London's East End Eel & Pie Shops

On my sister’s recent visit to London she was eager to delve into English culinary history and visit one of the city's original East End eel and pie shops. I admit that although I had tasted pies at gastropubs over the years and enjoyed them I had never visited one of the original actual eel and pie shops in London’s East End but it had been on my ‘to do’ list for quite some time.

The original eel and pie shops can be traced back to the late 19^th century when they emerged on the scene to fill working-class stomachs well and cheaply. Eels were sourced from the Thames (an unappealing thought, even by today’s standards), potatoes – a basic staple – were an inexpensive and filling accompaniment, and pies were made inexpensively with little meat filling and no other main ingredients.

Today very few original East End pie shops remain in London due to the decline in eel stocks and, ostensibly, due to changing consumer tastes.

The first ‘proper’ English pie I’ve ever tasted was a few years ago at The Narrow, the Gordon Ramsay-owned gastropub near the Docklands, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The pie was full of meat, chunky vegetables, the occasional pearl onion and rich gravy, while the mash was smooth and positively silky on the tongue. I suppose after this experience I had high hopes as to what the eel and pie shops might deliver.

So one fine and unusually warm afternoon in July we traipsed off to M. Manze on Tower Bridge Road for a sampling of this traditional British favourite nosh. Manze’s, recognisable by its dark green canopy, was opened by an Italian immigrant to London in 1902 and, according to its website, the owners use the same recipes today that they used back then. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.

Entering the white and green tiled shop, we took a seat at one of the narrow booths on long wooden benches and turned to study the menu board, which read something like this, with a price beside each:

1 pie, 1 mash

2 pies, 1 mash

2 pies, 2 mash

3 pies, 2 mash

etc.

Clearly there was only one type of pie on offer, although we didn’t know what it would be filled with. Looking at the sturdy, no-nonsense women behind the counter, I decided it was best not to ask.

So we ordered a pie and mash each and two glasses of cold sarsaparilla. Yes, they had sarsaparilla! I had never tasted it before but was feeling rather adventurous. Peering into the paper cup labelled “Coca Cola” filled with dark indecipherable liquid, I couldn’t even liken it to anything in appearance but it tasted surprisingly decent – somewhat fruity and lacking the medicinal tasted I had anticipated.

The food, however, left much to be desired. The woman behind the counter slid a deflated-looking pie onto each plate and piled a heap of mash beside it, scraping the mash from her spoon along the edge of our plates. Then she doused everything with pale green sauce – the “liquor” – until the contents of our plates were virtually swimming in it. It took a considerable balancing act to carry the plate to the table without the liquor spilling over the sides. I admit it didn’t look very appetising but wasn’t ready to judge the food on looks alone.

Cutting into the rather emaciated pie revealed that it was filled with ground beef, although very little of it. There was hardly any gravy and no other filling in the copious pastry aside from air. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t honestly expect Gordon Ramsay when I walked through the door and was open minded to anything they had on offer, but somehow I still felt disappointed by the sight and taste of this rather impoverished pie on my plate. This was your no-frills pie stripped bare, and I suppose I had wanted to be impressed by what I had seen as a cherished East End delicacy.

I had also hoped the liquor (which we correctly guessed was parsley sauce) would add something to the dish but it turned out to have no flavour whatsoever. Reading Manze’s website after our visit, it states that they pride themselves on their liquor, which has a special ingredient that makes it taste so good. I cannot guess what ingredient that might be since the liquor tasted of nothing in particular, not even the parsley it was made from. The only purpose I could imagine for it was to further moisten the pie and make the mash soupier in texture.

In search of something to liven up the taste, I turned to the mystery condiments on the table, both of which were in unmarked, yellowing plastic containers. I chose one bottle and carefully shook some of the contents onto my plate only to discover that it was malt vinegar. I love malt vinegar on fish and chips and positively drench my fish with the stuff, so I hoped it would similarly add a certain zing to the pie. That it did, although I was not quite sure I liked the combination.

Then there were the eels. My sister and I felt we couldn’t come this far without sampling them but seeing the vat of jellied eels we promptly backed down, opting for a side of stewed eels instead. The woman behind the counter fished a portion eels out of the thin sauce and asked if we wanted liquor with the eels, to which my sister replied, “No thanks. We already have liquor on our plates”. Perplexed and humourless, the woman duly handed over the plate of fish.

Back at our table, my sister and I huddled over the dish of eels to inspect them more closely. I had envisioned stewed eels being seasoned and flavourful, but these were merely chopped up segments of eel - skin on, bone in - boiled in some watery-looking substance. Boiling the segments didn’t do them any favours in looks either – the leathery skin had developed a wrinkled, sickly grey hue with white chalky-looking patches while the meat inside swelled into a soft, bulbous mass, puffing out of each side of the eel segment. But my sister was undaunted. She ventured in first, slicing a piece from one segment and chewing it slowly it, as I studied her face for a reaction. When she remained placid, I had no choice but to cut a small piece of fish for myself (carefully avoiding the bones), and to form my own opinion. The eels were bland, lacking any seasoning or flavour aside from their distinctive fishy taste.

While we eventually got through our pies, leaving half the mash still swimming in liquor, we didn’t get far with the eels. Suffice it to say that they really are an acquired taste and I think it would take more than a lifetime for me to acquire a liking for them, given the way they were prepared. Overall I had really wanted to enjoy the food at Manze’s but frankly didn’t. While both my sister and I enjoyed the experience visiting this historic shop, I found the food highly disappointing, particularly given that pies are their speciality. Over the years that I’ve lived in London I’ve learned a lot about British food and have developed a tremendous respect and liking for many traditional British dishes. It would be a shame to the see all of the original eel and pie shops disappear from the East London scene but what may have made a decent meal to some in 1902 certainly doesn’t cut the mustard in 2010.

Obviously there people in this city who would disagree with me since they are the ones I see frequenting the eel and pie shops and keeping the few remaining ones in business. I recognise that these shops still meet a very basic need among some East Enders. They also provide a wonderful step back in history for others, and remind us of London’s colourful East End culinary culture at onset of the 20^th century. But tradition is one thing and good food another. And as for me, you’ll find me enjoying my next pie at The Narrow.

S~

Mad About Language

This may be turning into an obsession but I seem to be preoccupied lately with two things: language and food. As I’ll be away for several days I wanted to leave you with a few further thoughts on British idioms. I expect this to be my last word on the topic for quite a while. And as for food, I’ll have much more to say on that topic when I return!

Hyperbole and Euphemism

The Brits can sometimes be extravagant in their use of language. For example people don’t say that a thing is simply “good”. Rather, it is “brilliant”. For example if you are trying to find a convenient date for a meeting and reach agreement, you would typically say, “That’s brilliant”.

At the other end of the emotional spectrum, the language can be equally dramatic. If people are highly disappointed by something they may say they are “gutted”, conjuring up images of being brutally disembowelled like a fish on a cutting board. Similarly, while being “knackered” means to be tired, if one were really exhausted he would say he is “shattered”.

And if the Brits don’t like something it is “rubbish”.

However there are times when the British English is far more understated, even euphemistic. Take the example of so-called “anti-social behaviour”. While in North America this may typically refer to someone who has a tendency to avoid other people and mix poorly in social situations, in Britain this describes young male yobs who are be noisy, disruptive, abusive, aggressive and even destructive in public. The problem of anti-social behaviour has been so acute in Britain that the former labour government under Tony Blair launched something called “ASBO” or “Anti-Social Behaviour Order” (pronounced “AZ-bo”). Although the present Conservative-Lib Dem coalition government plans to phase them out, ASBOs are orders against people who had engaged in anti-social behaviour that restricted their behaviour in some way (i.e. barring them from swearing or drinking in public or from returning to a certain location). Not surprisingly, these have not been effective.

And speaking of acronyms, another good one is OAPs, which turns out to be a popular short form for “old age pensioners”.

Pardon my French

Being across the channel – the English Channel or La Manche, depending on which side you’re on – from the French can influence a language and while the Brits may not like to admit it, there are traces of French in their choice of words. For example instead of saying “eggplant” the Brits use the more elegant French term “aubergine” and instead of “zucchini” they say “courgettes”.

It is said that the French have even occasionally influenced English spelling, softening the sharp American “z” into a more delicate “s” as in “mechanisation”, “rationalisation” and so on. (We in Canada sit schizophrenically between the two, using the American “z” for words such as “rationalization” but religiously spelling labour and colour with a “u”, in British style, and justify these discrepancies vehemently.)

Other popular words have been borrowed from the French such as “queue” (pronounced “kyoo”) and meaning to line up. Taken from the French “la queue” as in “la queue de cheval”, (literally the horse’s tail) but “faire la queue” in French means to line up.

A lovely anecdote: a few years ago I arrived at Waterloo station to take a Eurostar train to Paris for business. Scanning the entry gates I noticed that there were long queues at each one that was open, except for one gate which appeared open but which was curiously empty. I approached a Eurostar staff member and asked him if the gate in question was open, which he assured me it was. “So why is nobody lining up there then?” I asked, to which he replied “Oh don’t worry about them. They’re English. They like to queue”.

Despite the French seepage into British English, there are occasions when Britain’s proximity to France is decidedly forgotten, such as when the Brits pronounce a fillet (of beef) as “FILL-it”.

Cracking British Idioms

While a listing of terms may seem as exciting as reading the dictionary, I’ve included some choice terms and examples here that should keep it quite engaging along the way.

Aluminium – North Americans who refer to the stuff as “aluminum” as in aluminum foil, which Brits find very funny.

Anti-clockwise – counter-clockwise

Bespoke – custom-made, as in a “bespoke suit” or a “bespoke solution”

Biff – to hit or strike, as in “She biffed him”

Bin man – garbage collector. (NB: To throw something in the garbage is to “bin it”).

Bloke – colloquial term for a “guy”

Blooming – pronounced “bloomin” and means bloody, as in “you bloomin’ tosser!”

Blotto – very drunk

Bog standard – the British version of the North American expression “plain vanilla”. It means something that is very standard and ordinary, as in a “bog standard DVD player”.

Bollocks – means testicles but is also commonly used to mean that something is nonsense or “rubbish” as the Brits prefer to say. If someone claims something that you don’t believe you can just simply say “Bollocks!” or “What a load of bollocks!”

Bonnet – hood (of a car)

Boot – trunk (of a car), as in “car boot sale” where people evidently drive to a designated location (i.e. a field or car park) and open up their boots to sell items that they no longer want. Similar to the North American garage sale, but on wheels.

Bottle – courage, as in “He’s lost his bottle”. Often pronounced Cockney style with the glottal stop (i.e. without the t^s and with a slight hesitation between the syllables) as in “BOH-uhl”.

Bung – to push, or jam. For example if you’re trying to tell someone to hammer a nail into a piece of wood you could say, “just bung it in”. Can also be used to mean “clogged” as in the drain was bunged up with hair. Also used to mean “throw” as in “Bung me my keys, mate”.

Bunk off – to be absent without permission

Car park – parking lot

Cheap as chips – very inexpensive

Chuffed – pleased, commonly used as “chuffed to bits”

Cracking – great, as in a “cracking film”. Can also use “cracker” as in “That show was a cracker”. Be careful not to use it in the plural as “crackers” evidently means “crazy”.

Faff – as in “faff about” which means to dither or waste time

Flog – to sell something

Gobsmacked – surprised, stunned, flabbergasted. Conjures up some rather unfortunate mental images though.

Higgledy-piggledy – something that is jumbled, muddled or in a state of disorder. For example you could say your desk is higgledy-piggledy or that you are standing higgledy-piggledy in a queue. Recently a British friend of mine referred to a centuries-old church that had been constructed unevenly as being “higgledy-piggledy”.

Kerb – curb (of a road)

Malarkey – nonsense, as in “What malarkey!”

Pukka – genuine, first-class, superior. Remember Pukka Orchestra?

Pull someone – to pick someone up (i.e. in a bar). For example, you may say, “I pulled last night” or “I wasn’t there to pull anybody”.

Quid – colloquial term for a pound sterling. Similar to North Americans calling a dollar a “buck”. But contrary to “buck”, “quid” always remains in the singular so that something that costs five pounds would be said to cost “five quid” (also known as a “fiver”).

Sauce – alcoholic drink, as in “on the sauce”

Snog – to kiss someone, as in “I snogged him”

Shag – to have sex with someone, as in “I shagged her” or “Want to have a shag?”

Slag – a slut. You can also use this as a verb as in “to slag someone off”, which means to attack a person verbally.

Slow up – slow down

Sod off – a rude version of the command “go away!” or “get lost!”

Throw up – to raise (metaphorically). For example instead of saying that the decision raises a number of important issues you would say the decision “throws up a number of important issues”. Sounds dashed unpleasant to me, Jeeves.

Tosser – technically means to masturbate but is more commonly used as a pejorative term meaning “idiot”. Pronounced “TOSS-ah”.

Wanker – a synonym of “tosser” and almost always used to mean “idiot”, although if you use the word “wank” as a verb the meaning is different but clear. Pronounced “WAN-kah”.

Wonky – something that is awry or not working properly. It can also mean something that is unstable or unreliable. For example you could say a wonky wheel on your car, a wonky printer or fax machine, and even wonky fruit. The Telegraph recently published an article on this subject, entitled “Lack of bees could cause wonky strawberries”:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/gardening/beekeeping/7844461/Lack-of-bees-could-cause-wonky-strawberries.html

Headline Acts

Once, at a tube station, I saw a sign on a door that read: “This door is alarmed”.

And one of my all-time personal favourite stories…

A few years ago I took a course in magazine editing at a college in London where, in one class, we were discussing clever headlines. Our instructor recounted the story of a headline he had seen years earlier in The Sun newspaper for an article about a policeman who decided to have a sex change and was then fired (“sacked”) from his job. The headline apparently read: “No Nobby Bobby Loses Jobby”.

Stella will return in a week’s time. Stay tuned. There’s much more to come!

Francis Alÿs at Tate Modern

How is it that I’ve missed Francis Alÿs in all the years I’ve visited galleries and studied art? A modern and contemporary art enthusiast I admit I wasn’t even familiar with the artist’s name when I saw the Tate advertise the opening of his summer exhibition, ‘A Story of Deception’. Fortunately I didn’t miss it, even though I left it very late as the exhibition is scheduled to close on 5^th September.

I remember what first intrigued me about Alÿs’ work. At a recent panel discussion I attended at Tate, a man in the audience stood up and asked a question, referencing a work of Alÿs’ in which the artist pushes a block of ice through a city until it melts. I knew then I had to see this for myself.

‘A Story of Deception’ was a revelation – bold, original conceptual art, carefully conceived, well thought through and brilliantly executed. Alÿs is no lightweight conceptual artist and while I had no prior experience of his work, I was still impressed at the way he chooses to communicate ideas that can deceive those who choose to observe and judge them only on the surface. This is highly intelligent conceptual art with an utter lack of gimmick.

Born in Belgium in 1959, Alÿs trained as an architect before moving to Mexico City, where he still lives today. Much of his work involves “actions” where he effectively documents the city, incorporating socio-economic and political commentary in a way that is at once humorous, sometimes absurd and yet laden with meaning.

The ice block is a good case in point. Titled ‘Paradox of Praxis 1’ and subtitled ‘Sometimes Doing Something Leads to Nothing’, Alÿs pushes and later kicks a block of ice around Mexico City, to the puzzlement of onlookers, until the ice is so small that is can be kicked no longer and is left to melt in the sun. Seemingly absurd on the surface, this work speaks to the difficulty of ordinary Mexicans trying to improve their living conditions in vain. Similarly, ‘Caracoles’ shows a beautifully shot video of boy trying to kick a bottle up a hill, with little success. And I loved ‘Rehearsal 1’ where a driver attempts to drive an old red VW beetle up a dirt hill in a poor area of the city but on each attempt, lets the car roll back down feebly to its starting point. This process is repeated each time, accompanied by the soundtrack of a brass band’s rehearsal, adding to the humour and futility of the entire exercise. Quoting from the booklet that accompanies the exhibition, Alÿs describes this rehearsal as ‘the Latin American scenario in which modernity is always delayed’.

More controversially is ‘Re-enactments 2000’ where Alÿs was filmed walking into a shop in Mexico City, buying a gun, and walking around the city with the gun dangling visibly from his hand until the police arrested him. The following day he re-enacted these actions, following the same path through the city, allegedly having persuaded the police to reconstruct the arrest as it had happened the previous day. (In case you’re curious, it took just over 12 minutes for Alÿs to be arrested.)

One of the most moving pieces for me was ‘The Green Line’ where Alÿs walked along part of the border separating Israel from the Palestinian-occupied areas (the border marking the end of Israel’s war with Jordan in 1948), while dribbling green paint along the route. Onlookers seem either baffled or occasionally intrigued by Alÿs’ paint dribbling but all the while, Alÿs remains unmoved by the attention, keeping to his designated path and walking so casually that the act of dribbling paint behind him seems perfectly natural.

The video footage is accompanied by the voices of commentators describing the context of and reactions to this act and although insightful, I occasionally lost track of their words, as I became so absorbed in the resoluteness of Alÿs’ action. The piece’s subtitle, ‘Sometimes doing something poetic can become political and sometimes doing something political can become poetic’ proved very apt indeed.

Unfortunately I spent so much time with each of the video works that I barely saw ‘Tornado’ all the way through before the gallery closed. I will have to return again to see the rest of this thought-provoking exhibition before it leaves in a few weeks’ time. This is only a sampling of the work on show and it is impossible for me to convey my impressions of all of it here. For Londoners who are open to contemporary art and have yet to see it, I would recommend this show highly.

Photo: video still from ‘Paradox of Praxis 1’ 1997 by Francis Alÿs, from www.francisalys.com.

For more information:

http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/francisalys/default.shtm

http://www.francisalys.com/

The Sandwich

The humble sandwich has certainly come a long way since it was discovered and named by nobleman John Montagu – aka the 4^th Earl of Sandwich – in 1762. You’ve probably all heard the story by now, that one evening the Earl was allegedly gambling but didn’t want to pause for dinner, so he asked a waiter to bring him slices of roast beef (what else?) between two slices of bread. That way he could conveniently continue to gamble and eat at the same time, while not getting his fingers greasy.

Necessity truly is the mother of invention.

And what an invention it was! Over the centuries the humble sandwich grown into a multi-billion-pound industry, has revolutionised British eating habits and is now even creeping into the French habits as well with gourmet sandwich shops sprouting up around Paris. The British Sandwich Association estimates that each year over 11.5 billion sandwiches are consumed in Britain and even celebrates this convenient meal with Sandwich Week, held annually in the month of May. It’s fair to say that there is a certain degree of national pride in the British sandwich, in all its numerous incarnations.

In London, sandwich shops seem ubiquitous with independent shops and rapidly expanding chains such as Pret a Manger (yes, they’ve dispensed with the French accents) and EAT on virtually every high street. Grocery stores and corner shops are also filled with endless varieties of sandwiches, rows upon rows lining the shelves in their tidy triangular plastic or cardboard packages with a little rectangular cellophane window on the front so you can at least view the contents before you buy.

I’ve got to say that there’s little appetising about viewing your next meal through a patch of cellophane, snugly wedged into a small triangular box and initially I vowed never to try the pre-packed sandwich. Yet over time my initial disgust turned into fascination as I watched countless Londoners queue at lunchtime to get their standard sandwich and bag of crisps, and stole furtive, sceptical glances at them while they devoured these things with obvious delight. It was then that I began to question my initial prejudice and think perhaps I was missing out on something good. And besides, how could I criticise it unless I had actually tried it? So I decided it was time to sample the triangular pre-packed sandwich and see what all the fuss was about.

My initial experiences were no less than grim. After having watched a woman on a train polish off her prawn mayo sandwich with unbridled enthusiasm, I decided that would be my first choice. The verdict? Sloppy and tasteless and swimming in mayo. I think I made it to the third bite before I could go no further and had to discard it for something else.

Months later when the putrid taste of prawn mayo had almost fully receded from my memory I decided to try a second one, although I cannot recall what motivated me to select Pret’s Famous All Day Breakfast. I think I reasoned that I liked each of the ingredients individually so why wouldn’t I enjoy them if they were all mixed together? My logic, however, was faulty. It didn’t taste like egg, bacon, ketchup and mayo but rather some hideous, synthetic attempt to replicate the taste. After two bites, I once again had to trash this sorry mess and find a more appealing lunch elsewhere.

Why were they so awful? I mean, a sandwich is a simple thing to prepare and it seems easy to get it right. Right?

The first problem was the bread itself, which I found thin, excessively soft and lacking in substance. I firmly believe that the success of a sandwich begins with the quality of the bread. Even the tastiest, most gourmet filling won’t survive between two slices of flaccid white bread, bread without any backbone or character whatsoever. But on proper bread, even the simplest filling can taste divine. For example, on a recent trip to Paris I sampled a few sandwiches on lovely fresh, crusty baguettes and was in heaven. The bread was so good I could have eaten it on its own but with only a few simple slices of salami it was transformed into something to truly savour.

Then there’s the problem of the filling. This is an area where the British are remarkably creative, with a plethora of varieties available. But while I find some dull and uninspired - Cheese & Onion, Tuna & Sweetcorn, Egg Salad, Ham and Egg, to name a few – I find others frankly bizarre. There is a worrying trend afoot in Britain of creating sandwich fillings that are condensed versions of main-course meals, reduced into something spreadable that can be eaten casually and conveniently on bread rather than with a knife and fork. As if All Day Breakfast wasn’t enough, there is now Chicken Caesar; the Ploughman's; Pret’s Chicken, Stuffing & Fruity Chutney; and something called Coronation Chicken.

Invented for Queen Elizabeth II and served as a main dish at her coronation lunch in 1953, the sandwich version of Coronation Chicken involves mixing the main ingredients into a room-temperature concoction and layering a scoop of it between two slices of bread. (Yes, in traditional sandwich shops here they scoop up a ball of your choice of pre-mixed filling with what looks like an ice cream scoop and spread it out over the bread.) Although recipes vary, the basic ingredients include diced chicken, mayonnaise, mango chutney, curry powder and – to top it all off – raisins. Just the idea makes me wince, let alone the sight of that lumpy yellow mixture with the raisins peeking out.

If that doesn’t push the goalposts of creativity quite enough, consider Tesco’s latest creation, the Lasagne sandwich. Released just last month, Tesco included the following description of its unique invention in a recent press release:

"The sandwich is made up of two thick slices of bread, a filling of diced beef in a tangy tomato and herb sauce layered with cooked pasta sheets and finished with a creamy cheddar, ricotta and mayonnaise dressing."

Don’t worry. If you think this is bizarre you’re not alone. Even Britain’s News of the World newspaper, not usually known for being discriminating, called it “the strangest sandwich ever”.

Fortunately, for all the sandwich disasters there is some hope out there. After years of avoiding the pre-packed sandwich I decided it was time to experiment again and recently found one that I actually like. My choice is Pret’s Wild Crayfish & Rocket sandwich, which (as long as the bread isn’t soggy as it was on one recent visit) is remarkably tasty. If that isn’t available, their Lemon Chicken is a good runner-up. I remain ambivalent about Pret’s Mature Cheddar & Pickle, although it was highly recommended to me by a British friend of mine. While I found the first several bites oddly interesting and was able to get through half of it with reasonable ease, I found the second half, quite literally, hard to swallow. Not bad but definitely an acquired taste.

If you still prefer a nice crusty baguette to the flaccid bread route, I’d recommend EAT’s Chorizo and Peppers or, if you choose to emulate the Earl of Sandwich, EAT’s Roast Beef and Rocket.

Bon appetit!

For further information:

http://www.sandwich.org.uk/

http://www.pret.com/

http://www.eat.co.uk/

http://www.tescoplc.com/plc/media/pr/pr2010/2010-07-12/

http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/news/872888/Tesco-releases-Lasagne-sandwich.html

And when in Paris…

http://www.maison-kayser.com/

Photo from: www.sandwichesonline.co.uk

The Proms

Last week I went to a concert at the BBC Proms, my first in two years, and was reminded how much I enjoy this London cultural institution.

During the summer months when the concert calendar runs relatively dry, the Proms are always a welcome addition. For me, they also signal the approaching end of summer running as they do from mid-July to mid-September, but I like to think of them as a last hurrah before the autumn and the onset of a grey, sunlight-deprived winter.

I’m always amazed by people who have lived in London for years and never attended the Proms. My neighbour – a Briton by birth who has lived in London for most of his life – has never been to a Proms concert. However some of my expat friends go religiously each year. Certainly if one enjoys classical music they are not to be missed.

A brief history

At the ripe age of 116 this year, the first Proms concert was held in 1895 at the then Queen’s Hall in London, conducted by Henry Wood, who conducted the Proms each year until his death in 1944. The brainchild of impresario and Queen’s Hall theatre manager Robert Newman, the Proms were intended to bring classical music to a wider audience by offering more popular musical programmes through the less formal promenade arrangement (where the audience stands in the promenade area of the concert hall) and also by keeping ticket prices low. These elements continue to underpin the Proms today where there atmosphere is casual and there are some 1,000 standing tickets available at every concert for only £5 each. (Occasionally there is a bargain to be found in London and this is one of them.)

Originally known as “Mr Robert Newman’s Promenade Concerts”, the Proms were taken over by the BBC in 1927 and have continued to expand since then. Interrupted by war in 1940 with the bombing of the Queen’s Hall, the Proms moved the Royal Albert Hall, where they are still held today.


The Proms experience

Approaching the Hall as I usually do from the south, walking up Prince Consort Road, the grand, stately dome emerges impressively into view as I follow the bend of Kensington Gore. Inside, hiking up the successive staircases to reach the Circle level (what we North Americans call the “nosebleed section”), I noticed the banisters adorned with little golden letter A’s all the way up, in tribute to the hall’s namesake, Queen Victoria’s cherished Prince Albert. They seem a rather subtle reference to the Prince compared to the gaudy, gleaming golden statue in his likeness, forming part of the Albert Memorial across from the Hall, on the edge of Kensington Gardens.

Partly inspired by the design of ancient amphitheatres, the Hall always appears to me to be even more immense from the inside than it does from the outside. On each visit, after settling into my seat, I always take a few minutes to glance around and take in the ambience. Despite the number of people squeezed into the narrow seats, this is hardly an intimate venue and although I’m sandwiched between two gentlemen, somehow I retain a feeling of being surrounded by ample space. That is, legroom excepted.

The entire main floor of the hall is standing room only for people who are willing to forego comfort to see some top performers at a relatively close distance, although a handful of people choose to even lie down on the floor and skip watching the performers altogether. Oddly, every year a strange water feature is installed in the centre of the floor – what appears from my elevated section to be like an inflatable kiddie pool that North American parents often place in their backyards during the summer months. From where I was sitting it even had the cheap look of backyard summer kitsch, ringed by a rickety-looking fence and with mock foliage along the sides. Inside the pool sat a large plastic (or possibly inflatable?) green frog decoration with large crab-like arms reaching out before it. Bizarre.

The unusual water feature is reminiscent of the casual culture of the Proms that sets it sharply apart from regular classical-music concerts in the capital. The official Proms dress code is non-existent, the website encouraging people to ‘come as you are’ but I refer to it affectionately as ‘anything goes’. Aside from the standard attire of jeans and running shoes (called “trainers” in Britain) or those dreaded Teva sandals, I’ve seen people in everything from elegant summer dresses to a straw hat – a man wore one throughout the entire concert I recently attended – to a woman I spotted a few years ago shuffling through the corridor during intermission in her bare feet.

Although food, drink and smoking were originally permitted in the hall back in 1895, the only thing that is allowed today, according to the official website is soft drinks in “closed plastic containers”, allegedly for “health and safety” reasons. Water in plastic bottles is allowed and even encouraged in the Hall with water sellers wheeling around large coolers in the corridors and in the bar areas before the performance. However I have seen people bring thermoses with them to the Proms, filled with their own preferred mystery beverage, making me feel that I’m at an elaborate campsite rather than in a concert hall.

One ritual that does carry over from more formal concerts to the Proms is the tradition of eating of ice cream at intermission. The Brits seem to go crazy for the stuff, which is sold in miniscule pots at majestic prices. While the unsurprising favourite seems to be the Haagen Dazs Strawberries & Cream, I naturally felt I had to honour the ritual by indulging in a pot of Cookies & Cream instead.

Despite the casual nature of the Proms, the performers are often top-notch including renowned orchestras from around the world, some of the best conductors – Valery Gergiev, Sir Simon Rattle, and David Robertson, to name a few – as well as operatic talents such as Placido Domingo, Renée Fleming, Bryn Terfel and, at the concert I attended, Ben Heppner. The programming is also often ambitious, with certain Proms concerts featuring entire symphonies or, as in the one I chose, the entire second act of Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde. The audience may be camping out in their picnic attire but these concerts are not necessarily for the faint of heart.

Photo of Royal Albert Hall from Wikipedia.com.

Picnic Tea

It never fails to amaze me that after living in London for six years the language can still stump me. Recently my sister was visiting from Vancouver and I arranged for us to spend an evening with family friends in England who we had known over 20 years ago while they were spending a year abroad in Canada.

The day of our meeting I was coordinating with my friend J as to when and where to meet when I received a text message from her saying we would be meeting at her brother’s house for “picnic tea” at 6:30pm. I was perplexed. I mean, I am clearly familiar with picnics and have been drinking tea for most of my life but I had no idea what “picnic tea” is.

I asked my sister for her opinion but aside from chuckling over this strange-sounding term, she was as perplexed as I. Were we having tea outdoors? Would we be nibbling on a few tiny cakes and scones with jam? What about dinner? After all, we’d be meeting at 6:30 in the evening. To avoid disappointment, my sister and I decided to go to meet them for tea but politely abscond after a few hours to get dinner on our own on our way back home.

As it turned out, “picnic tea” involved a table full of food including gourmet pizza, a selection of hors d’oeuvres, cold meat and cheese, vegetables and dip washed down by copious amounts of wine and sparkling wine. We were even offered fruit, chocolate squares for dessert, and coffee. Who knew? In fact, when I think back to the evening, we were served virtually everything…except tea.

Yet a brief bit of sleuthing reveals that our picnic tea was not typical. According to one blog entry I discovered, picnic tea is really no more than having tea outdoors, preferably served with a few sweets. And doing a simple web search I even found several online retailers selling picnic tea sets – wicker hampers filled with teacups, saucers, teapot, spoons and even cloth serviettes – for those days when a simple English picnic tea is in order.

So, it seems picnic tea really is just what it says on the box. But this is a box that may still come with surprises.

British Idioms

"We (the British and Americans) are two countries separated by a common language."


– George Bernard Shaw

When I moved to Britain 6 years ago the country felt so strangely alien to me, perhaps most because of language. Considering English is my mother tongue, I was surprised at how often the British version derailed me– whether when reading the newspaper or watching TV or talking to people in social or practical situations. I found the differences fascinating and even now, years later, I still find myself marvelling at ever more British idioms and colourful slang that I continue to encounter.

When it comes to pronunciation, this can simply be a matter of hit and miss for the new expat, and the longer you live in Britain the better you become at learning the British versions. But when it comes to British words and phrases, these can be much more difficult to decipher. In a moment of desperation shortly after my arrival in London, I discovered this online Dictionary of Slang through a web search. I continue to consult it more than any other online slang dictionary or reference guide since I feel it is accurate and more extensive than most others:

http://www.peevish.co.uk/slang/c.htm

An indispensable tool that I would recommend to any expat as part of their Britain survival kit.

A Matter of Pronunciation

Sometimes the differences in language are slight. North Americans and Brits may use the same word to mean the same thing but simply pronounce it differently. For example, in North America we will pronounce the word “military” as “MI-li-ta-ry” whereas in Britain it is pronounced “MI-li-tree”. Similarly, “strawberry” is “STRAW-bree” and “raspberry” becomes “RAHZ-bree”. Instead of the North American “SKEL-eh-tul” for the word “skeletal”, the Brits say “skel-EE-tul”. This is just a brief sampling as there’s a whole raft of these words to keep one amused.

Then are the vagaries of pronunciation, which turn a word like “Leicester” into “LES-ter” and “Bicester” into “BIS-ter”. And then there is that British tendency to dislike pronouncing those pesky mid-word “w”s so that “Woolwich” becomes “WOOL-ich” and “Dulwich” is pronounced “DULL-ich”. But there are the odd exceptions to this rule. I once got into a black cab in London headed for the address “One Aldwych”. Puzzled over how to pronounce the word, I thought I’d cleverly follow the silent “w” rule and pronounced it “ALL-ditch”. I felt quite pleased with myself until the driver repeated it back to me as “ALD-witch”. Oh well. At least I must have amused the driver.

One pronunciation I’ve never been able to figure out is how “drawings” becomes “DRAW-rings” to the Brits. Why the extra “r”?

Choice Words

This is only a partial and random list of words I have come across since being in London that I had never heard before in North America. Again, the Dictionary of Slang, along with other online sources, has been an invaluable tool for deciphering them:

Boffin – A person engaged in science or scientific research. Essentially, it’s Britain’s equivalent of “nerd”.

Dodgy – a very useful and remarkably flexible adjective that means anything risky or dubious. Used colloquially. A person can be dodgy. A neighbourhood can be dodgy. Even a shady company or business deal can be dodgy.

Chav – This deserves lengthier treatment than a few sentences here. Essentially it means a member of the less-educated lower classes who has little ambition in life and dresses in real or fake Burberry. At least this is how it was explained to me when I first asked about its meaning. If male, a chav tends to engage in disorderly public behaviour (called “anti-social behaviour” in Britain), wears shell suits (tracksuits), sports shoes and a lot of gold (usually fake) jewellery. If female, a chav is typically scantily clad in clothing two sizes too small, with heaps of makeup and hair tied tightly back into a ponytail. But this meagre definition doesn’t do the term justice. There is a whole culture and history (albeit recent) around the concept of a chav that must be explained to understand it more fully. I’ll delve into the concept of the chav in a separate blog entry.

Yob – short for “yobbo”. Means an uncouth (typically male) person or thug. A few years ago, an article in London’s Evening Standard newspaper quoted Victoria Beckham complaining about her husband allegedly saying “I’ve married an Essex yob”:

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/showbiz/article-13136928-i-married-tattooed-yob-says-posh.do

More on the Essex reference in a future blog posting.

Naff – unfashionable, useless, of poor quality, unappealing

Knackered – tired, fatigued

Nonce – I first heard the word “nonce” while watching a British prison drama on TV from a mid-way point in the storyline. As I recall the story, an innocent woman was being wrongly jailed. Upon meeting her cellmates, they accused her of being a nonce. Unable to follow the story line without explanation, I asked my English-born, Canadian-bred friend, who also had no idea. So I consulted my trusted online dictionary, which essentially describes a nonce as a paedophile. Learning that gave a whole new colour to the crime drama I had been watching.

Punter – Refers to a paying customer and has been used to describe anyone from a better at a racetrack to a patron of a pub, to a prostitute’s john, among others. However the word “punter” seems to have become accepted in more benign and general use to simply mean “customer”. I’ve heard TV presenters on BBC Breakfast use the term to mean “customer”, so it must be gospel.

Bap – A bread roll. As in a “bacon bap”. However the Dictionary of Slang gives the meaning of the plural “baps” as (very unflatteringly, I might add) breasts.

Butty – A sandwich. As in “bacon butty” or “sausage butty”.

It seems the British have a plethora of words for the bacon sandwich including: bacon butty/buttie, bacon sarnie, bacon barm, bacon cob, among others. They must love their bacon. This brings me to food and food-related vocabulary, but this merits a separate entry of its own.

Toff – a member of the upper classes. From my experience, this usually is said only of upper-class men.

Plonker – a penis. Also commonly used to mean an idiot or foolish person.

Willy – also means a penis.

Pants – if you want to say “trousers” in Britain, say “trousers” since “pants” means underwear/underpants.

Knickers – when I was a child I remember with horror these short pants (I mean the North American meaning of “pants”) that came to the knee with a side button just under each kneecap that we called “knickers”. But to the Brits, “knickers” refer to women’s underpants.

Jumper – a sweater or pullover. It is not, in fact, a little girl’s dress with a bib front and straps over the shoulders.

Barmy – crazy, mad, insane. Similar to the British “barking”, a short form for “barking mad”. N.B. There is also a tube (subway) station in London called “Barking”.

WAGS – One of my personal favourites. WAGS is an acronym for “wives and girlfriends” of the footballers. If you don’t understand the significance, look up the TV show “Footballers’ Wives”, or just think Victoria (aka Posh Spice) Beckham.

Favourite British Expressions

“You all right there?” often followed by “luv” – The first time I walked into a shoe repair the man behind the counter asked me this. I was puzzled over how to respond. Was he asking if I was okay (literal translation)? Or was he asking if I needed help (implied, and most logical translation)? I remember thinking, if I answer “Yes, I’m fine”, then maybe he’ll think I don’t need any help and get back to replacing shoe heels. But then if I were to answer “No, I’m not all right because my shoes need to be re-soled”, won’t that make me seem a little crazy, as if I’m taking the condition of my shoes awfully seriously? So now I just say “Yes” and quickly get down to the business at hand.

Croydon facelift – The online Dictionary of Slang defines this as a new style of haircut, typically worn by the working classes. “It involves pulling the hair into a pony tail, and tying it so tightly at the back of the head that the resulting skin across the face is pulled taught, as though in a facelift. Usually derog.” Since learning the term, I have seen a few unfortunate cases in and around London.

Salad dodger – a fat person

Coffin dodger – an elderly person. Yes seriously. I didn’t think anyone actually used this phrase until April of this year when Scottish Labour MP, Stuart MacLennan, campaigning for the British General Election, was sacked after making a series of offensive comments on Twitter including calling elderly voters “bloody coffin dodgers”.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2010/apr/09/stuart-maclennan-sacked-twitter-general-election

Glasgow kiss – a headbutt

Meat and two veg – when used in context, refers to male genitalia. Adventurer Bear Grylls remarked on one of his TV shows, while sliding down a rope, about having to protect his “meat and two veg”.

And finally…a note about telling time...

Now you would think telling the time would be straightforward since you’ve been doing it since your age was in single digits, but in Britain this, too, has its potential hazards. When the British say they’ll meet you at “half five” what time is it? The first time I heard this I wondered whether they follow the German rule (however unlikely that would be) and mean 4:30? In German, to say “half five” or “halb fünf” is like saying ‘halfway to five o’clock’, meaning 4:30. It simply mimics the movement of the hands of a clock and, in this way, is logical. But tourists in Britain beware! When the British say “half five” they actually mean 5:30.