Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.


Made in Britain: Warp Films at 10, British Film Institute, London, 19-30 April
April features a BFI celebration of 10 years of contemporary British cinema from a company behind several iconic stories. Continuing an annual exploration of British Cinema, last year centered on female directors, this time the focus is on the productions of Warp Films. Founded in 2001 the company has produced among others This is England and Dead Man’s Shoes. There will also be a Film Masterclass available for the aspiring cinematographers.



Petrenko conducts in Warwick, Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry CV4 7AL, 24 April
Conductor Vasily Petrenko and Nikolai Lugansky on piano present an all-Russian evening with Tchaikovsky's First, Liadov’s Enchanted Lake and Prokofiev’s Fifth. Among the most respected piano concertos these pieces have been described as virtuoso Cossack-rides and fairytales of reality escape. Petrenko is the Chief Conductor of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra and Lugansky won the 2011 BBC Music Magazine Awards in the Chamber Music category.



The day I swapped my dad for two goldfish, Beacon Arts Centre, Greenock PA15 1HJ, 25 – 27 April
Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean have had another picture book turned theatre with The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish. Following the success of The Wolves in the Walls in 2006 the play explores what happens when a spur of the moment decision turns bad and snowsballs out of control. Appropriate for anyone aged 6 or up. Created and directed by Lu Kemp and Abigail Docherty and written by Oliver Emanuel.


The Wright Way, BBC1, Starts 23 April
A new sitcom by Ben Elton, The Wright Way stars David Haig as Gerald Wright from Baselricky Council Health & Safety Department. He tries in vain to manage his hopeless team and avoid causing the catastrophes they are meant to prevent. A biting look on bureaucracy and office incompetence from the man responsible for the Blackadder series and The Young Ones. Also starring Mina Anwar, Kacey Ainsworth, Joanne Matthews, and Robert Daws.



The Dairy Art Centre, London WC1N 1PG, opens 24 April
Former-milk-depot-turned-art-gallery The Dairy will host its inaugural exhibition of avant-garde pop culture mix from Swiss artist John Armleder. His art is described as “a celebration of reality in its everyday and most commonplace manifestations.” Not-for-profit and free for all the 12,500 sq ft centre will feature the projects chosen by collectors Frank Cohen and Nicolai Frahm. Having worked together for over 15 years the couple and collaborated and collected with many of the most prolific artists, they have called the dairy a “kunsthalle”, a space where the artworld and the public can come together.
A new play based on one of Neil Gaiman's books will premiere in Scotland. Photo: Darryl James/Getty Images
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The Bloody Mary is dead: all hail the Bloody Caesar

This Canadian version of an old standard is a good substitute for dinner.

It is not anti-Catholic bias that makes me dislike the Bloody Mary, that lumpish combination of tomato juice and vodka named after a 16th-century English queen who, despite the immense reach of her royal powers, found burning Protestants alive the most effective display of majesty.

My prejudice is against its contents: the pulverised tomatoes that look like run-off from a Tudor torture chamber. A whole tomato is a source of joy and, occasionally, wonder (I remember learning that the Farsi for tomato is gojeh farangi, which translates literally as “foreign plum”) – and I am as fond of pizza as anyone. Most accessories to the Bloody Mary are fine with me: Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, celery, black pepper, even sherry or oysters. But generally I share the curmudgeon Bernard DeVoto’s mistrust of fruit juice in my spirits: “all pestilential, all gangrenous, all vile” was the great man’s verdict. His main objection was sweetness but I will include the admittedly savoury tomato in my ban. At the cocktail hour, I have been known to crave all kinds of odd concoctions but none has included pulp.

To many, the whole point of a Bloody Mary is that you don’t wait until the cocktail hour. This seems to entail a certain shying away from unpleasant realities. I know perfectly well the reaction I would get if I were to ask for a grilled tomato and a chilled Martini at brunch: my friends would start likening me to F Scott Fitzgerald and they wouldn’t be referring to my writing talent. Despite its remarkably similar contents, a Bloody Mary is a perfectly acceptable midday, middle-class beverage. If the original Mary were here to witness such hypocrisy, she would surely tut and reach for her firelighters.

Yet, like the good Catholic I certainly am not, I must confess, for I have seen the error of my ways. In July, on Vancouver Island, I tried a Bloody Caesar – Canada’s spirited response to England’s favourite breakfast tipple (“I’ll see your Tudor queen, you bunch of retrograde royalists, and raise you a Roman emperor”). The main difference is a weird yet oddly palatable concoction called Clamato: tomato juice thinned and refined by clam juice. Replace your standard slop with this stuff, which has all the tang of tomato yet flows like a veritable Niagara, and you will have a drink far stranger yet more delicious than the traditional version.

Apparently, the Caesar was invented by an Italian restaurateur in Calgary, Alberta, who wanted a liquid version of his favourite dish from the old country: spaghetti alle vongole in rosso (clam and tomato spaghetti). He got it – and, more importantly, the rest of us got something we can drink not at breakfast but instead of dinner. Find a really interesting garnish – pickled bull kelp or spicy pickled celery, say – and you can even claim to have eaten your greens.

I’m sure that dedicated fans of the Bloody Mary will consider this entire column heretical, which seems appropriate: that’s the side I was born on, being Jewish, and I like to hope I wouldn’t switch even under extreme forms of persuasion. But this cocktail is in any case a broad church: few cocktails come in so many different incarnations.

The original was invented, according to him, by Fernand Petiot, who was a French barman in New York during Prohibition (and so must have known a thing or two about hypocrisy). It includes lemon juice and a “layer” of Worcestershire sauce and the tomato juice is strained; it may also actually have been named after a barmaid.

All of which proves only that dogma has no place at the bar. Variety is the spice of life, which makes it ironic that the world’s spiciest cocktail bestows a frivolous immortality on a woman who believed all choice to be the work of the devil.

Next week John Burnside on nature

Nina Caplan is the 2014 Fortnum & Mason Drink Writer of the Year and 2014 Louis Roederer International Wine Columnist of the Year for her columns on drink in the New Statesman. She tweets as @NinaCaplan.

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin vs Isis