 My first batch of successful crumpets I love crumpets!
We became enamored with them during our recent trip to the UK. I'd attempted to buy them here in the States a few times in the past, but they were tasteless and had the consistency of a damp sponge. No amount of butter or jam could ever revive an American store-bought crumpet. But when we first arrived in London our host served us some for breakfast and the difference was... scrummy! They were light and fluffy, and taller than the American versions. Butter found its way into all those little holes with great alacrity, and they were slightly crunchy when we toasted them. When we got home we quickly finished off all the packages of British crumpets we'd stuffed into our rolling suitcases. I desperately searched for a recipe online to make the real ones. I went out and bought a set of muffin rings. I racked up four miserable, flat and sticky failed attempts before finding this crumpet recipe that works for me. Plus the author has a great sense of humor. She's included photos of failures most often committed in an effort to save you the time of repeating them, and also what crumpets are supposed to look like each step of the way. For those Yanks who've never seen a real crumpet, it's something between a pancake and an English muffin. They rise with yeast and then you cook them in a cast-iron frying pan or a griddle. Since our kitchen is currently torn up awaiting the final phases of our home renovation,* I opted for the frying pan method, atop a hot plate. The results of the fifth attempt were excellent. I'll continue to adjust and tweak this recipe, especially once I buy an actual griddle. I'd like to create the ultimate healthy, gluten-free, spelt-flour, vegan crumpet that actually tastes good, but for now, we're both happy with these tasty treats. *Renovation update: we've jumped in with all feet. Counting the cats, that's 24 feet.   At the end of March, my husband Wayne announced that he was taking us to England for our 5th Anniversary, and the honeymoon we never took when we got married in 2009! Not having had a real vacation longer than eight days since I can remember, I immediately clutched. How could I do this? How could we do this? Several rounds of negotiations brought us to the beginning of June. Wayne’s plan was to arrive in London and make it to the London Eye to be kissing at the very top on our anniversary. He’s such a romantic. So we leave home around 1:30 pm on a Monday afternoon. A few red-eye zig-zags and one broken plane replacement later and we’re at JFK the next morning with our rolling suitcases, plus a hellishly cumbersome bass guitar entombed in a large rectangular cardboard box we’re bringing to our host, Dave Swift, the bass player for Jools Holland and his Rhythm & Blues Orchestra, which I will henceforth refer to as JHRBO. Cramming our luggage into a small rental car at 8:00 the next morning, we take a whirlwind trip up the New York State Thruway to the Adirondacks to visit friends, including Jan, the maid of honor at our wedding. She “blings me up” for our trip: an excellent straw hat and some jewelry from her antique shop. The next day we’re back at JFK, and the morning after that we arrive at Heathrow airport. “Did we miss something?” I ask Wayne, when I see that we’re headed for a Tube station with our luggage and the hellishly cumbersome bass guitar. We haven’t stood in a long line for customs. It had all been done during our earlier stopover in Shannon, Ireland, when we were barely awake. Luckily, we’ve exchanged some of our cash ahead of time. It’s almost noon when we arrive at busy Paddington Station, and Wayne quickly steers us in the direction of what is to become our frequent refuge for snacks on the rail, The Upper Crust, where you can get small, inexpensive baguettes of varying flavors. I quickly develop a taste for “Bang-Bang Chicken,” while Wayne opts for his old favorite, "Chicken Tikka." We must look the epitome of a disoriented, middle-aged couple from a foreign country, struggling with our luggage, but several people emerge from the midday fracas to help us – even a conductor for the British Rail. Since Wayne has been here a number of times to visit Dave, and I’ve been deeply studying the art of surrendering to the moment and letting things work themselves out, I’m happy to relax and enjoy the scenery. Besides, with only a few short naps during the last 48 hours, some pharmaceutically induced, things are beginning to look slightly fairytale-ish. Our cab pulls up to Dave’s house in southeast London and we haul the hellishly cumbersome bass guitar up the front walk and ring the doorbell, hiding behind the hedgerow. I finally get to meet Dave Swift! I have been hearing about him and the JHRBO since 2007, when Wayne and I first re-connected. Before I go any further, I want to say that Dave is one of the sweetest, most interesting men I have ever met. Ladies, he is truly an excellent catch. He is also a Universal Monster Movie Memorabilia collector. He is reputed to have the largest collection in the UK, and is personal friends with Sara Karloff. We chat in the living room for a while and look at some of Dave’s memorabilia while he gushes over the fact that we’ve actually brought the bass guitar with us. Then, I notice that I’m falling asleep in peoples’ faces, so I retire to the bedroom to take a nap, surrounded by large, framed photographs of Frankenstein, the Wolfman and the Creature From the Black Lagoon. Later we go into Greenwich and have a late dinner at a "Nando’s" under the bow of the Cutty Sark. Then we stroll down the Thames, under the meridian, where “time begins,” which is now projected as a laser beam across the river and into the sky. The next morning we get up and take the train into town. Wayne gets a super-spiffy shave at a downtown barber and we head over to the London Eye. It’s a beautiful day!  Isn’t this amazing? The London Eye is a wonder of engineering, and slowly turns over the River Thames on a sunny afternoon. Our travel companions, Roxanne and Terwilliger, climb out of their pocket to take in the sights. Later on we travel to the O2 to see Glenn Tilbrook, also a friend of Wayne’s. There turn out to be two O2s, on either side of the city. We accidentally take a cab to the wrong one, sending us back across the city to the O2 Empire. Expensive, yes, but we figure it’s a nice tour of the city. We end up missing Glenn’s set, but the headliner is Graham Parker and The Rumour, and we have backstage passes for the “after show party.”  Schmoozing with venerable rock stars… in this beautiful old venue. The next morning we’re at Helicon Mountain, the recording studio of Jools Holland, while Dave is selling a piece of equipment. I’ve heard stories of this place from Wayne, and am reminded that it’s quite an honor to be admitted into these revered chambers of musical wonder. So many people have recorded here! We wander around the property taking a hundred pictures, and eventually Dave sells his amp and we walk back over to Greenwich for lunch, and a daytime viewing of the Place Where Time Begins. 
We are huge fans of the PBS show, “Doc Martin,” and have always been curious about the fictitious town where it’s filmed, “Port Wenn.” The actual location is in Cornwall, in a tiny town called Port Isaac. Thanks to the Brit Rail passes Wayne bought in advance, we decide to head south on the train on a sightseeing sort of whim. We book a bed and breakfast online while we’re waiting in King’s Cross Station, famous for the Harry Potter films. In fact, you can have your picture taken brandishing a wand in front of a brick wall labeled “Platform 9 3/4".” And of course, there’s a gift shop. Plus, we find a commercial item with my actual name on it. I’ve been waiting all my life for this!  It’s sprinkling lightly when we get off the train in a town called Bodmin, and catch a bus into Wadebridge. We arrive too late. The last bus to Port Isaac has already left, but some kind women sees us out at the curb with our suitcases and offers to call us a car. Then she sends us to the pub across the street to wait. We turn on our laptops and discover that the reservation to the B&B in Post Isaac has somehow fallen through, so we find another, more expensive one. “Oh, what the heck, it’s our honeymoon,” we figure, clicking the “Book Now” button. The cab arrives, and when we establish that we’re Doc Martin fans, the driver offers to take us on the scenic route, meaning those tiny little roads you see on the show, hemmed in by hedgerows. The bus surely couldn’t have taken this route. The sun is coming out again as we head toward the ocean. Our B&B turns out to be on the second floor of a gallery, owned by the artist. Being a Monday night, he offers to “upgrade” us to the nice suite if we pay cash, which we do. Look where we wind up! We couldn’t have had a better view of the harbor we’d seen so many times on the show. This is an adult sort of tourist spot. We spend a moody-weather day walking up and down the tiny streets of Port Isaac with lots of friendly Doc Martin fans.   Ruby Turner A day later we head north to visit another JHRBO member, the guitar player Mark Flanagan and his partner, Sheila. A quick pass through Paddington Station, including the Tikka and the Bang-Bang and we’re back on the train. Our first JHRBO show is at the Hampton Court Palace, in Surrey. A palace where Henry VIII once lived. A concert in a palace where the stone steps are worn down from use over the past 500 years or so. Boogie-woogie piano and rock and roll in a place that also houses the Royal Chapel. We get to ride in early with Dave and roam the property and backstage area before the show. I’ve been mentally rehearsing what I would actually say to certain band members such as Ruby Turner. I have a lot of JHRBO on my “Skiing Tunes” playlist on my iPod, and have probably spent more time in the air to “Jumpin’ at the Jubilee” than most skiers in North America. She nods amicably when I tell her how much fun it is to ski to her. Really. All the band members are incredibly friendly and gracious to us, glad to see Wayne after seven years. We also get to meet up with our friend Madeline, from high school, who's been living here with her husband for the past 25 years. We spend an hour getting caught up on the last 43 years of each other's lives.  Wayne has played all many JHRBO recordings for me, and shown me many videos, but none of this could have prepared me for the magnitude of greatness I am about to see… The band begins playing and I’m instantly stunned. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen! A 20-piece band with incredibly talented musicians, headed by the amazing, charismatic Jools Holland, a boogie-woogie piano prodigy. The guests on this tour are Marc Almond (remember Soft Cell?) plus Melanie C. from the Spice Girls. Both backed by the JHRBO and both high energy excitement. In an ancient castle.  The next day we get to see another JHRBO show at the Hampton Court Palace. We ride in early with the band and wander around again before the show begins, taking more pictures. The second show is just as exciting as the first one. We’re sorry. We’re just having too much fun to take any pictures. I will however include my lovely short film piece of the grounds, titled “Picnicking Amid the Gumdrop Trees.”  The next day we take another train ride south to Chepstow Racecourse, for yet another JHRBO show. Wayne has designed this whole trip to include interesting travel with fantastic music. There’s more beautiful countryside, with more solar and wind farms on the hillsides than I’ve ever seen in the US. We pass through Newport, Wales before changing trains and arriving at the venue, which is still having races. It’s early evening and the grounds are lively with food vendors and betting booths. We’re both feeling adventurous, and place a few bets before heading upstairs to the backstage area. The course is longer than the ones I’ve seen here in the US – it looks more like a steeplechase than a regular oval course. Amazingly, one of our horses, Annaluna, comes in first! Not enough to retire on, but enough for dinner! “Grab as much beer as you want for later,” Dave advises us, as the band leaves for the stage, so we stuff our bags with bottles of Stella Artois before heading down to the grandstands. There’s a storm brewing in the distance, so there’s deep, heavy clouds with a deep red sunset peeking through, with occasional lightning strikes. After the show, we ride back to London with Dave and Phil Veacock, one of the five (!) saxophonists in the band. The storm has developed into a pelting, two-hour-long thunderstorm that stays right over the car the whole time. Still, it clears up once we reach London, and Phil takes us over both the London Bridge and Tower Bridge, just to see them at night. “Foxy-foxy!” Dave calls out, when we see little foxes trotting across the streets, which is apparently quite normal in late-night London. The next day we visit our friend, Ruth, in Nunhead. Dave drives us over in the band van on the condition that he show us the house where Boris Karloff grew up. We meet up with Ruth and her children, Rhea and Luca, at a children’s fair and visit for a few hours. She’s a talented artist, teacher, and all-around cool mom, which we can see when we enter the house – contemporary art and children’s toys woven together into a tiny, user-friendly museum. On the way back to Paddington Station, we take a bus and get seats up top in the front so we can take more pictures going over the Tower Bridge.  Tikka-Tikka, Bang-Bang and we’re on another train heading north to visit more friends of Wayne’s, Jo and Steve Jones, in Ipswich. This time we wander around the town itself. So much of it is deliciously old, old, old! Even the house where we are staying is from the 16th century. We take an early morning walk through Christchurch Park. Later, an epic event occurs when Wayne tastes Steve’s salmon for lunch and likes it. Let me repeat that: Wayne has eaten fish and likes it. A new culinary avenue has opened up for us!  There's one more show far north, on the grounds of the Nostell Priory, a country estate, specifically, a "National Trust House." We take the train up to a small hotel, then a cab over to the show. We get our passes and wander up close to the stage for awhile until Wayne directs us to the backstage area. We are so lucky. Every time we go to the shows we are given passes and the band is glad to see us. We guzzle a few beers and walk the grounds before heading back out to the show. This is our final JHRBO show and by this time, I remember a lot of words to the songs. We go back out into the audience and wind our way up to the front. The ground is soft from the rain, but we are all dancing and singing along to the songs. Plus we remember to take pictures.  Marc Almond, Melanie C. and Jools Holland!  Later we get to spend time with several other band members, including the amazing trombonist, Winston Rollins. And then Jools shows up! He asks Wayne and I if we’d like another drink. I’ve had slightly more than my limit of two beers by then, but having Jools ask to buy us a drink is such an amazing event I want to say yes. Yet, we decline. A car is coming to take us back to our hotel shortly, but Wayne has a book Ruth has given him, which Jools has written the forward to, and he’d like Jools to sign it. Jools is pleasant. Curious. Affable. Humorous. He includes little cartoons with his signatures. He kisses me on both cheeks just before we leave. The next day we are back in London. Dave is anxiously watching the San Antonio Spurs/Miami Heat championship recorded from the night before. He’s a tremendously ardent fan of the Spurs, and so far they are winning. Wayne is a little unnerved from the pressure, so he sneaks into our bedroom and turns on his laptop to find out that the Spurs actually won. He lets out a sigh of relief. After the Spurs take the championship we all celebrate with champagne – “splashy,” Dave calls it. This is our last day here. We are sad to leave, but we do miss our cats and our house. Plus it’s getting chilly and damp again, and we long for the dry heat of southern Oregon. We take another trip with Dave into Greenwich to eat at that Nando’s under the Cutty Sark. He points out some of the local scenery. The next morning, when it’s 4 a.m. and dawn has arrived, (we’re further north here and it also stays light until 10 p.m.), a car is waiting for us, driven by a man named Raj. Dave comes down to say goodbye and we’re off. Raj proceeds to take us on a careening ride from southeast London to Heathrow. It’s so fast that the buildings nearly blur as we pass Chelsea. It’s deserted this early, and I can see by the speedometer that we’re going 50mph through the middle of London. I feel slightly nauseous, having tried to keep up with Dave in beer-drinking the night before, but we arrive safely, just in time to see the Aer Lingus agents setting up the cordoning for their area. Our plane passes over Ireland in the early morning and we land in Dublin, where we have a small breakfast. Then, as it turns out, customs takes place in Ireland going back to the US as well. I’ve forgotten to remove a necklace and set off the alarm, so I’m treated to my very first pat-down by an attractive young Irish woman. We land in New York and take the train out to Sea Cliff, Long Island, our old stomping ground as teenagers. We step off the train into a wall of humidity! I can’t believe I survived this as a child. Our host, Mike Grennan, lends us his air-conditioned car and we drive around looking at landmarks from our past before hitting a real Italian deli and a Carvel. There’s hardly any time left! We have quick visits with Wayne’s nephew and his forward-thinking young family, and the legendary John Anderson of local theater fame. Later on we see a lightning bug when we’re parking the car. We don’t get those in Oregon, so this is exciting to us. Five a.m. the next morning, we’re on the airport shuttle. Our first plane turns out to be a dud, so we all have to get off and wait for another one. This time, as I’m going through first class, I hear the unmistakable voice of one of my heroes, Susan Sarandon. I instantly look over at her, and she looks back at me, and I get to smile at her as I’m passing her row. I’m happy with that. A smile for one of my very favorite actresses and activists of all time. I catch up on a few movies we’ve missed, such as the latest Muppet Movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, and I’m willing to admit, Labor Day. It really wasn’t as bad as the reviews say. I’ll watch anything with Kate Winslet in it. We’ve missed our connecting flights, and we're told all the seats for the flights we'll need to return to Medford are sold out. We might have to stay in LA for the night! Standing at the customer service desk for United Airlines, I take a deep breath and agree to let the best thing happen while the agent continues to type. Minutes later, we are magically given seats on the two planes home. We arrive home late – around 11:30. The cats are all okay and glad to see us. We unpack chocolate biscuits and crumpets and pop open some cold beers. Wayne puts on a Glenn Tilbrook CD called "Happy Ending" that he got in the UK and we play with the cats. We relax in the afterglow of our fabulous 5th Honeyversary.  Groovy British button necklace by Ruth! And for a really good time, check out Jools Holland and the Rhythm and Blues Orchestra!
|
Here's where I expound on whatever I'm passionate about at the time. I welcome your comments, as long as you're not hateful, a terrorist, or attempting to pedal work-at-home offers.
Archives
March 2024
|
RSS Feed
Proudly powered by Weebly