer Tom Wood whose series of photographs “All Zones Off Peak” captured the everyday, repetitive lives of Merseyside commuters. 
Top Deck promises to be just as exciting and empathetic an observation- a reminder that even the most boring moments of our day have the power to astonish. It's a fresh new angle on every morning’s routine monotony. Their work will be on display for two weeks at Mother (London’s hippest ad agency) on East London’s Redchurch street - as well as in a limited edition newspaper publication. So next time you’re doing the daily commute (tomorrow?), just open your eyes and look at the world around you as if through the Top Deck lens- you never know what you might truly see.
Purchase your own limited edition of the Top Deck publication at http://topdeck.bigcartel.com from the 12th of January.