27th September 2014, Virgin Active, Canary Wharf, London
In another attempt to do something else with our Saturdays than drinking wine, me and Hell's Bells were off to try out VIPR. Apparently it's the new craze of the fitness world and something you must have tried.
I'm not sure our commitment to new healthy lives were overly clear when we strolled into the gym only to go and sit on the café balcony with burgers and lattes. But eventually the clouds came out, the food was eaten and we had no more excuses.
With training gear and game faces on, we headed into the VIPR studio and checked out the VIPRs with scepticism. These purple pipe shaped objects that aren't even all that heavy - how hard could it be?
As me and Hell's Bells were soon to learn - pretty damn hard. We should have known as soon as the instructor came in and was 120 pounds of pure muscle. I was not that wise and even sniggered at her when she dared suggest I'd take anything other than the heaviest weight in my first session.
I work out a lot and what I lack in flexibility and grace, I make up for in stamina. Still - I was drowning in sweat 5 minutes in with Hell's Bells giving me evil stares and hisses for dragging her there. She could have been at the pub now!
So don't be fooled by the somewhat innocent appearance of a VIPR - they are deadly. Squat 150 times whilst swinging the VIPR above your head and you'll know what I mean.
Once done with the VIPR, we were desperate for some serious relaxation and went to the swanky spa section of Virgin Active Canary Riverside where we concluded that swimming in the same pool as Daniel Craig in Skyfall basically means that we've both have gone to at least second base with him.
After a long relaxation session, we both concluded that tomorrow would be painful. And as clockwork, the text received from Scotty the next morning read:
-So I hear you broke Hell's?
Sunday, 26 October 2014
212. Tour de Michelin
24th September 2014, Galvin La Chapelle, Spitalfields, London
Following my first visit to a Michelin Star restaurant, I am ready to start with the attempt to tick off yet a few of the other ones off The List.
I was starting off with the beautiful Galvin La Chapelle where I have never before eaten although a very drunken drink has been had at the bar there once before. What I mainly seem to recall from that time though is that the dining room is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. Gorgeous high ceilings, magical light display and beautifully arched windows that allows this former parish hall to combine classical building with modern interior.
Not normally being one to oooh and aaah over architecture, I did quite enjoy taking it all in during my time in the bar waiting for Miss Ukraine with my long awaited glass of Moet.
As Miss Ukraine arrived we spent some further time in the bar chit chatting to the lovely staff about this and that and I found myself having to accept this place as an exception to my judgemental belief that all French waiters are born to be rude.
Seated at our table we enjoyed a truly amazing starter of pea veloute - in other words pea soup. But it was possible the best pea soup I've ever had with delicious truffle crème and really good dinner rolls. A restaurant can really win me over with a good bread selection.
Our main was a gorgeous girolle risotto - which may not sound like much but may be the greatest dish known to man if made in the right way. I might be biased being from a nation obsessed with chanterelles, but it was absolutely scrumptious.
At this stage we were a bottle of champagne in and not too far from finishing an additional bottle Muscadet - we decided to make best friends with our waiter. The patience of that guy needs to be commended, not everyone can handle mine and Miss Ukraine's lacking respect of boundaries.
Whilst talking to our lovely waiter I spotted one of the greatest cheese trolleys I have ever been faced with. In other words we skipped dessert and attacked the cheese selection instead.
Lord knows I love my cheese.
Following my first visit to a Michelin Star restaurant, I am ready to start with the attempt to tick off yet a few of the other ones off The List.
I was starting off with the beautiful Galvin La Chapelle where I have never before eaten although a very drunken drink has been had at the bar there once before. What I mainly seem to recall from that time though is that the dining room is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. Gorgeous high ceilings, magical light display and beautifully arched windows that allows this former parish hall to combine classical building with modern interior.
Not normally being one to oooh and aaah over architecture, I did quite enjoy taking it all in during my time in the bar waiting for Miss Ukraine with my long awaited glass of Moet.
As Miss Ukraine arrived we spent some further time in the bar chit chatting to the lovely staff about this and that and I found myself having to accept this place as an exception to my judgemental belief that all French waiters are born to be rude.
Seated at our table we enjoyed a truly amazing starter of pea veloute - in other words pea soup. But it was possible the best pea soup I've ever had with delicious truffle crème and really good dinner rolls. A restaurant can really win me over with a good bread selection.
Our main was a gorgeous girolle risotto - which may not sound like much but may be the greatest dish known to man if made in the right way. I might be biased being from a nation obsessed with chanterelles, but it was absolutely scrumptious.
At this stage we were a bottle of champagne in and not too far from finishing an additional bottle Muscadet - we decided to make best friends with our waiter. The patience of that guy needs to be commended, not everyone can handle mine and Miss Ukraine's lacking respect of boundaries.
Whilst talking to our lovely waiter I spotted one of the greatest cheese trolleys I have ever been faced with. In other words we skipped dessert and attacked the cheese selection instead.
Lord knows I love my cheese.
 |
| Mesmerising |
 |
| Beautiful cheese trolley, harassed waiter |
211. All Clucked Up
22nd September 2014, Truman Breweries, Shoreditch, London
New job equals new lunch opportunities!
And an income, a routine and a sense of security, but let's focus on the important parts.
After spending the last few years in Canary Wharf, the lunch options have been pre wrapped sandwiches, salty soups and some soggy salads. Fish'n'chips on a Friday if you're lucky.
With a close proximity to both Shoreditch and City of London - lack of alternative is no more. I nevertheless spent the first month getting sandwiches from Pret and salads from Eat. Time to put my money where my mouth wasn't.
Outside of Truman Brewery there is this little square - parking lot is probably more accurate - where they have some of the cutest little food trucks with organic and inventive foods of different variety, obviously with some Shoreditch quirkiness added to the mix.
Once dragging some non suspecting colleagues away from the banker digs, I based my decision between the food trucks solely on the funniest name. The top two in that contest were without a doubt Mother Clucker and Meat Porn - chicken wings or pulled brisket. In all fairness, Mother Clucker is probably wittier, but a white blouse and chicken wings wasn't going to be a great combo...
My lunch buddy who did try the chicken wings though said that they were the best wings she's had outside of the States - and she as a Texan should know!
I was very happy with my brisket though, beats ready made sandwiches by miles.
New lunch hang out - found!
New job equals new lunch opportunities!
And an income, a routine and a sense of security, but let's focus on the important parts.
After spending the last few years in Canary Wharf, the lunch options have been pre wrapped sandwiches, salty soups and some soggy salads. Fish'n'chips on a Friday if you're lucky.
With a close proximity to both Shoreditch and City of London - lack of alternative is no more. I nevertheless spent the first month getting sandwiches from Pret and salads from Eat. Time to put my money where my mouth wasn't.
Outside of Truman Brewery there is this little square - parking lot is probably more accurate - where they have some of the cutest little food trucks with organic and inventive foods of different variety, obviously with some Shoreditch quirkiness added to the mix.
Once dragging some non suspecting colleagues away from the banker digs, I based my decision between the food trucks solely on the funniest name. The top two in that contest were without a doubt Mother Clucker and Meat Porn - chicken wings or pulled brisket. In all fairness, Mother Clucker is probably wittier, but a white blouse and chicken wings wasn't going to be a great combo...
My lunch buddy who did try the chicken wings though said that they were the best wings she's had outside of the States - and she as a Texan should know!
I was very happy with my brisket though, beats ready made sandwiches by miles.
New lunch hang out - found!
 |
| Bit of Shoreditch brilliance in the City |
210. French Nandos
20th September 2014, Le Secret, Canary Wharf, London
Le Secret is one of those random little places where I've been planning to go but haven't gotten around to.
It is in Canary Wharf but randomly located on the river away from the business area and away from anything else really. That and the fact that they really only serve chicken makes it weird enough for me to want to go there.
Luckily I get an invite from the Camel to a birthday dinner at "some French place in your area". Her sense of location never fails to impress!
After revisiting my old stomping grounds of the Canary Wharf shopping centre and my old gym, I made my way to the restaurant ready to eat some serious chicken.
Unsure of why the restaurant had it's name in the first place, I did the grave mistake of asking the waiter about it. Apparently it has to do with some sort of 'Secret Sauce'. That was enough to put me into the same sort of fits of laughter as being on the Piccadilly Line towards Cockfosters. Seven years on and that still isn't getting old.
It is a nice little restaurant, cute, clean and chicken loving - but to quote another party member "it's basically posh, French Nando's". I'm not sure the secret sauce made it all that special. But it did make it funnier, I'll agree with that.
Turns out that not everything French is all that fancy.
Le Secret is one of those random little places where I've been planning to go but haven't gotten around to.
It is in Canary Wharf but randomly located on the river away from the business area and away from anything else really. That and the fact that they really only serve chicken makes it weird enough for me to want to go there.
Luckily I get an invite from the Camel to a birthday dinner at "some French place in your area". Her sense of location never fails to impress!
After revisiting my old stomping grounds of the Canary Wharf shopping centre and my old gym, I made my way to the restaurant ready to eat some serious chicken.
Unsure of why the restaurant had it's name in the first place, I did the grave mistake of asking the waiter about it. Apparently it has to do with some sort of 'Secret Sauce'. That was enough to put me into the same sort of fits of laughter as being on the Piccadilly Line towards Cockfosters. Seven years on and that still isn't getting old.
It is a nice little restaurant, cute, clean and chicken loving - but to quote another party member "it's basically posh, French Nando's". I'm not sure the secret sauce made it all that special. But it did make it funnier, I'll agree with that.
Turns out that not everything French is all that fancy.
209. Four Eyes
15th September 2014, David Clulow, City of London
Not having seen properly for the past three years, it was time to give in and actually go to the optician and get my slowly approaching blindness confirmed.
She should not have given me candy first thing. Just saying. In all fairness she is not a paediatrician and may not know the tricks of the candy-as-a-reward procedure, but she'll hopefully know next time that the candy is at the final stage.
Or this will happen:
Optician lady who gave me candy (concerned): Uhm. You basically see nothing. At all.
Me (upbeat and on a sugar high): Oh. OK! Can I have more candy now?
Optician lady who gave me candy (still concerned): Do your current glasses actually make any difference?
Me (getting slightly bored): Yeah, they're Ralph Lauren.
Optician lady who gave me candy (rolling her eyes in the dark room): Right.... Do you not find yourself bumping into things a lot?
Me (hopeful): If I say yes, do I get more candy?
Optician lady who gave me candy (irritated): You must be struggling with sitting in front of a computer all day?
Me (disappointed): So no more candy then?
In the end, after making me sit still, Optician Lady confirmed what we all now - the blurriness in my eye sight is not necessarily immediately linked to the blurriness in my head. New glasses it was. Quilted leather Chanel ones even.
It's like I'm smarter already.
Not having seen properly for the past three years, it was time to give in and actually go to the optician and get my slowly approaching blindness confirmed.
She should not have given me candy first thing. Just saying. In all fairness she is not a paediatrician and may not know the tricks of the candy-as-a-reward procedure, but she'll hopefully know next time that the candy is at the final stage.
Or this will happen:
Optician lady who gave me candy (concerned): Uhm. You basically see nothing. At all.
Me (upbeat and on a sugar high): Oh. OK! Can I have more candy now?
Optician lady who gave me candy (still concerned): Do your current glasses actually make any difference?
Me (getting slightly bored): Yeah, they're Ralph Lauren.
Optician lady who gave me candy (rolling her eyes in the dark room): Right.... Do you not find yourself bumping into things a lot?
Me (hopeful): If I say yes, do I get more candy?
Optician lady who gave me candy (irritated): You must be struggling with sitting in front of a computer all day?
Me (disappointed): So no more candy then?
In the end, after making me sit still, Optician Lady confirmed what we all now - the blurriness in my eye sight is not necessarily immediately linked to the blurriness in my head. New glasses it was. Quilted leather Chanel ones even.
It's like I'm smarter already.
 |
| Look how smart I am! |
208. Cast a Vote
14th September 2014, Swedish Embassy, Marylebone, London
Most people who knows me would probably say that I'm highly opinionated. Actually, few people would probably be that polite and chose very different words to describe me and my constant debating my views on things.
Politics are no exception from me and my highly vocal (read: loud) take on the world. And you would have expected someone who has such strong opinions on every single political party and their stands to drag her ass and vote when given the chance.
Truth is, I have never voted in a general election. In fact, last time I went to vote for anything other than the X-Factor was in the Swedish elections for the Euro Zone. And age 18, I primarily voted because I had just turned 18 and I could. I also voted no solely because I thought the EUR bills were ugly. I was clearly a very mature voter.
So, having spent the last 10 years complaining about politics globally and Swedish politics more than anything, it was time to drag my ass to the embassy and actually vote.
To sum up Swedish politics in one word so that people outside Sweden can understand at which level it operates; playground. Only a bit less mature.
The ongoing war between the left and the right wing parties have gone something like this along the last few years:
Lefties: You're stupid.
Righties: Well, you're stupid-er.
Lefties: Well... Your mummy's stupid too!
Righties: Well, you... Smell.
I wish I was exaggerating.
So whilst the two biggest parties in Sweden are arguing about who is the most stupid, we've had some lovely development amongst the smaller parties.
There's the Swedish nationalist party, whose opinions I don't necessarily agree with, but they're scoring more and more votes on the fact that every other single party is terrified to even mention immigration and integration in spite of that being the biggest chink out of the Swedish national budget. People are not stupid and they will sadly support a party who stands for a rather concerning view of human beings based on the lack of options - which spreads beyond their views on immigrants (although people tend to get stuck on that bit).
And how do the other parties deal with their success? Do they listen to their voters and try to figure out why people are still sympathising with the Swedish Democrats to maybe see if there is a focus in their own politics that may be lacking. No, they instead refuse to say hi to the party members in the corridors of the parliament and exclude from the office Christmas party. Your basic school ground bullying on other words. And it's OK as per Swedish media because 'they are racist'. Apparently Swedish media missed the memo on two wrongs not making one right.
And God forbid anyone mentions that we still have communist in parliament. It's not like the commies have ever done anything to oppress people...
Whilst the racist debate is taking more and more juvenile turns, we have the Feminist Party creeping out from the ashes of a burnt bra bonfire from the 70's (let's face it, choosing to wear a bra or not is what feminism is really all about)... It doesn't sound too bad does it? Feminism is a lovely thing right?
Sadly, these are not the Emma Watson (whose UN speech I can not praise enough) type of feminist that simply believes in equal rights for all human beings - but the remains of the man haters of the last century that gave feminism a bad name to begin with. A party that informs us that all men are actually animals and needs to be re educated/programmed. Men of Sweden, I am insulted on your behalf.
Aside of these goodies, we have party leaders being attacked for having the audacity to work in politics and also be attractive, the denial that our financial minister is the greatest thing to have happened to the Swedish economy and the even harsher denial that Sweden has the social democrats to thank for the amazing social system that we do have.
Playground. Can not be said enough.
Anyway, it was time for me to go and actually vote for the least bad of the immature children running my home country, so off to Marylebone and the Swedish embassy.
I was met by two of the things I like the least: queues and admin. I'm not quite sure how many ways in which I can confirm my identity and how much arguing it is worth to go behind a curtain to put a cross in a box on a piece of paper.
In the end we got there, although I doubt I made any new friends at the embassy. That's OK, wasn't much love there to begin with.
A blank vote is still a vote right?
Most people who knows me would probably say that I'm highly opinionated. Actually, few people would probably be that polite and chose very different words to describe me and my constant debating my views on things.
Politics are no exception from me and my highly vocal (read: loud) take on the world. And you would have expected someone who has such strong opinions on every single political party and their stands to drag her ass and vote when given the chance.
Truth is, I have never voted in a general election. In fact, last time I went to vote for anything other than the X-Factor was in the Swedish elections for the Euro Zone. And age 18, I primarily voted because I had just turned 18 and I could. I also voted no solely because I thought the EUR bills were ugly. I was clearly a very mature voter.
So, having spent the last 10 years complaining about politics globally and Swedish politics more than anything, it was time to drag my ass to the embassy and actually vote.
To sum up Swedish politics in one word so that people outside Sweden can understand at which level it operates; playground. Only a bit less mature.
The ongoing war between the left and the right wing parties have gone something like this along the last few years:
Lefties: You're stupid.
Righties: Well, you're stupid-er.
Lefties: Well... Your mummy's stupid too!
Righties: Well, you... Smell.
I wish I was exaggerating.
So whilst the two biggest parties in Sweden are arguing about who is the most stupid, we've had some lovely development amongst the smaller parties.
There's the Swedish nationalist party, whose opinions I don't necessarily agree with, but they're scoring more and more votes on the fact that every other single party is terrified to even mention immigration and integration in spite of that being the biggest chink out of the Swedish national budget. People are not stupid and they will sadly support a party who stands for a rather concerning view of human beings based on the lack of options - which spreads beyond their views on immigrants (although people tend to get stuck on that bit).
And how do the other parties deal with their success? Do they listen to their voters and try to figure out why people are still sympathising with the Swedish Democrats to maybe see if there is a focus in their own politics that may be lacking. No, they instead refuse to say hi to the party members in the corridors of the parliament and exclude from the office Christmas party. Your basic school ground bullying on other words. And it's OK as per Swedish media because 'they are racist'. Apparently Swedish media missed the memo on two wrongs not making one right.
And God forbid anyone mentions that we still have communist in parliament. It's not like the commies have ever done anything to oppress people...
Whilst the racist debate is taking more and more juvenile turns, we have the Feminist Party creeping out from the ashes of a burnt bra bonfire from the 70's (let's face it, choosing to wear a bra or not is what feminism is really all about)... It doesn't sound too bad does it? Feminism is a lovely thing right?
Sadly, these are not the Emma Watson (whose UN speech I can not praise enough) type of feminist that simply believes in equal rights for all human beings - but the remains of the man haters of the last century that gave feminism a bad name to begin with. A party that informs us that all men are actually animals and needs to be re educated/programmed. Men of Sweden, I am insulted on your behalf.
Aside of these goodies, we have party leaders being attacked for having the audacity to work in politics and also be attractive, the denial that our financial minister is the greatest thing to have happened to the Swedish economy and the even harsher denial that Sweden has the social democrats to thank for the amazing social system that we do have.
Playground. Can not be said enough.
Anyway, it was time for me to go and actually vote for the least bad of the immature children running my home country, so off to Marylebone and the Swedish embassy.
I was met by two of the things I like the least: queues and admin. I'm not quite sure how many ways in which I can confirm my identity and how much arguing it is worth to go behind a curtain to put a cross in a box on a piece of paper.
In the end we got there, although I doubt I made any new friends at the embassy. That's OK, wasn't much love there to begin with.
A blank vote is still a vote right?
Monday, 20 October 2014
207. Out of my Comfort Zone
14th September 2014, Jackson + Rye, Chiswick, London
The bad thing about living in the greatest city in the world is that you explore that city very little as you are feeling more at home in it. It doesn't help if you have a deep hatred towards public transport either.
There are a lot of areas in London that I haven't set foot in. Fact is, if it's outside of zone 1, it's a safe bet that I have most likely not ventured there before.
But as we get older and people are settling down and getting mortgages, I find myself having to travel to the more affordable areas of London - in other words, zone 3 or worse.
In my attempt to cross a few unexplored areas of The List, off to Chiswick I was to meet Hell's Bells and Princess of Persia for shopping and brunch.
And I get it. Sort of. In the almost-suburbs, there are all these trees and green stuff which people seem to be super into and like... Fresh air. Which is also this big frickin' deal as it appears. Well I like my air smelling slightly of marijuana and no trees getting in my way when I stagger home at 4 AM in my Manolos.
However, as we were walking through the cute little streets of Chiswick I had to admit that it really was a rather nice little area. We went antiquing, strolled through the park and had brunch and cocktails at the lovely Jackson + Rye. We were basically an annoyingly perfect couple in a Woody Allen film who covers up their inner dysfunctionality with a shield of faultlessness.
I would say I'll be back soon. But the tube ride is 55 minutes. I'm not a masochist.
The bad thing about living in the greatest city in the world is that you explore that city very little as you are feeling more at home in it. It doesn't help if you have a deep hatred towards public transport either.
There are a lot of areas in London that I haven't set foot in. Fact is, if it's outside of zone 1, it's a safe bet that I have most likely not ventured there before.
But as we get older and people are settling down and getting mortgages, I find myself having to travel to the more affordable areas of London - in other words, zone 3 or worse.
In my attempt to cross a few unexplored areas of The List, off to Chiswick I was to meet Hell's Bells and Princess of Persia for shopping and brunch.
And I get it. Sort of. In the almost-suburbs, there are all these trees and green stuff which people seem to be super into and like... Fresh air. Which is also this big frickin' deal as it appears. Well I like my air smelling slightly of marijuana and no trees getting in my way when I stagger home at 4 AM in my Manolos.
However, as we were walking through the cute little streets of Chiswick I had to admit that it really was a rather nice little area. We went antiquing, strolled through the park and had brunch and cocktails at the lovely Jackson + Rye. We were basically an annoyingly perfect couple in a Woody Allen film who covers up their inner dysfunctionality with a shield of faultlessness.
I would say I'll be back soon. But the tube ride is 55 minutes. I'm not a masochist.
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