Wow. I was all over London tonight. I met Antonio, Sam's friend who works for Sony having just moved to London a few years ago, just off the Oxford Circus tube stop at the Liberty and first went for coffee (the first decent latte I'd had since my arrival...christ I'm such an LA snob) at a small Italian Bar around the area. Then onto some smaller trendy night club where we had exotic raspberry drinks and talked mostly about gothic architecture. From there we walked to Chinatown while discussing 80's power chords and their relationship to Rachmaninoff Vocalise, and how said relationship is similar to that between the idea of pornography and that of eroticism (one's empty calories and in-your-face immediate gratification, and the other's far more subtle with a payoff you have to work towards while allowing it to evolve a little through the experience of observing it...or in this case listening to it). He also caught and threw back every Eddie Izzard and Barenaked Ladies quote I referenced. And he likes opera. Hell, I don't even like opera! Gotta say, he's the smartest (and most educated) fellow I've met in a really long time. But before you all rush to make fun and before Mum reminds me about staying in the hallway, let me clarify that this isn't a crush, just my excitement about having found someone fantastic to spend some time with.
The destination in Chinatown was a restaurant called Crispy Duck at which of course we ordered the Crispy Duck. Ohmygod. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Now, I was a tremendous fan of Kate's Christmas duck this year, and I'd tasted Peter's Tour D'argent (sp?) in Paris, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to state emphatically that this duck put all ducks to shame- this thing was fried and had plum sauce and little pancakes to go with it and you know how I am about pancakes. The noodles with vegetables and rice and tea were fine, yeah, but this duck...oh my head.
From there we walked around Chinatown, up Charring Cross Road through various bookstores, shops that sold loose tea, dioramas and astrological crap which we mostly mocked. By 11:45 we'd nearly talked ourselves into missing the last train back to our respective necks of the woods, parted ways and headed home. I think we're gonna catch the Mozart at St. Martin in the Fields on Saturday.
10am Ethnomusicology class tomorrow followed by Tate Modern and a bookstore.
Brush teeth and bed now.
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1 comment:
Ok Mollie, the ONLY thing I understood in that was the crispy duck. Yummy.
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