From Paris to London (III): undersea travels, cheese and sweet wine

Many people know there is a submarine tunnel that bridges Paris and London, few people I know have actually merged into the darkness of the earth to come out again in the light of the surface. Here is the website for the booking: Eurostar

Already Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821) planned to excavate a dugout to reach an elusive bartender, for his unsuitable thirst. Because of the available technologies, the plan was abandoned and the enterprise to the cold ice-cream of Russia brought to a sad end a glorious moment for continental Europe. Despite his arrogance and his final defeats, in Italy Napoleon is praised as an hero and he is the last Emperor we addressed with his baptism name.

Napoleon on the imperial throne by Ingres

The day after the flamboyant wedding, still dizzy by the cling of toasts and by the night's raids in the metro, my French days regrettably expired, so that I had to leave behind myself the majestic splendor of Paris, for the more put-together charm of London. It is incredible how two so close towns developed such different souls. Paris, the home of French Revolution, seems a city made by giants. London, the place that hosts one of the more ancient monarchies of the world, is a practical city, thought for commerce and adapted to tourism. Perhaps for this metaphysical reason the tunnel under the Channel is so peculiar: it has to bridge two mind-dimensions.

LeRoy Neiman: even the Beatles may look like workaholic yuppies.

Moreover, that's possibly why London is a city which encourages evasion, as in Peter Pan with flying skills, in Sherlock Holmes with opium, in Dickens with countryside trips. On the other side, Paris, though drenched in danger, works as a magnet for people coming from all over the fair nation: Paris sucks your energies and your wealth out, and spits what remains of you like Pinocchio's whale, such as in L'education sentimentale by Flaubert or Les illusions perdues by Balzac.

When fairy powder makes your flee-dreams come true.

Luckily the shark whale is not hominivorous (a men eater),
he prefers krill and plankton.

What I found fascinating was the duty free: the train that runs under the sea is treated as an airplane. Your suitcases are scanned and your physical body as well. I was lucky to spend only 50€, because of the low season: we were in early december. This unexpected duty-free consented me to find luxury food-goods: a truly finest selection for gourmets. A couple of affluent and eccentric British citizens in a totally unconcerned manner spent a sensible fortune. I felt luckier having an allocated budged. I came out with two gems: a cœur Neufchâtel (pronounced as if the f was silent), an fromage artisanl from Haute-Normandie. It has the typical shape of a heart and it is a product provided with the Appellation d'origine contrôllée, which means it has a specific certification of reliability, as for Parmigiano in comparison with the unfair Parmesan. The second choice was a fine bottle of a sweet dessert wine, whose indication allowed the drinker to spouse it with cheeses as well: it was a Sauternes of the winemaker Calvet, as sort of guarantee in itself.

My host could not restrain himself: he is a cheese lover
and more importantly an unstoppable cheese eater:
the soft heart of the heart, pardon the word pun, as beyond
my descriptive ability.

Porcini mushrooms are very cheeky and they asked
to be immortalized next the Sauternes. An excellent risotto
completed our dinner, along with a mixed salad.

My voyage under the sea level was intense and quick. The tunnel is darker than oblivion, but the train in extremely comfortable. I was actually wishing to find a porthole in the tunnel structure to observe the abyss, but I guess it would have been seriously too dangerous. Another astonishing surprise was the high quality of the train cafe. I had some pain perdu with cheese inside...unbelievable:

While eating it all the sorrow of life were washed away like timid waves
onto the face of a sea-rock. The recipe is very easy, the result so intense!

Finally, we came out again to see the stars, E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle (Dante, Inferno, XXXIV, 139).

In London, I rejoiced two incredible friends of mine. Harriet who is from London: we met during my Erasmus in Edinburgh and then she came to Bologna as an Erasmus as well. It was shocking when, after almost two years, our friendship had to find a new balance, based on distance. Fabriz, her boyfriend, comes from the hatred Modena (jokes) and despite he is an engineer, he also has an exceptionally versatile and humanist side: he is very attentive to nuances of life and languages, he is phenomenally sarcastic, and he wishes to pinch the typical British calm with it. While waiting for Harriet at St Pancras international station, I found a pink piano, that someone was playing particularly well, and above all a stationary shop that I recommend to all paper lovers: Paperchase

The following day, the only full day in London, it was Sunday, so we strolled around, particularly going to Hampstead park, a huge estate full of wild life (huge squirrels), swans, woods and promenades paths: it would be difficult (and somehow against privacy) to evoke back all the topics we went through, nonetheless I recall I learned a new word "daunting".

Since that departure I am planning to go back to London and visit my friends unsuccessfully, but perhaps this July I shall succeed. In the meanwhile I keep looking the pictures I took, sighing

A Mondrian-esque tree

The skyline fo the City

Eating time: voracious and plump. Shouldn't you be hibernating?

VIP squirrels: time to run away from photos

Why not? More cheese! And cherry tomatoes
on La maison du monde saucer, bought in Bologna,
but you can find it here

AND MY WEDDING CAPTAL TRIP CAN BE DECLARED CONCLUDED. 

Porn with the Q sounds Quorn

What's (a) waste? When the light turns green for the pedestrians, you feel you are wasting time if you do not rush to reach the opposite side of the street: this is a silly automatism, unless you are Italian and then you are used to a more flexible idea of where to cross what. Kidding. Yet, the same situation changes if you are kissing your girlfriend: in this case all the time passed is not wasted is invested, stopped, treasured. Today I witnessed this scene: I was crossing next to the Meadows and a couple hesitated at the traffic-light.

Jimeny Criket, in his Disney sweetened version,
in Collodi's Pinocchio he does suffer a much more
severe treatment.

A Jimeny-Criketish-voice, inside me, was yelling to make them notice to haste longer. The first and misleading impression, was that they were spoiling the chance to pass on the other side. But then, suddenly, unfairly - with no red signal anticipating this very eventuality – they kissed: naturally, without a particular emphasis or tenderness, but with a certain undeniable grace. 

Kissing at the traffic light

From that new angle, my solitary crossing appeared - along with the inner yelling voice - even more miserable: quite pathetic, honestly. Once at home I doubled the quantity of spaghetti for my lunch and chocolate was my final shell, my fireplace, and my oblivion! Maya Gold organic dark chocolate provides that righteous amount of happiness. It is so ravishing that if you seed it in a graveyard you are going to awaken zombies. Don’t try!

Worth trying but quite expensive, over 2,30£ each bar.

Then, while gurgling on the sofa, sipping my holy-after-lunch-moka-coffee, I was pondering how could we deal better with what we consider wasting. How should we define wasting? Why waste is also a synonym for rubbish? What's rubbish then? Let's start from the end! Rubbish, in abstract terms, is what we reject because we cannot conceal it with any of our good or evil purposes. In this sense rubbish is something completely useless: this conception links on one side the innocuous discard in a table game to the dregs of society, which – sadly - are those human beings we fail to recognize anymore as “thy neighbour”:

Polystyrene cases and glasses, obtained during the oil refinement

Another example might be the walkman (or the i-pod): these devices make us listen to what we wish while we are on our way to what we think is our goal: to Uni, to the job, to the gym, to the restaurant, toward home etc, but is that really wasted time? If we walk in a park, for instance, aren't we missing the sound of Nature, of the seagulls digging out prays from the mud, of the simple emotions conveyed by a sunset? Once, also the “voyage” was part of one’s experience:

Sunset in the Meadows

If rubbish is something irrecoverable, what we waste is, instead, more redeemable, and it is linked more to sloth.

Tenderly sleeping sloth

Sloth - in a biblical sense - makes us buy rubbish-ready-meals wrapped in rubbish-packaging; takeaway drinks in depressing paperboard holders; junk food devoured in the street and served in polystyrene dishes. This appears to be insane and ludicrous: with few worldly wisdom actions it is actually possible to cut down the production of garbage (for instance investing really some minutes on the packet-lunch):

Slim Line Quaddi Blue lunch box:
made from lead-free virgin material

A handy idea: although they could have chosen a different liquid for the bottle

Wasting is slightly different: wasting is a problem much more related to self-organizing. For instance a lunch box will provide a suggestive approach. I’ll list only three of them but there are loads out there:

Fake moulded bag to avoid office stealing

http://www.muji.eu/

Steel lunch box from Muji

Another bento/lunch box by Muji

My bento box, by Muji

Today, I had to throw away some turkey breast - belonging to Andrew, a dear friend, landlord, and flatmate - who had been very busy lately: a deep sorrow caught me for this squandering of animal flesh, I found it unacceptable. I never condemn the sinner, only the sin! Yet the sacrifice of an animal is something sacred for me – not for religious principles but on a logic assertion: the life you take from the animal becomes your nutrient, your same life, so to say. It would be better then to avoid this sort of omissions - to avert the slaughter happening in vain. It is irrational because you would never throw away banknotes & quite offensive for all those people, who struggle to knock up lunch and dinner every day. Do not let your conscience sleep:

Do not let your conscience sleep

As a conclusion, my aim, tonight, was that of cooking with what I had in the fridge in 12 minutes (square-bracket numbers indicate when to add the ingredients):

http://www.quorn.co.uk/recipes/

START

• 2 tbspn of Tesco Finest* Extra-virgin olive oil [1];
• an old pak choi [2];
• two Tesco Finest* sweet mini peppers [2];
• half a bag of Quorn pieces [2];

Sweet mini peppers

Pak choi

LET IT GENTLY FRY FOR 5 MINS the juice of ½ lime [3]; a light spring of Maldon smoked salt [3] a sprinkle of black pepper [3] 2 tbspn of tab water [3]; 1/3 of tspn of British mustard [3]

Smoked Maldon salt

PUT A LID ON, LET GO FOR 6 MORE MINS

• a new light spring of Maldon smoked salt [4];

STIR FOR 1 MIN AFTER HAVING ADDED THE BEANS

• 2 tbsp of Heinz organic baked beans [5] …

DONE

The final dish: 12 minutes and a perfect second course

...in a way all there ingredients were leftovers, castaways condemned to a slow agony into the fridge forgetfulness. What came out was sensational and rich of intensity, an excellent second course delivering character and revenging the poor wasted turkey. The moral learning then is “buy what you are going to eat and consume to the end what you bought”. Don’t trust momentary urges. It’s easy, wise, intelligent and helps saving extensively.