Nina Caplan drinks German wine and contemplates J M W Turner’s work on war.
In many ways, January diets are as self-indulgent as the Christmas binge.
Even I willingly acknowledge that the damage to the vineyards of Champagne was one of the lesser tragedies of the First World War.
What should you do to stay happy and healthy this Christmas? You’ll like the first piece of advice: if you want to relax, you could try eating a big meal.
Jay the lesbian gannet made our Christmas much less tense than normal. The home-made Baileys flowed.
From without in the chilly night, the Hovel – which is a maisonette above a shop – looked cosy; I could see lamplight and books ranged on shelves.
In the spirit of festive generosity I would like to offer a helping hand when it comes to surviving the onslaught of hot plonk. Here, food, as in so many situations, is your friend.
Real Meals by Will Self.
The Drink Column.
Once upon a time, the food of Venice was considered the finest in Europe, “specialising in wild boar, peacock, venison, elaborate salads and architectural pastries”.
Will Self’s Real Meals.
We are now in the thick of what you might call “the bonfire season”, which runs from mid-October to the weekend after Guy Fawkes Night.
What does the term mean, other than that the wine is big, probably red, and certainly unaffordable?
Do you dislike Jamie Oliver because you’re ideologically opposed to his pasta dishes, or is it because the idea of a working class man who has acquired the privileges of middle class life pisses you off?
Scott Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Wicca in the Kitchen, “a practical guide to food magic”, promises, rather thrillingly, that from now on, every “munch of celery will resonate with new meaning”.
We’re aiming for 150 bottles, with “NW6” on the label and a bouquet of Bakerloo. But this is about more than wine. Could we rediscover lost skills and reconnect with each other?
I can understand the logic of opening a branch of Dirty Burger in Shoreditch – but Vauxhall? Although the spirit of gentrification is taking up residence here, the fact remains the place is still what is scientifically termed a shithole.
Most fizzy drinks are vile, yet some of those still do duty as mixers – the point here being, presumably, to cancel out one horrible taste with another.
You are inclined to think that polenta and gnocchi, blinis and burritos have always been with us. But they are not part of our collective conscience as they would be for the people who grew up eating them.
Emily Anthes braves locusts, beetles, mealworms and more as she asks whether eating insects is the answer to feeding ever more humans and livestock.
Less than a century ago Iraq’s ancient Jewish community made up a third of Baghdad’s population but is now estimated at no more than seven individuals.
This is perfect comfort food for those who’re feeling vertiginous as they contemplate the giddy extent of the ever-inflating London property bubble.
Philip moved his court frequently and I believe his reasons had to do with drink: half of his lands produced wine, the other half beer.
In January 2013, there were just 15 micropubs, almost all of them in Kent. A year later, there were more than 40, spread across the country.
Blackberries make an excellent fool and a decent autumnal replacement for summer cherries in a clafoutis, as well as a lovely fruity sauce for the first of the season’s game.
Nicholas Lezard’s Down and Out column.
A cheerfully-purchased memento mori is forcing Eleanor Margolis to rethink her dietary choices. At least in the bedroom.
The oddity is that the French government is very helpful to wine buyers.
I don’t know how I got this far without sampling the mush that sustains the Southern states.
The original calls for garlic, spring onion, piccalilli, capers and wine, plus two American spice blends, parsley, grated apple, Cheddar and carrots, shredded ham, soy sauce and tomato.