All posts by jedski

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“If it grows together, it goes together”

Andrew Polmear takes us to France and Spain and the vineyards of the Andes and… Oh, just take us somewhere

It’s four years since I wrote about pairing food and wine. I mentioned then that it’s not a bad idea to pair food with the local wine, since wine styles have developed to go with food. Some acidic Italian reds aren’t much fun to drink alone, but you understand them when you drink them with a pizza.

However, there’s a school of thought that takes this further; which says that “if it grows together, it goes together”. The idea is that if food and grapes have been subjected to the same climate, grown on the same soil, at the same altitude, they’ll match, not because of human intervention but as a natural thing. It’s nonsense, of course. You don’t find many British writers keen on the idea for obvious reasons, although stout and oysters go rather well. In France and Spain however, wedded as they are to the idea of terroir, the idea is met with nods and smiles. So let’s put it to the test. Ton Colet, a Spanish sommelier, has put together a list of pairings to illustrate the principle that “things grown together go together”. I’ll pick three from his list.

Sancerre and a Crottin de Chavignol goat’s cheese. A Sancerre is a full bodied Sauvignon blanc. “Crottin” means horse dung but the cheese is so called because of its shape not its flavour. It does have quite a tang and goes wonderfully with the wine. But the case that they go together because they share the same terroir falls apart when you think of other food from the area that doesn’t go with the Crottin at all; andouillette, for instance. A Sancerre would be hopeless against the power of that appalling dish, even if made with pork that grew up within sight of the vineyards.

How about Beef and Argentinian Malbec? That sounds good – until you realise that they are from completely different terroirs. The vineyards are on the steep slopes of the Andes, cooled at altitude and fed by run-off from the snow. The cattle are down on the plains of the Pampas, a rich agricultural area that would be hopeless for making wine.

Last try: red wine from Priorat in north east Spain and truita amb suc, the local dish. The wine is made from grenache and cariñena grapes. The dish is made from eggs, garlic, spinach, beans, more garlic, cod, paprika, parsley, almonds, yet more garlic and hazelnuts. Yes, the wine is so powerful it can cope but so could any heavy red. An old-style Aussie Shiraz would be fine. 

Want to think about a few more classic pairings that come from the same area? Fino sherry and spanish ham; an albariño white from Riaz Baixas on the Atlantic coast of Spain and fish; boeuf bourgignon and pinot noir, the grape of red Burgundy.

Ton Colet concludes “Nature is wise, giving us access to pairings with such a deep sense of place”. I think that’s fanciful; but humans have learnt to make wine that goes with their food; or even learnt to make food that goes with their wine.

Brighton Life, Editorial, Features, Uncategorized

A Biba-esque emporium

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An Aladdin’s Cave where Frida Kahlo sits next to beautiful vintage kimonos while Tintin and Buddha look on. Jed Novick goes in search of the Objet D’ials

I want people to feel that they’ve disconnected with the outside world and engaged with the shop when they’ve walked through the door.”

Karin Pratt is putting the finishing touches to Objet D’ials, her new art emporium. She’s at that lovely point – halfway between excited and exhausted, and I just asked her the stupidest question. What are you selling here? It all looks like Aladdin’s Cave here. Look around and… there’s Mexican the window, a row of beautiful Japanese kimonos, a Buddha, a bit of Frida Kahlo, vintage books, art, Tintin, a red velvet sofa… Everywhere your eye lands, there’s something for it to feast on.   

“When people walk in and look around, I want them to feel like they’ve gone on a journey,” says Karin. “I want people to engage with the shop. You know how many shops you walk in and then walk out, as an experience it leaves you empty. I want people to come in here – even if they don’t buy anything – I want them to feel they’ve disconnected with the outside world.”

Pushed for a description, Karin says “I want it to be an all-encompassing Biba-esque experience.” And if you’re going to have an aspiration, that’s not a bad one. 

“You just browse. There’s a café – but only a small percentage of our life is as a café. We’re going down the cafetiere or pot of tea route. We’re not doing takeaway or trying to be a café. The shop is artisan and in the summer there’ll be tables and chairs outside.” 

So let’s go back to the beginning. Who are you and how did you get here? “We live next door and this shop used to be the garage for the house. My husband has looked into the history of the house and has always wanted to put it back together, to bring it back. I’ve worked in shops (and the oil industry, and tourism and hotels…) but I’d never had a shop. I had a feeling it was going to come on the market and one day we were sitting in the garden and a friend said ‘Come here, there’s a guy in the street with a clipboard outside the shop.’ 

And you ran outside and said “Stop!”? 

“More or less.”

To anyone opening a shop in 2020, it’s the obvious question to ask, so let’s just ask it. You’re setting up a new shop from scratch, how much of a nuisance has lockdown been? “Not really that much of a problem because I knew it was coming. We’ve had a four-week turnaround – we bought it at the end of November and…” 

Hang about. Stop. You only got hold of this at the end of October? 

“Yes, the 23rd. We came straight in after getting the key and started with the paint…” 

That’s just… That’s amazing. 

“Was it longer? I’m so tired… It’s gone really quickly, I know that.” 

While it’s Karin’s shop, Karin’s idea, Karin’s dream, she’s very keen to support Sussex based suppliers for my local goods. “The idea of helping and promoting local produce and business is really important. We’re very lucky to have a shop and while it’s OK to be online, if you can have somewhere to show your goods, that can make all the difference.”

So you’ve got? 

“Well, we sell Craft House Coffee, which is based in Wivelsfield. There’s Katie’s Nuttery, who do all sorts of organic nut butters and they’re based in Henfield. We’ve got Park Farm honey, from just up the road.  J.Cocoa, the chocolatier from Hassocks, and Slice, the local Seven Dials bakery and sweetmaker.”  

And it’s not just about the small producers; there’s a place at the table for shops, too. “We’ve got stuff from ‘And More Again’ in Upper Gardener Street because they –  Penny –goes to India a lot and she’s going to have a permanent feature in the shop because she fits what I like, the vibe.”  

So are you going to expand into things like local cheeses? “My core is art, that’s what the vibe is. The heart of the shop is community, but my core is art. If we can bring those things together…”

We hear so much about the death of the high street, about big stores closing, about how people only shop online. But maybe this is what the future will look like, post-Covid when big high street shopping has recalibrated. Community-based shops that work together, that help each other, that support other local businesses. 

“There are so many lovely people here and if we can all work together we can only make everyone stronger, and have more fun while we’re doing it” 

Brighton Life, Environment

Books, music… baby clothes?

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Every parent knows the story. No sooner have you stocked up on your baby or toddler’s new wardrobe than little Johnny has already outgrown the lot.  You’re looking at your bank account and scratching your head while the kids’ clothes manufacturers are gleefully ringing up the tills. It’s the price you pay as a parent, but the cost to the earth isn’t funny.

“I was making organic baby and kids clothes for my company SuperNatural Collections but I got to thinking that the world really does not need me to produce any more baby clothes whether they are organic or not”, said Jenny Barrett, the founder of SuperLooper. “There are 183 million items of unused baby clothing stored in UK homes.” 

Jenny is on a mission to make a difference and created SuperLooper, an online baby clothing library of pre-loved clothes for babies 0-2 years to offer parents a waste-free-wardrobe for as long as they need. ‘And when your child has outgrown them, you just send them back to be loved & looped again’. 

When it comes to sustainable fashion, baby clothing is often forgotten. Of the estimated £140 million worth (around 350,000 tonnes) of used clothing which goes to landfill in the UK every year, baby clothes account for huge portion simply because of how fast they grow. After spending much of her life in the fashion industry Jenny realised things didn’t have to be that way. SuperLooper, a subscription service of around £20 a month enables parents to avoid buying new clothes altogether and to clear out all their outgrown items to share with other families. “You can choose as many clothes as you like.”

The circular economy is an alternative to the traditional way where we make, use and dispose of items, ensuring that the life of a product doesn’t end when it is no longer used. It is re-used, remade and eventually recycled into another product. SuperLooper makes sure that great clothes will be at least be kept in circulation for as long as possible.

So far, the clothes library has over 1600 items to choose from and will have lots more by Christmas “It’s a huge job, ironing labels on, taking photographs then uploading them. It’s all a bit overwhelming but I’m very determined!” 

We know we can do things to help our planet but it’s that further step to make the change which seems to stop most people from actually doing anything. “Just keep on it and don’t worry that it’s a tiny thing because we all know tiny things eventually, become big things. We can all make the difference. We just have to believe.” 

If you would like to join the 

community check them out 

on Facebook @SuperLooper or sign up at www.superlooperlife.com

#Whyownwhenyoucanrent

#ownyourfuturenotyourclothes

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Jim Gowans’ West Hill Watch

So-called “bike-hangars” (corrugated metal sheds for the on-street storage of bikes) might soon be introduced to streets throughout Brighton and Hove. It is inevitable that these “hangars” will be as poorly maintained as the existing the on-street waste bins and will represent an additional target for unsightly tagging and graffiti. Councillors seem oblivious to guidance from the Department of Transport’s “Manual for Streets” which recommends the use of the “Sheffield stand” rather than a bike shed for the secure storage of bikes in the public realm. 

These are already in use at the Seven Dials roundabout and can even be said to create an attractive feature. While the Sheffield stands are free to use there would be a charge for using the “bike hangars” and as is stated in the rental contract “Insurance is not included. You park you bike entirely at your own risk”. 

While the security of “bike hangars” is not guaranteed, the impracticality of them certainly is, as each hangar would only accommodate six bikes and might be some distance from the user’s home. Sheffield stands could secure twice as many bikes in the same space or could be placed at convenient intervals on each road. The petition which encouraged the councillors to take this idea further was poorly supported, so it’s hard to understand why councillors did not see that bike-bins are a bonkers idea.

Brighton Life, Editorial

The Whistler – October 2020

Idly flicking through the TV the other day, I chanced upon “Dad’s Army”. Haven’t seen it for ages, but still it’s so familiar. The  bumbling incompetence, the mind-numbing arrogance, the hubris. The idea they  know what they’re doing, but behind their eyes we can see that even they know they’re absolutely clueless. But then on closer look, I realised they were wearing suits, not fatigues and I was actually watching a Government briefing about the new Covid guidelines.  

Oh well. Strange times. As The Whistler goes to press, we don’t know whether there’ll be a second wave or a second lockdown, whether six people is a group or five is a bubble. As ever, the people who do best are the ones with the  positive attitude, like Mark and Hatt at The Eddy, like Pam and Philippe at The Red Snapper.  That’s what we’re buying into here. The positive. And as long as it’s linen suit and straw hat weather…. it’s all  good. 

Finally, a quick and very large “Thank You” to Joanna Bettles for her time as designer of The Whistler. For Jo, as for the rest of us, new challenges await.

And don’t forget – if you’ve got something to say, drop us a line. Join in. Life’s better that way. XX 

Brighton Life, Features

OBITUARY: Alistair “Jacko” Jackson

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LOCAL HERO, charity fundraiser, pillar of the community and all-round good bloke, Alistair Jackson – known to everyone as Jacko – died August 7, aged 77. 

Born in Southport, Lancs, in 1943, Jacko left home at 16 and joined the RAF. He served in Bahrain, the Persian Gulf and Singapore, where he married in 1965. He moved to Brighton in 1970 and joined the Bright News team in 1993. A top sportsman, he raised money through charity runs, but it was as a community friend that he made his mark. If someone needed help, Jacko was there. A delivery, a hand, a word, a smile… being a top man. Jacko was there. 

Brighton Life, Eating Out, Environment, Features, Health Matters

Back home for one more adventure

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What do you do after the jungles of French Guiana and Chicago? Jed Novick finds out

I’m outside the newly revamped Eddy, enjoying an afternoon drink and chat with Mark and Hatt, the new guardians of this particular galaxy. A car comes down the road and stops outside the pub. I don’t even notce, but Mark’s up and over there. Hatt turns, looks, smiles, carries on. Seconds later, a young lad, all muscles and tatts and with a face like a kid who’s been told to clear up his dinner plates, is walking over to the recycling bins carrying a lone bottle. He drops the bottle in the bin and throws us a half-hearted sneer, but Mark’s already back with us and the story is done. “He was just going to leave the bottle on the pavement” says Mark. “This is our community. We live here. We all live here. Have a bit of respect”. 

Hatt – Harriet Eaton – and Mark – Mark Reed – took over The Eddy in January and from there till now, it hasn’t been a straight line. But one look at Hatt and Mark and somehow you know they’re familiar with picaresque journeys. They’ve got stories.

She’s all bangles, tattoos and rings. An artist. Originally from West Sussex, the road to West Hill hasn’t been a straight one. Went to Paris when she was 18, worked in fashion, married a doctor. “He wanted to specialise in the tropical diseases. So we went and lived in South America for three years in French Guiana in a place called Maripasoula, right in the middle of the jungle. It’s like a tiny plane or three days on a boat to get out. So that was interesting. Mostly”. 

As you do when you find yourself in the middle of the jungle days away from anywhere, Hatt set up a textile business “because that’s what I’d done in Paris and that went really well – beach towels and robes” but then life intervened – kids, parents, school, the usual – and the path led back to Brighton working behind the bar in a pub not far from where we’re sitting now. 

Originally from Hastings, Mark also took a few detours before getting the keys to The Eddy. “I had a few pubs and clubs in Hastings, pubs and clubs in Brighton”. Anything I’d know? “Yeah. The old Club Savannah, which is where Club Revenge is now above Harry Ramsden”. How far are we going back here? “This is back in the early to mid-Eighties. Then I moved to America and I worked in the music industry in America, going on tour with bands for a number of years, lived out hotel rooms for about five. I worked for EMI and then I was a writer for a while and then my…  Then the music industry career got parlayed into partnerships in nightclubs and bars and restaurants in Chicago, um, over, uh, over a long period of time. And then alongside that, I also got into the car industry and worked for a major US Volkswagen dealership”. But then Mark’s life intervened…

So Mark came back after 25 years away, and Hatt taught herself how pubs worked and when the landlord of the pub where Hatt worked moved on… Well, opportunity knocks.  

Opportunity knocks and then opportunity pulls the rug away.  In January they got the keys. A couple of months later… the world stopped. Words like “global pandemic” and “lockdown” probably weren’t in the original business plan. What was the conversation like on March 19th, the night before the lights went out?  “We’ve got a lovely little film of the last night before we shut and there was great atmosphere and everybody was wow, this is our last night for a while.

“I think people just thought it was going to be about a month or a couple of weeks, and then we’d be back open again. And I think that we were sort of ignorant of how long it was going to be. But, you know, things happen and it’s just a question of how you look at it. For us, lockdown was fantastic. We just completely embraced it and changed the pub to who we are. Re-painted everything, cleaned everything, changed everything. The cellars, the toilets, everything.  It’s like being in my front room really, you know, we really, really have made it our own.

One sweet thing that came out of lockdown was that the idea of community really kicked in. “When we closed down, John at The Yeoman created a WhatsApp group for the four pubs on the block. We called ourselves The Manor and there’s definitely a sense of care between us, but yeah, it’s very sad that some of these pubs are too small to open. John’s been there for 15 years and his whole business plan has had to change. And it’s really tough”.

What do you want from all this? “The last owner was more…, um, he didn’t really understand the concept of the community, but that’s what we love. We live here. We live above the pub. It’s our home”.

Brighton Life, Eating In, Eating Out, Features

Ready to snap into a new life

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“It’s not what you get with Deliveroo”, Red Snapper’s Pam and Philippe tell Gilly Smith

Panwad (Pam) ManeeTapho and her Belgian husband Philippe Ghenet are sitting at a table as the early autumn sunlight pours into the Red Snapper, until lockdown one of the most popular restaurants in Seven Dials. They’re talking about their plans to expand it into a casual lunch stop, a couple of tables outside and three inside. It’s all suitably distanced, which will add to the transformation of the busy buzzy evening eatery. 

The restaurant, which has always been a celebration of the fresh seafood and herb-flavoured dishes from their eastern Thailand home, has been replaced by a shop where customers can browse through the restaurant’s silver starter plates, the stacks of gluten-free fish sauce and Thai ginger shots stacked on the upcycled shelving. An orange 1977 Honda Novio scooter is the centrepiece, a cool, vintage reminder of where Red Snapper comes from. 

“That’s my mum’s” says Pam. The couple plan to use it for deliveries. “Imagine that turning up outside your door”, Philippe smiles. “It’s not what you get with Deliveroo.” 

Red Snapper is a triumph of creativity and lockdown lateral thinking. “We saw it coming” says Philippe who grew up in Italy and heard from relatives there what COVID was already doing to its economy. “It’s the end of the world, right? In a way it was like, come on guys, this is Nostradamus!”

At first, the couple held their heads in their hands, but they quickly realised that lock-down could give them time to think about what they really wanted from their life. “After 16 years of  working in the restaurant, sweeping, cooking, cleaning, it was spinning so fast that sometimes we didn’t have time to stop and think which way we want to channel the business”, says Pam who with her younger sister has worked with her parents in the restaurant since she was 16. “Four months of lockdown made us think, think, think, write down, plan, plan, plan. Which path are we going to take?” For them, it was always about the food. “We know what our customers like and what we can offer,” says Pam.  It’s the quality of the food. The flowery stuff, the service, the music, the smells, the incense, the candles… it all comes after.” 

They decided to offer the best take-away experience they could; while Pam and her father, Turmphan cook downstairs, Philippe chats to their customers upstairs, telling his stories and charming them with his laid-back style. “I like it this way. We’re done by 9pm and I can watch a movie with my son.” 

They first shared a flat when Philippe had just graduated in Media at Brighton University and Pam was studying Art, Design & Fashion at Northbrooke College, and they’ve spent months using their creativity, repurposing items from home for this cool, new look. “That was where we stored our linens,” says Philippe pointing to the beautifully battered vintage suitcase now housing an old set of scales and a pink neon heart light. “We choose to be our own bosses, so we might as well add our identity.”

He sees Red Snapper as a Thai market-style café. “Maybe you’re coming back from town; Churchill Square is closed but you still want to have a coffee”, he says. “We like to be a bit of a community market where you can pop in and get some ginger tea. Or maybe just a take-away.” 

As we sit in the late summer sunshine, nine-year-old Finlay is on his second day back at school and Pam and Philippe are feeling philosophical. As working owners, school is an essential part of the child-care, hence the move to daytime food which will reflect the ethos of the original Snapper; accessible, but made in-house from scratch. 

“We offer passion” says Pam. “This is our career, our life. Before COVID we were too busy, we had too much to lose. We might as well shape the life that we want.” 

Features, Money Matters

Gold – you’re indestructible…

David Foot finds hope among the bitter pills and pessimism

SOMETIMES IT’S EASY to sit down and write a piece for the Whistler. Sometimes, it is difficult. Today is the latter. Generally, I have some sort of handle on what is going on in the financial world. Alas, I really have no idea of what may happen, in the next few months. Events have an unerring ability to shock and surprise, and markets react in peculiar ways to events. 

It feels like we’re stumbling towards the edge of a cliff. We’ve certainly been in situations before where, despite things looking gloomy, everything has turned out fine. Maybe I am suffering from too many months of “lock-down misery”, but I feel increasingly worried about the direction the UK is heading. 

The two massive factors influencing the near future of this country are what the long-term effect of the pandemic will be, and what will our trading relationship with the rest of the world be, after the “transition period” ending our relationship with the EU. What effect it will all have on world markets are complete unknowns. 

My short-term pessimism and long-term optimism, tell me that things will be horrible, but all right in the end. I may be wrong, but I fear that despite a mini-boom in house prices, due to the pent-up purchasing power,, there may well be some “bitter pills” to swallow – once the artificial stimuli are gone and things settle down. 

The long-term economic effects of coronavirus may prove to be much worse than we are currently given to believe. The willingness of our Government to flout international law, fills me with woe. How will those, with whom we wish to make trade agreements, look upon our nation, if our leaders cannot obey their own laws? Our future relationship with our biggest trading partners looks increasingly shaky. What happened to “the easiest trade deal in the history of trade deals”? Enough. If I dwell further on the subject, I’ll be in grave danger of making myself bilious.

One of the (few) investment upsides of this horrid virus, is that the price of gold (historically, a hedge against unstable markets) has increased a little more than somewhat. This probably has little effect on most of us, but one interesting aspect has come to my attention. 

One of my clients lost a gold bracelet and as part of the claim procedure had to get a valuation for a replacement item. It wasn’t expensive and was covered by the “unspecified personal possessions” section of their home insurance. Or so they thought. 

Fear not, this is not a horror story. However, it is something that is worth remembering. The replacement value was more than the “single item limit” on the policy, not by much, but the replacement cost was more than twice the original cost. If you have jewellery, particularly items that you wear away from the home, and you want to ensure that it is adequately covered, check the replacement value every so often. 

The insurer paid the claim in full, but insisted that the replacement was specified on the policy, to make sure there would be no problem, in the future. They’re not all monsters! Until next time.

Brighton Life, Environment, Features

Belonging and Nature in West Hill

A chance encounter in a shared space. L.O.Hughes meditates on an urban sanctuary

ON THIS JUNE DAY, I attempt to write about the theme of Belonging and Nature. The theme resonates and feels sensitive for me, a British-African. Hoping to unblock my writer self, I take a break in St Ann’s Well and walk over to St Nicholas Quiet Gardens, my sanctuary over 30 years. 

It’s a cool afternoon. As I stroll, I notice light trying to break through the flat, milk sky. Not unlike my own process. Right now, I’m content under this oasis of trees. But a brief encounter stops me in my tracks. 

An unfamiliar pooch, charges while barking loudly. Often I freeze and hold my breath, the ‘owner seeing the situation, swiftly calls on their pet  “He’s harmless” they say,  taking him in tow. We exchange smiles I breathe out. Job done. 

Yet on this June morning the scenario has all the tension and trepidation of a slow-motion film. I’m frozen, the owner, while only an arm’s length away, crawls like a tortoise, towards his barking terrier. More, his hard-shell silence and steely gaze, slice through my pleading eyes. I notice his pursed lip. Is he’s thinking, “Who is this stupid woman, scared of small lovable dog?”. I can’t tell, but as he finally takes control, I hear myself apologising. “I’m just a bit afraid of dogs when…” 

 “Well” he spoke assuredly, “This is a place of many dogs… So not the best place…” He stopped short. The words “for you” hung momentarily unspoken in the air between us, before drifting into the sky. 

My equilibrium quickly returns. “I think this is a place for everyone”.

I promptly dismissed the incident in my head. This was a decent enough guy, perhaps, interpreting my fear as dislike of his pet dog, and whose ill- manner, briefly, threw me off balance. 

Later I reflect on our shared gardens. How over 30 years I’ve seen changes in the ways we use these spaces; from strollers, tai chi practitioners and meditators to couples doing exercise, a place of refuge /sleep, to walkers, their dogs and more. Brightonians, while we not perfect, are generally open and accommodating to such diversity. 

Back home and with my writing. My mind has cleared. I reflect on belonging and inclusion during pandemic, front line workers finally recognised as essential, disabled people again fought for their lives, as others who are overlooked. I think about the incident in the park how it speaks to the theme of belonging in nature.  

I allowed myself feel the momentary blow, the impact of the spoken and unspoken atmosphere. The territorial claim over a green space, meant to be shared.  

I think about my childhood growing up in an institution that kept us separate from ordinary life and from nature itself, about how regularly my presence has been subject to question, often unwittingly, and at times blatantly. The impact on mental health, a collective experience for many struggling with the complexities of belonging re disability, class, ethnicity and more. Here there’s a gap in understanding of who can take belonging and inclusion for granted and those who don’t have that privilege.

I notice how my equilibrium more often returns quickly. How, I have found healing in nature itself. Walking the South Downs Way over 30 years gave me a feeling of belonging to the land as well as friendships here. Our parks are part of nature we long to protect. I experience Brighton as one of most open places in the South. During lock down, we saw some of our best qualities.  And like many cities we have our challenges. 

As we face more lock downs and use our communal spaces more, we are challenged to negotiate how we use, share, take care of them and each other. Many are fighting to enable people, animals and earth to breathe more easily, be protected, respected and enjoy belonging together in our precious green city.