Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Back home
After fancy food at Tower Bridge, returned home to a simple supper of macaroni. Boil 4 ounces of macaroni with 2 ounces of celery, chopped across the stalks, for 10 minutes or so. Drain off the water, sprinkle dried basil and grated parmesan and serve. Far too simple to appear on any restaurant menu.
Followed yesterday lunch time by baked cod from the man from Hastings, served with boiled potatoes and crinkly cabbage. Cod not that good, don't think it helps being summer, but better than the mackerel from Tower Bridge. Perhaps food is like clothes: you have to pay a great deal for simplicity done well. There is nowhere to hide, so it has to be absolutely spot on. On the other hand we failed at Il Ponte by aiming too high on the menu. We clearly need more practise at sussing out menus.
Following my post of 16th February, I can now report two supplementary rites of passage. First, I have obtained one of those natty little plastic contraptions to help me keep track of what pill I have taken when. Second, I have paid a visit to a podiatrist (http://www.maryrigal.co.uk/), not being able to reach my increasingly dodgy toe nails any more, at least for the present. An establishment which I have been passing several times a week for many weeks now and which I have finally made a very satisfactory contact with. Shy at my age!
But I am sure there is a business opportunity in the plastic contraptions. One can already buy fancy little pill pots, perhaps in the 'Crown Derby' range, to hold pills. But such pots are just that, with all one's pills mixed up in the one pot, not good for those with ageing grey cells. There must be a market out there for fancy pill pots, with separation into morning and afternoon and into days of the week, along the lines of the plastic contraptions, but made out of porcelain or silver gilt rather than plastic. Decorated with cupids, swags or shepherdesses according to taste. Show off items to be kept on an occasional table rather than hidden away in the bathroom as if taking drugs was something to be ashamed of. Maybe with compartments for recreational drugs as well as compartments for the other sort. Perhaps I could persuade the Rolling Stones, people of an appropriate age, inclination and image, to do a promotion? How much would it cost to get the Chinese to knock up a few samples for me? Would they think it such a splendid idea that they would do it for free?
On second thoughts, maybe I should approach Damien Hirst, the doyen of Brit Crud and strong player in the luxury end of the tack market. There would be an excellent fit with his pill colour dot fetish. Maybe a box made out of crytallized body parts garnished with sapphires? Or perhaps body parts enshrined in sheets of perspex, rather in the way of better class souvenirs?
Then in years to come, one could go to special exhibitions of the things at the V&A or the Wallace Collection.
Followed yesterday lunch time by baked cod from the man from Hastings, served with boiled potatoes and crinkly cabbage. Cod not that good, don't think it helps being summer, but better than the mackerel from Tower Bridge. Perhaps food is like clothes: you have to pay a great deal for simplicity done well. There is nowhere to hide, so it has to be absolutely spot on. On the other hand we failed at Il Ponte by aiming too high on the menu. We clearly need more practise at sussing out menus.
Following my post of 16th February, I can now report two supplementary rites of passage. First, I have obtained one of those natty little plastic contraptions to help me keep track of what pill I have taken when. Second, I have paid a visit to a podiatrist (http://www.maryrigal.co.uk/), not being able to reach my increasingly dodgy toe nails any more, at least for the present. An establishment which I have been passing several times a week for many weeks now and which I have finally made a very satisfactory contact with. Shy at my age!
But I am sure there is a business opportunity in the plastic contraptions. One can already buy fancy little pill pots, perhaps in the 'Crown Derby' range, to hold pills. But such pots are just that, with all one's pills mixed up in the one pot, not good for those with ageing grey cells. There must be a market out there for fancy pill pots, with separation into morning and afternoon and into days of the week, along the lines of the plastic contraptions, but made out of porcelain or silver gilt rather than plastic. Decorated with cupids, swags or shepherdesses according to taste. Show off items to be kept on an occasional table rather than hidden away in the bathroom as if taking drugs was something to be ashamed of. Maybe with compartments for recreational drugs as well as compartments for the other sort. Perhaps I could persuade the Rolling Stones, people of an appropriate age, inclination and image, to do a promotion? How much would it cost to get the Chinese to knock up a few samples for me? Would they think it such a splendid idea that they would do it for free?
On second thoughts, maybe I should approach Damien Hirst, the doyen of Brit Crud and strong player in the luxury end of the tack market. There would be an excellent fit with his pill colour dot fetish. Maybe a box made out of crytallized body parts garnished with sapphires? Or perhaps body parts enshrined in sheets of perspex, rather in the way of better class souvenirs?
Then in years to come, one could go to special exhibitions of the things at the V&A or the Wallace Collection.
# posted by Jim @ 9:57 PM 
