Fire, home, mulled wine and jazz. No, thanks, I won't be coming out tonight, you can have your loud clubs. I am staying right here. 
Saturday, 24 November 2012
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
Mulled Wine
My own festive season starts on December 1st but occasionally I find myself feeling the tingle of joy, my inner bells start jingling and before I know it, I hear myself humming words about reindeer, noses, sleighs.... One year a few winters ago, festivities came as early as mid October. This year? I put my Christmas CD in the car and hit play 2 nights ago, if ever so shyly.
As time passes, my confidence has grown- last night I made my first mulled wine for the season. It was fantastic, and I have the friend who can vouch for it!
Here is my recipe:
Red wine - 1 bottle [quantity varies depending on how many friends you have and how much of a drunk you are!]
Orange - 1 [peel it, and put the peels in the potion. Eat 2 slices of orange and put the rest in, too]
Apple -1 [ cut it in bite-size chunks and put it in]
Cinnamon sticks - a few [mostly for decoration, put one in each glass when you serve it]
Ground cinnamon - half a teaspoon or so [ I really like cinnamon]
Clovers - 2 teaspoons
Black pepper - a pinch or so, don't go overboard
Cocoa powder - half a teaspoon
Honey / brown sugar - depending on taste. Resist the temptation to make it too sweet, you'll regret it
Heat up the wine, add the ingredients, stir with a wooden spoon.
Serve with gingerbreads or cheese, or anything else you'd like. Or simply enjoy the thick spicy wine by itself. Ideally, in front of the fireplace.
As time passes, my confidence has grown- last night I made my first mulled wine for the season. It was fantastic, and I have the friend who can vouch for it!
 |
| Unfortunately I forgot to photograph my own mulled wine last night, courtesy of the Internet |
Here is my recipe:
Red wine - 1 bottle [quantity varies depending on how many friends you have and how much of a drunk you are!]
Orange - 1 [peel it, and put the peels in the potion. Eat 2 slices of orange and put the rest in, too]
Apple -1 [ cut it in bite-size chunks and put it in]
Cinnamon sticks - a few [mostly for decoration, put one in each glass when you serve it]
Ground cinnamon - half a teaspoon or so [ I really like cinnamon]
Clovers - 2 teaspoons
Black pepper - a pinch or so, don't go overboard
Cocoa powder - half a teaspoon
Honey / brown sugar - depending on taste. Resist the temptation to make it too sweet, you'll regret it
Heat up the wine, add the ingredients, stir with a wooden spoon.
Serve with gingerbreads or cheese, or anything else you'd like. Or simply enjoy the thick spicy wine by itself. Ideally, in front of the fireplace.
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Acts of Random Kindness 3
This is the only topic for which I have needed to write three parts. The world is far less mean than you think.
The Kind Stranger seems to be Santa Clause's little brother- many talk about him, they tell magical stories about him/her but these always are stories about someone else, who knows someone else, who knows the Stranger in question.
I don't believe in Jesus and I don't believe in the mythological Stranger. Because believing would imply blind faith without proof. No. I have seen the mythological Kind Stranger. The cousin-of-my-friend's-dog's-uncle cycle ends here.
I have met the Kind Stranger.
Many people get a kick out of being destructive, negative, pessimistic, mean, offensive which means there is a large number of people who get a kick out of being cool, adventurous, polite, spontaneous.
The creature is very much like you'd think- changing faces and locations. But if you're lucky enough, you will meet him. It's really not that hard. I was once so lucky I met him twice in one day.
LONDON. Upon boarding my bus, I realised that my reservation was for the wrong journey. Rather than LON-OX-LON, I had booked OX-LON-OX. I easily admitted to the driver it was 100% my own fault and that I was leaving it completely to his discretion to decide what to do with me. He smiled, said he shouldn't... and then changed my reservation, saving me 14 quid. Big thanks.
Why he helped? I think, to a huge extent, he did because I was humble, admitted my fault in the matter and was polite to him. Be polite, kind, helpful and patient with others and they are much more likely to do the same back to you.
OXFORD. Just a few hours later, I am sitting in "Three goats' heads" in Ox with an Ex and we're having a drink- he's sipping some horrible weissbier and I am sipping some stupidly expensive wine. The bartender comes up to us, carrying a chair and puts it next to our table. We look at him, half tipsy, fully puzzled. He says, giggly:
-It's for your friend.
-What friend?, we ask, even more confused.
-Your invisible friend. For whomever you want.
-That's why I love coming to this pub!, the ex exclaims.
Simple, jolly moments. Strangers are fantastic company.
P.S. If you ask Google, though, some bad images come up for "strangers", even "strangers in a pub". We need to change that perception- one pub, one image, one story at a time.
The Kind Stranger seems to be Santa Clause's little brother- many talk about him, they tell magical stories about him/her but these always are stories about someone else, who knows someone else, who knows the Stranger in question.
I don't believe in Jesus and I don't believe in the mythological Stranger. Because believing would imply blind faith without proof. No. I have seen the mythological Kind Stranger. The cousin-of-my-friend's-dog's-uncle cycle ends here.
I have met the Kind Stranger.
Many people get a kick out of being destructive, negative, pessimistic, mean, offensive which means there is a large number of people who get a kick out of being cool, adventurous, polite, spontaneous.
The creature is very much like you'd think- changing faces and locations. But if you're lucky enough, you will meet him. It's really not that hard. I was once so lucky I met him twice in one day.
LONDON. Upon boarding my bus, I realised that my reservation was for the wrong journey. Rather than LON-OX-LON, I had booked OX-LON-OX. I easily admitted to the driver it was 100% my own fault and that I was leaving it completely to his discretion to decide what to do with me. He smiled, said he shouldn't... and then changed my reservation, saving me 14 quid. Big thanks.
Why he helped? I think, to a huge extent, he did because I was humble, admitted my fault in the matter and was polite to him. Be polite, kind, helpful and patient with others and they are much more likely to do the same back to you.
OXFORD. Just a few hours later, I am sitting in "Three goats' heads" in Ox with an Ex and we're having a drink- he's sipping some horrible weissbier and I am sipping some stupidly expensive wine. The bartender comes up to us, carrying a chair and puts it next to our table. We look at him, half tipsy, fully puzzled. He says, giggly:
-It's for your friend.
-What friend?, we ask, even more confused.
-Your invisible friend. For whomever you want.
-That's why I love coming to this pub!, the ex exclaims.
Simple, jolly moments. Strangers are fantastic company.
P.S. If you ask Google, though, some bad images come up for "strangers", even "strangers in a pub". We need to change that perception- one pub, one image, one story at a time.
Saturday, 13 October 2012
Above the rooftops, above the summer city
Some friends and I were shooting a music video for my mate's band. The location was an abandoned rooftop in the very heart of the city. Feeling the pulse of Sophia, hundreds of years old streets were buzzing with the whispers, songs, conversations, yells, running feet of the people beneath us. Their shoes made click-clacks, yet the only thing we saw from them was the tops of their hats.
Across the street from us, on a terrace, a couple were having romantic dinner. There were candles, a few plates, all else was dimmed and quiet. It wouldn't occur to me to make this up, it would be too corny for my taste, had it not been true. Now... it's a small confirmation that romance doesn't have to be big. In fact, the smaller the gesture, the more genuine it is.
Well, except from the big lights coming from our video production, big speakers booming.I wonder if we embarrassed them, when we looked. Whether we annoyed them, or whether they liked us. The quiet romantic dinner and the loud music video couldn't have been more than 25 meters away yet they seemed worlds apart. To me, though, they went together well.
The scent that night was so Sophia. A slight tinge of summer dust, honking cars mixing with song beats. The gold on Alexander Nevski's domes almost reflecting the light from our roof, the city bubbly with summer sounds and smells, yet the approaching fall causing the temeratures to drop, just making us dance harder....
London town
For all the times I've been in London, it was at 2 am that I saw it be its warmest
and kindest. That particular night, I had
been travelling on a bus from Oxford,
it was only me and the driver. It felt like it was just me and the driver
in the whole of England.
The motorway was quiet, long, with the occasional lights flickering with the frequency
of a slow heartbeat. Monotony was exciting, it kept me alert before the lack of sleep and the
nurturing rocking of the bus took the best of me.
I woke up and I immediately felt light, curious, tranquil, the street light around me evoking a feeling of magic. I wondered which city this was, it never occurred to me that it could be London until I recognised some familiar landmarks. It was a sleepy masculine London rather than the annoying fashionable hipster London full of slow crowds of pretentious people. It was calm, its voice-soothing, the timbre- metallic yet warm, its skin made of stone. It was dressed to impress and an attitude to remember: regal, altogether composed, intelligent and...cheeky, somewhat. One you could fall in love with, because it was ultimately honest. Bitch had style.
Vacated by its usual inhabitants, who were resting after a day of shopping, working, rushing, changing tube lines, calling each other to arrange dinner plans, the city behaved like a person. When left alone in its own company, it was stripped of expectations and conversations. I loved it for that, it was a thousand times more alive to me than during the day. It claimed the respect it felt it deserved, for its history and looks, much like a well-groomed man, respect I gladly showed. Respect I would never have shown during the day, when London usually behaved like a spoiled slutty teenager.
I woke up and I immediately felt light, curious, tranquil, the street light around me evoking a feeling of magic. I wondered which city this was, it never occurred to me that it could be London until I recognised some familiar landmarks. It was a sleepy masculine London rather than the annoying fashionable hipster London full of slow crowds of pretentious people. It was calm, its voice-soothing, the timbre- metallic yet warm, its skin made of stone. It was dressed to impress and an attitude to remember: regal, altogether composed, intelligent and...cheeky, somewhat. One you could fall in love with, because it was ultimately honest. Bitch had style.
Vacated by its usual inhabitants, who were resting after a day of shopping, working, rushing, changing tube lines, calling each other to arrange dinner plans, the city behaved like a person. When left alone in its own company, it was stripped of expectations and conversations. I loved it for that, it was a thousand times more alive to me than during the day. It claimed the respect it felt it deserved, for its history and looks, much like a well-groomed man, respect I gladly showed. Respect I would never have shown during the day, when London usually behaved like a spoiled slutty teenager.
I exited the bus, said goodbye to the driver. It felt special
to me that we had shared this bus ride only with each other, in the middle of the
night. Walking towards my train, once again
I felt protected by the city which used its tall, dark buildings to snuggle me with
their metallic and stone arms. I couldn't sense neither the cold nor the tiredness
anymore.
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
Better than chocolate
They are light, they are smooth and the are incandescently, voluptuously dainty. So I got 4.
These are my four little fairies of indulgence:
 |
| Blueberries and honey,raspberries with chocolate, cherries with coconut and carrot cup cake. |
Mmmmmm...
Two of them are still left. I will have them with peaches. When grandma called earlier today, she asked "Are you eating well?"
Yes, grandma, I am eating peaches!
Sunday, 22 July 2012
The good, the bad and the Pork Pie
I'm experiencing a quarter-life crisis, which turned out to be an actual thing. This had brought up some moments of self-reflection.
Recently, I was at the seaside with my family where I found some temporary friends to hang out with. One particular night ended up with me coming back home in a slightly jollier and tipsier state than was advisable, only to be caught by my mum who gave me a stone-cold look and said "I never want to see you like this again". Fair enough. What I didn't think was fair was the conversation followed next day, where I was explained that now was the time to think about the person I want to be, these are the best years of my life and I am wasting them, getting wasted. Untrue, as it isn't my habit to do so but I do agree that seeing your kid coming back home very tipsy is somewhat ugly, even if they are 23. Lesson is sinking in, I don't want to become a drunk, it's not the person I am.
There's something to be said about the moment where you're in the car, at 3.30 am, having just driven all three of your friends to their houses after an awesome night out, some drank, some drank tonics and all danced. You're in the car, feeling good and protective and responsible, the road is empty and your only company is the voice of the GPS lady, who tells you where to go, because, frankly, you don't know which way gets you out of these tricky small streets in a neighborhood you've never been to. Then a favourite song comes up, I turn it up, and there it is- a black Ford Focus, buzzing through the streets of Sophia at night, in its own bubble of Euphoria, feeling good, like there's nobody else in the world. Which there wasn't, they were all asleep. It felt like a small prize for what had just happened, like I had earned hearing two songs I enjoyed, consecutively. When I offered to drive the 3 boys to their respective homes, it was a natural response, I wouldn't want my bros to be walking the streets at night or have to pay lots of money for a taxi, and it was hardly an inconvenience regardless of the distance because I enjoy driving and I hadn't had anything to drink. However, by the third address, their praises and appreciation had gone to my head a little, I was happy they were safe but the bit of me going through the quarter-life crisis was also pleased to find yet another answer to its concerns- this is the sort of person I would like to be. Responsible, choosing not to drink so I can drive, enjoying myself and taking care of my bros, taking them home.
Pork pie is an excellent place, as many of you Sophianites will know. It's an open-air bar. I was there last night, with the fore-mentioned three boys and this night will stick like a post-it because it was some of the most honest fun I've had recently. Dancing in a company that was not my usual one, the conversations were honest, the music was not mine but was not foreign either, in it was found more honesty that I have been finding in familiar, close environments. Yet again, I feel a revised list of who to keep in my life and who to expel is forming in my head. Here I am, a step closer to the person I want to be, its best and happiest version. Writing this memo to myself will serve me as a marker in 6 months time, 2 years or whenever I need to remember what makes me better and what I don't need anymore.
Recently, I was at the seaside with my family where I found some temporary friends to hang out with. One particular night ended up with me coming back home in a slightly jollier and tipsier state than was advisable, only to be caught by my mum who gave me a stone-cold look and said "I never want to see you like this again". Fair enough. What I didn't think was fair was the conversation followed next day, where I was explained that now was the time to think about the person I want to be, these are the best years of my life and I am wasting them, getting wasted. Untrue, as it isn't my habit to do so but I do agree that seeing your kid coming back home very tipsy is somewhat ugly, even if they are 23. Lesson is sinking in, I don't want to become a drunk, it's not the person I am.
There's something to be said about the moment where you're in the car, at 3.30 am, having just driven all three of your friends to their houses after an awesome night out, some drank, some drank tonics and all danced. You're in the car, feeling good and protective and responsible, the road is empty and your only company is the voice of the GPS lady, who tells you where to go, because, frankly, you don't know which way gets you out of these tricky small streets in a neighborhood you've never been to. Then a favourite song comes up, I turn it up, and there it is- a black Ford Focus, buzzing through the streets of Sophia at night, in its own bubble of Euphoria, feeling good, like there's nobody else in the world. Which there wasn't, they were all asleep. It felt like a small prize for what had just happened, like I had earned hearing two songs I enjoyed, consecutively. When I offered to drive the 3 boys to their respective homes, it was a natural response, I wouldn't want my bros to be walking the streets at night or have to pay lots of money for a taxi, and it was hardly an inconvenience regardless of the distance because I enjoy driving and I hadn't had anything to drink. However, by the third address, their praises and appreciation had gone to my head a little, I was happy they were safe but the bit of me going through the quarter-life crisis was also pleased to find yet another answer to its concerns- this is the sort of person I would like to be. Responsible, choosing not to drink so I can drive, enjoying myself and taking care of my bros, taking them home.
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