… the proper mode for a Chinese take-away to package their sesame prawn toast. Just like the ones that we just had this evening. For the record, it should be one of those nice rectangular plastic containers (the ones that make a handy receptacle for your Nitro-Mors next time you’re stripping a wardrobe) but no lid. There is nothing worse than a sweaty, saggy portion of prawn toast. Well, OK, there is. Head in a vice, for instance. Um.
How to make me rub my hands with glee? Simple. Give me sparkling company and a plate (or three) of sushi on my birthday (22nd. August, thanks for asking)…
Now the gym we go to is a nice gym, and they do serve good coffee, but 2.90 for a double espresso? Blimey. Not only is that a lot more than the regular joe chain places like Nero and Starbucks, but it’s much more than the Best Coffee Place in Cambridge - namely Savino’s. I love Savino’s. It’s struggling a bit at the moment because of the upheaval during the building of Grand Arcade, but it deserves to survive because it’s so lovely. Do you get the picture? Jon and Savino’s sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G…
We couldn’t miss the chance to see Lisa Loeb, when she tours the UK so seldom. This was her only UK date this time around, and so tickets (plus hefty booking fee, grumble grumble - later found out the Bloomsbury also sells its tickets direct without the scam) were absolutely mandatory.
This is the first gig I’ve seen at the Bloomsbury and it’s a decent venue: a bit threadbare, but the usual friendly atmosphere of a college hall. After a swift noodle at Wagamama and a brisk walk, we got to our seats with minutes to spare. The stage was minimally adorned with just two mics, a bunch of pedals and a stool - no pretensions here.
On came Lisa and Dave Gibbs of Gigolo Aunts and away we went. Dave did a great job as an inconspicuous but very able backing artist - to the point where I thought to myself that I must dig out some more Gigolo Aunts stuff.
“Do You Sleep?” was a cracker, and it just kept getting better. The P.A. was impeccable and if anything there was more detail than on some of her records. Because it wasn’t too loud (God, I’m getting old) you could even hear her tapping her bebooted foot to emphasize the accents - and maybe to keep Dave in line.
I was hoping she wouldn’t do “Window Shopping” because that’s the one song of hers I really can’t stand. Really. To the extent that in the beginning it put me off the whole “The Way It Really Is” album. Of course, now I love it, I’m just in the habit of skipping track one. Just like when I listen to Husker Du I just skip all the Grant Hart songs. Well, she did sing it, and I didn’t like it, but a bit of contrast does no harm.
There was plenty of cute chit-chat between songs: Lisa went to Regents Park that lunchtime, had rather too much cheese, great baguette - crispy on the outside, doughy on the inside… ahem. Apparently they have some new ducks there that weren’t there before. Bless. “The Way It Really Is” was originally going to be called “Half and Half” but that looked stupid written above the picture with the deer.
It wouldn’t be fair to bring this whole review down by making a comment about how she looks: it’s all about the music! “Will You Wander?” was particularly delicate, “Stay” was, of course, magnificent, and “Butterfly” from “Catch the Moon” was simply wonderful: so frail and spare. Captivating. What is the main impression this evening has left on me?
Damn, she’s cute.
Go to Pipasha. Order the KKK (no idea whether the connotations of the name are lost on them). Enjoy. I just did. Mmmmmmmmmmm.
BTW, help: I’m turning into my grandparents. We always used to take the micky out of them because whenever we’d see them, all they’d want to relate is “ooh, we had a lovely meal the other day”! Food = important, as you may have guessed either by reading this, looking at my belly or worse, my Dad’s belly.
Evil dreams, that is. We ate at the Chinese all-you-can-eat place again and, ayup, freakish dreams all night. How about sitting in a castle’s moat that later transpires to be a dry-dock of some kind, in a suit of armour that at the same time is a wetsuit, employed to pick golf balls up out of the moat? Happens to me every day, dunno about you.
Wasn’t the Sumo Feast, though, it was the bloody piped Dido.
Actually the food here is no great shakes, really. That’s a shame because Tampopo that was here before was superb.
Samsi in Manchester. Kirin beer. Sushi. Blogging on my mobile phone. A purring geek. :-) By the way, that wasn’t an attempted Haiku.
