Rachel Whiteread’s dolls houses

Posted on by bagladytravels

As someone who saw Rachel Whiteread’s House in Grove Road in the early 1990s, I was delighted to see the house theme taken a stage further by the playful Village, a collection of 150 mismatched dolls houses, some with lights on. Are they abandoned, is anyone in, is it bleak weather, is this a ghost Village?

It also made me think about House. House was a temporary installation, the interior of a house that had just been demolished on the site in Grove Road, one of part if a demolished tumbledown terrace. Innards exposed. Then painted white.

Bow was hipster-free then. But House attracted some quite posh people at weekends who travelled across London to look at House, media-types in black polos with kids called Ptolemy or Tarquin.

A former local estate agent firm, Alan Selby & Co, cheekily erected a for sale board outside. It amused me.

The house was demolished and its site was subsumed into the park at Grove Road.

We walked along to the park afterwards and I showed my friend the approximate place where House had been. I think it’s a shame that there is no marker in the park to recognise that House was sited there. Although temporary it was an important work.

Ch Ch Changes

Posted on by bagladytravels

I bet you’ve seen a few changes round here? And I expect you’ve seen a few in your years on this planet; you weren’t exactly born with that hipster beard nor grew up drinking cold brew coffees.

Yes, it’s all new. I think there may have been horses and carts, cobbled streets, cheery bobbies on the beat, peasoupers, bookies’ runners, gas lamps, pearly kings and queens back in the day in 1989 when I landed here, towards the end of the era of yuppies and towards the approach of the millennium with its threatened Y2K bug.

Actually on my walk to Safeway, oops I mean Tesco, I notice just how much is new in the way of buildings. The pavements are pretty much the same, just as uneven and treacherous.

I think this building site had been a scrapyard for many years, the canny owner, or mercenary capitalist depending upon your politics, having held onto it until only the uber rich can afford to buy here.

And Pelican Cottage remains, refurbished and surrounded by new build. Apartments, not flats. We make them sound posh by calling them apartments, even though many face the A102(M).

At the top of Fairfield Road on its corner with Tredegar Road stood the improbably named Four Seasons Green, a scrappy little park, not much in its favour really. I did once take my parents’ dog for a walk there – he was more used to Hampstead Heath and seemed a bit traumatised by the local Staffies. The park is long gone and flats have been built in its place – these are flats, not apartments though, as they were built for a housing association rather than for commercial sale.

And, another new block, Heathfield Court. Except, it’s not new and must be at least fifteen years old now so you were probably selecting your GCSE choices then. Apartments, not flats.

And more new build, flats and houses. The houses here usually put on a bit of a competitive Christmas decorations display and I recommend a detour for the sheer joy of their light shows in November and December safe in the knowledge that you are not paying the electricity bill.

And Tesco, the adjoining apartments and flats built into the old Safeway car park. How the Roman Road market traders laughed when they heard that flats were being advertised there at more than £500,000. Half a million for a flat above Tesco.

Yep, it’s certainly changed around here.

Urban cherry vodka

Posted on by bagladytravels

There are quite a few cherry trees in Bow. I had never noticed them before, but they must always have been there. There’s a really good one on Tredegar Road, Actually on the pavement, not in someone’s garden.

So, cherries picked, followed by “what shall I do with them?” The original idea of making jam could not be followed through as a bout of proper flu did not bode well for standing over a bubbling preserving pan for half an hour and stirring a molten mix.

My friend Google suggested cherry gin or cherry vodka. Nice. I like gin too much to start adulterating it though. Was there any vodka? Lurking at the back of the cupboard? Bingo. Better than I thought though, it was 100 per cent proof or 57 per cent alcohol. That seems mighty strong. But it needed using up.

First soak the cherries really well.

Then get busy removing the stalks, no need to start pitting the cherries though. Make sure you only use good ones. Snack on the less perfect ones. And ensure they are dry – this is a good excuse to use a brand new tea towel, especially if you don’t have any kitchen roll to hand.

Now, the quick and easy bit begins. Fill a Kilner jar with those perfect cherries. Don’t overfill the jar or cram them in.

Get that vodka and pour it into the jar, right to the top.

And seal that Kilner jar. If you’re in a real hurry, wait for two weeks.

If you can wait, hold off for about six months by which time the vodka should have turned ruby red and become intensely cherry flavoured. Apparently, the cherries are rather gorgeous too, steeped in vodka. I almost can’t wait for gloomy November, almost six months ahead, and to brighten up a dark evening with some icy cold cherry vodka.

After ten days, the vodka has taken on a pink tinge and the cherries look a bit paler. I am going to wait for the full six months though before sampling.

Urban quince paste

Posted on by bagladytravels

First, pick your quince. You’ll need to source your own as I am not about to share my Bow source. However, they are widely available ready picked and from outside the area, particularly in local Turkish fruiterers and, seemingly, all year round. Usually I pick them in mid/late September, but just never got around to it this time, events conspired in October, but a late autumn meant that I was able still to pick them in November, the second weekend no less. Definitely riper than usual, I decided that meant sweeter and therefore used a bit less sugar. I still got the usual number of scratches picking them though!

They look a bit ugly, but that’s okay. I soak and scrub in one of the sinks, transferring to the other sink to avoid confusion, a quality in which I am becoming expert.

No need to peel them. I used to spend ages attempting to remove the skin. Total waste of time. Just use the sharp end of a peeler, or anything similar, to remove the stalk and the spidery bit at the other end. Cut them in half. Don’t worry about the pips inside.

Pile them into a saucepan, add the tiniest bit of water, no more than a spoonful or two. Cook gently. They soon collapse into a cooked mushy consistency.

Now the fun bit. You need to sieve it all to remove the pips and the skin. I use a metal sieve, a wooden spoon and a clean saucepan. Small amounts at a time. Discard debris as you go. This bit needs good music as it seems to take forever. If you really want some local stuff, Dizzee Rascal. I generally stick to showtunes. Finally, after the musical workout, suitably cooked quince purée.

Weigh the purée. I usually end up with about 4 or 5 lbs, whatever that is in metric. Anyway, you will need the same weight in granulated sugar (I reduced it this time, quince very ripe, seemed to work okay, but I wasn’t sure what would happen until the end).

Time for another pan. I have a preserving pan which is perfect. Otherwise, I think you’d have to use your largest saucepan and maybe think about doing the next bit in a couple of batches. You may wish to think about a long handled preserving spoon to avoid molten splatters. I wear a long silicone glove too as I am naturally accident prone.

Combine the quince purée and granulated sugar, heat gently, stirring, allowing the sugar to dissolve. Bring it to the boil, keep stirring so it doesn’t burn and stick to the pan and try not to get splattered as random bits start erupting. Slowly, it will take on a different consistency as it begins to gel. I suppose you could use a sugar thermometer and check the temperature, but I am quite good at guessing the moment when it is ready. I used to cool saucers with ice cubes and put a few drops onto the saucer to see if it had set, but now I just know the moment almost instinctively.

Meanwhile, you’ll have decide what you are going to pour your quince paste into to allow it to set. Different recipes recommend different things, all shallow containers though, no jam jars here. I buy a pack of cheap plastic food containers from the local pound shop, running them through the dishwasher before use. Using a cup, I fill them to a depth of about an inch or less. Any leftover, not quite enough for a container, just goes into a small ceramic bowl and eventually gets covered in cling film.

You need to let them cool and dry out now. Some recipes suggest using the airing cupboard. Well, if you could get inside mine, maybe!

I let them cool on a granite surface, transferring them when stone cold to a marble shelf in the larder. The lids go on about a day later.

The colour develops and, over the space of a few weeks, the quince paste will darken from a golden colour to a richer amber shade.

I keep them stacked in the fridge, those that are not immediately given away. It keeps for ages, but I always run out before the next season comes round. Great to take to supper parties with some good cheese and grapes or figs.

You can add things too – I have put some chopped Birdseye chillies into a very small batch and that was good and packed quite a punch. But I probably prefer this plain and simple.