On religious experiences

Ben’s Cookies, the famed cookie stand within Oxford’s Covered Market, is a staple in the otherwise relatively bland diet of famished students. Yet another example of the excellence and achievement found at Oxford, the shop has received  praise from tour books and students alike, rivals the popularity of Moo Moo’s milkshake stand in colorfully calorific euphoria. Where else will you be able to find Triple Chocolate, Double Chocolate, Milk Chocolate, Oatmeal and Raisin (the healthy alternative… it’s oats, people, like breakfast, only better!) Chocolate and Orange, Coconut, Cranberry and White Chocolate, Praline and Milk Chocolate… and more? Pair that with a Moo Moos milkshake or smoothie and you won’t have to eat for days.

But did I doubt the hype? Admittedly, yes. Having been less than impressed with other reputed gastronomic experiences such as Coffee Cake, Banoffee (yes, that’s Bannana + Toffee), and plum jam,  I definitely questioned the veracity of the palates.

I was advised to be sure that the cookie was to be served “warm” ie. meaning out of the oven within the past few minutes. Greeting with a query, the Ben’s apron-clad server asked, “a’iight if it’s hot?” “Perfect” I replied. And perfect might be the understatement of the century. My White Chocolate chunk cookie was so hot/fresh from the oven, that it could only be eaten with a spoon, transporting me into a haze of gastronomic bliss as I wandered through Covered Market on my brief (ie. 16 minute), but glorious, study break.

The saint who handed me the small white Ben’s Cookies bag (a creator of such a delicacy should only be referenced with a bowed head) bid me a good afternoon. As I walked away, I peered cautiously into the bag, and seeing only 96 grams of dough and white chocolate chips (you are charged by weight), I carefully extracted a corner of the hot cookie. And thus, the deliciousness ensued. The warm, buttery, perfectly baked cookie melted, not crumbled, into my mouth as the vanillas and butters in the dough declared their presence. Just as my mouth began to accommodate these fantastic new flavors, the first  white chocolate chip miraculously appeared. Chocolate chip, it is necessary to clarify for discerning readers, is inaccurate, as it was a full mouthful of chocolate chunks that promised edible happiness. Thus, with the swirls of vanilla, butter, a hint of sugar, and a white chocolate cube, I consumed my first bite of a Ben’s Cookie and proceeded to slowly inhale the exterior diameter of the entire cookie, until my cookie was reduced by an inch around. Speaking of inhalation, the smell of that warm cookie emanating from the bag was the scent of my childhood, sitting in the kitchen as trays of fresh brownies and cookies were removed from the ovens, sending the sweetest perfume of sugar and flour and chocolate into the air, promising mouthwatering delight, comfort, bliss, joy, and family.

Although I’d significantly reduced my Ben’s Cookie, that central 3 inch circle of heaven could not be eaten by breaking off pieces, not that I didn’t want to, but that it simply was not possible. My cookie was so hot and so fresh from the oven, that the white chocolate chunks had utterly liquefied, promising pure happiness, if I could only find a spoon!

Thusly armed, utensil in expectant (and crumb-dusted) fingers, I extracted a single spoonful, eating out of the bag, letting the melting cookie fall into my mouth, as I sank back into the glorious euphoria of a truly sacred experience. And then I glanced down to an empty bag, assuming that as images miraculously appear, so do they disappear, leaving us mortals with blessed memories, and visions in their evanescence.

As such, it's back to the trenches of papers to write, books to read, and authors to quote … with the empty Ben’s Cookies paper bag to remind me of that blessed brush with grace.

May God save the Queen, and Ben’s Cookies,
ej

Covered Market, Oxford

Grande Adventures

Our next door neighbors, previously referred to as “oh, that of the heavenly panne chocolat” led to an adventure this evening. As the clock towers throughout campus struck 10 chimes, a loud bludgeoning and drilling emanated from the side of our rooms, directly below our floor. Although in previous evenings, we’d become accustomed to loud clambering up and down the multiple flights of stairs above our heads, this was noise of a new direction, which required logical and brave Morse-like inspection.

After crossing the house twice, in its windy and circuitous routing in search of the source, we headed out to our back garden only to realize that the din was emanating from High Street itself. So, we returned through the back door, crept carefully out our front and walked ten paces until reaching our next door neighbor’s open front door… only to see the cause of the din… a floor covered in saws, drills, and pieces of wood heralding the creation of a new table.

So, we greeted the owners. Congratulated them on their delicious panne raison and baklava. They were delighted to hear we especially enjoy their panne chocolat and, upon wishing us a good evening, advised we strike the floor upon returning to our rooms, to give them a thirty minute notice.

Sprinting back through our red door. We collapsed on our floor (also serving to signal our new friends that we had safely returned) and giggled at the mystery solved.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll enjoy that panne chocolat just a little bit more, knowing that the table upon which I consume my crumbs, was as freshly made as my breakfast itself.

in a land of red herrings and red velvet cake,

ej

Hightailing it down High St.

When at Kenwood...

The stately homes of England!

How beautiful they stand,

Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O'er all the pleasant land!

Felicia Dorothea Hemans

In a land of famous addresses, (10 Downing St, 22b Baker St come to mind), England is known for deliciously magnificent houses with even more sensational names; Windsor, Blenheim, Cliveden and Pemberley. Thus, as our coach ascended through the ancient lanes of what was formerly London’s country estates, we passed elegant columns and multi-storey brick facades with small plaques heralding “Brook House,” “Mayfield”, and simply “Ridge.” Of course, the names in their driveways were equally sophisticated; Bentley, Porsche, Ferrari, and Jaguar, with noble representations of Mercedes, BMW, and Audi for cultural good measure.

After at least fifteen minutes of what could quite possibly be the highest insured driveways in the UK, we reached the spectacular gates of Kenwood House, our afternoon’s destination. Purchased with the Guinness fortune in the early 20th century during a time of economic turmoil that led to aristocratic sales of prized buildings and art collections, Edward Guinness restored Kenwood to its former glory (after building the Guinness empire to new heights), and utilized the mass multitude of walls in his new home to house his new art collection.

What else are walls for, but to accommodate Messirs Rembrandt, Reynolds, Constable, Singer Sargent, van Dyck, Turner and Gainsborough? Walk through the hallowed halls and see the colors of van de Velde, the columns of Guardi, the Hogarth humor, the Cuyp seascapes and the only Vermeer in England that is not currently in a major museum.

Of course, that much property requires landscaping with an expansive lawn which drapes elegantly to the edge of a private pond. It is also necessary for a bridge to cross the aforementioned body of water. Having small animals such as ducks, bunnies, deer and puppies trouncing around the grounds adds to the experiences as visitors enjoy wandering throughout the main house, and what must have been the servant’s quarters, now a café and restaurant.

Somehow the tea tastes even more dignified here than on High Street. And, in our prolonged search for the best scones in the UK, we diligently tasted, noted, and discussed. The ballots conceded that while the scones at Kenwood House were delectable, and definitely ranked near those from Café Nero and Costa, today's pastries were not quite up to the standard of the Welsh National Museum and Carreg Cennen. Research builds knowledge, so we are willing to taste a bit more… all for the sake of knowlege, of course.

 the game's afoot,

ej

Kenwood House,

London

May 7, 2010

Houses with spectacular names 

TurboTourism

When in Rome…or… How to be a Turbotourist.

Arriving in the quaint, ancient town of Bath amidst rain drops, cloudy skies and the promise of thunder and lightening, we clutched our heavily annotated lists for the afternoon’s adventures. Our two hours in Bath was carefully planned to be filled with six significant sites, bites and sights.

1) the Baths (you can’t visit Bath without seeing the Baths!)
2) Sally Lunn’s (home of the Sally Lunn bun which must be tasted)
3) the Abbey (because what is a day without a Norman Cathedral?)
4) Jane Austen museum (the home of all truths universally acknowledged….)
5) Aqua (the restaurant recently named in the top 50 restaurants worldwide… in Bath of all places!)
6) Wander… and enjoy the city.

Thus it was a bit of a surprise when the nice usher at the Baths handed us our audio guides and said with a smile, “this tour typically takes 90 minutes, or 2 hours at the very least. Enjoy!” We thanked him, glanced at our lists, peeked at our watches, then peered at the classical spa… and proceeded to set a new record for Bath-ing, Rome-ing, and otherwise turbo-ing through the entirety of the museum in 26 minutes from entrance to exit.

So, here is how to view a large and exquisite museum at whirlpool speed… with three simple principles to begin your adventure.

1) Be prepared to multitask- running, dodging and listening to your audio guides simultaneously is necessary
2) Speaking of dodging- avoid tourist groups at all costs
3) Have your camera out at all times: uphold the flash and dash practice of Turbotourism

With these in mind...on your mark, get set, go!

:00 Start your watch/engines/scooter/shoes and pull out your camera

:01 Press 1 on your audio guide, prior to entering the first exhibit

1:00 Dodge all tourists, they will only block your path- particularly any large tour groups, guided by anyone wearing a strange hat, carrying an umbrella or large flower as a lightening rod

1:30 Now that you have actually entered the first exhibit, spend a minute (literally- 61 seconds is too long) looking around. While you are looking, listen to the second and third audio guides.

2:30 OK- Cameras out? Now that you’ve perceived the situation- make a decision (a fast decision) as to your routing… I’d recommend touring the upper levels, and then heading down the stairs to the lower pools.

3:00 this is your first flash and dash opportunity, are you ready? Cameras out? Take three quick shots of the scenery, the statues, and assorted crowds…

3:45 hand your camera to a friend/compatriot/fellow student/anyone who looks like they can press a button- and smile big… great, and we’re moving on!

5:00 You should be down the stairs by this point, having passed anyone who was in line ahead of you before you bought your ticket

6:05: run through the intro rooms, listen to audio guide 4, and fast forward through 5 and 6, as you make your way outside to the center Baths

9:45 Camera time! Pull out your cameras and ask a tourist to take your picture with friends/statues/water/etc… aim for a tourist who a) speaks English or another language that you speak and b) is carrying a similar camera to your own (in their hand… not around their neck). That way you won’t have to explain the complexities of your model.

11:30 Re-enter the museum, listen to audio guide 10 (if you are turbotouristing with other individuals, alternate audio guide recordings and share the highlights)

13 Look at the museum exhibits- be sure to admire the pieces, the pictures, and the history while you are listening to the next two audio guides.

19 Photo time! Quick shots of you in front of the steam room- they’ll be dark, but it’s still a great shot.

20:05 Wander, at a leisurely pace, through the final rooms towards the exit

23:40 Visit the Gift Shop and head towards the restaurant, taste the water, admire the fruit plates ad sandwiches,

25:10 Thank the guards at the exit, ask them to direct you to Sally Lunn’s, open your umbrella, and

26:00 minutes flat, congratulations you are officially a turbotourist!

When in Rome,

ej

amongst the bubbles

May, 2010

From the High St. to the High Table

At the stroke of 7:30, the bell tolled. We stood. Grace was said, and by 7:31, the first course was served.

Such is the precision of Formal Hall at Brasenose College.

For most meals at Oxford colleges, cafeteria style is king.

Halls serve breakfast and lunch on weekdays and informal dinner each evening which regularly pitches cafeteria style hot dish options (like chicken, or burgers, or fish), a "salad bar" (which refers to a bowl of salad, and a few containers of tomatoes and cucumbers) and then a selection of cold or hot side items (potatoes, veggies, 'chips' etc.) plus dessert- which has unfailingly been "pudding"- a cake of some variation smothered by a copious quantity of pudding (custard) ... somehow this dessert has mastered the art of simultaneously appearing amazing and appalling.

Thrice weekly, my college has Formal Hall, when students and their tutors are served from a set menu (which has been SPECTACULAR fare each time I've checked), channeling Harry Potter in formal gowns (more Harry than Ron for the record).

During my dinner, I sat in Brasenose’s Great Hall, complete with portraiture of Principal’s past, major donors (of the past 500 years), and assorted dignitaries, with the crest proudly displayed above the High Table, and a John Singleton Copley painting hanging on a side wall. My table included three Australian graduate research students affiliated with both my college and with a graduate college on the other side of Oxford. This incredibly enjoyable two hour meal included Butternut and Beef Tomato Soup, Roasted Supreme of Guinea Fowl with Thyme and Garlic Veloute, Roast Potatoes, and a spectacular Strawberry Tart with Pouring Cream.

The art of pouring your cream seems to be a lifelong journey. Some students purposefully douse their tarts with said cream, ignoring the delicacies of the art form, simply indulging in the deliciousness. Other students pool it on their plates allowing their tart to become a boat in a sea of cream. Still more students, the true gastro-artisans, attempt to balance the cream within their tart shell, pouring patiently, until the tart is trembling under the weight of a field of cream. This is the masterpiece of a Strawberry Tart delicately drenched. Regardless of process, the taste is phenomenal. But try to resist the urge to simply stick your spoon into the silver carafe of cream. This would not be acceptable.

Of course, our meal also included great quantities of laughter, restaurant recommendations (apparently 1,000 Miles to Delhi serves the best Indian food within city limits), declarations of the positives of football, descriptions of tennis real, and a technical translation of how to play cricket. We all agreed that you have to be born into the Empire to actually appreciate overs, stumps and run outs.

From the high table to high bounce...

ej

Sunday, Brasenose Formal Hall

For whom the Bell Tolls

It’s 6am, the bells are tolling, the choir’s about to sing

The sun is rising, peering through clouds, highlighting everything

I’ve been awake for an hour thanks to the din from the café below

Full of breakfasteers, up all night whose fatigue is beginning to show.

 We didn’t “rage rage rage against the dying of the light” as Dylan Thomas dared

But those in our periphery did, and some seem slightly impaired

At quarter of six we arrived in the Magdalen Cloisters filled with expectation

Joining hundreds of students, guests and dons, all abuzz with anticipation

Administrators were robed in their elegant formal gowns

Guests, similarly clothed, waited patiently for the first sounds

Of the Magdalen choir whose celestial voices will carol any minute

Their salute to the month of May and all the days within it

More commotion came from students gathered beneath the tower,

Those who’ve been up all night or who've awakened just for the hour

Attired in purple ball gowns and gorgeous little black dresses

Slinging heels over their shoulders, with disheveled tresses

Their compatriots who’ve just risen are similarly windswept

Wearing pajama bottoms under skirts and generally appearing unkempt

It’s necessary, of course, to carry your heels, that would otherwise aerate the lawn,

By the way, enjoy that grass for today is the only day it can be tread on!

The bejeweleds’ dates are attired in tuxes, kilts and suits

Gracefully clasping their recently emptied champagne flutes.

Plumes of cigar smoke begin to fill the air,

As bleary eyes and bare feet, shuffle, pace and stare

The streets, filled with crowds, are hushed as the bells are now tolling six

How Poe-ish it felt, crying “the bells! The bells!” betwixt

The chimes, so beautiful, so early this morn

And with the last of the chimes, a choir of angels was born

The Magdalen Choir, from high above the cloisters and street

Lifting their voices to proclaim a sound so sweet.

It is heavenly music that greeted the rising sun

And after 7 minutes of melody, their final notes are done.

Their carols concluded with cheers from the crowds below

And everyone agreed that May Day 2010 was unquestionably a good show!

With those final notes sung, we hear the tolling of the bells once more

Echoing up and down High Street, as we head towards our Red Door.

We pass policemen a plenty, corralling the crowds,

Who are spreading boisterous good cheer aloud.

There are celebrants heading to breakfast, or staggering to bed,

So many who are ready for their long nights to end.

But our day was just beginning, with the sun rising above our street

And we headed to brunch at Brasenose for a meal delicious to eat.

It was a traditional British Breakfast, eggs, stewed tomatoes and all!

Plus sausages and fried bread, and cereals piled tall.

So happy May Day, whether it is good morning, or good night

Celebrate the day with ball gowns, tuxes, choirs and light. 

May's afoot,

ej

May 1, 2010
High Street