Sunday smörgåsbord #021 - 10.09
This week: Holidays with Joan Collins, layovers in Barbieland, and saying thanks but no thanks to fifty euro burrata in Paris.
NB: [PW] signifies a paywall, though some providers allow you to read a set number of articles for free.
Features & Podcasts
Few less of these this week, as I’m back on the road and prepping for our annual Tyk retreat. If you’ve read - or written - something great lately, please send it my way, I would love to read it!
‘Seal on homelessness, hits and love’, The Guardian. When I was younger, I thought Seal was almost a vision, or Saint. I’m not sure why, it may literally have been the cultural moment that was ‘Kiss from a Rose’ in 1994 (was this song even a cultural moment? Why did I think it was a cultural moment? A lot to unpack there, another day). But this interview is really a beautiful hodge-podge of memories that paint a lovely picture of the man and those who have made a difference in his life.
‘Manchester Museum returns dozens of objects to indigenous Australians’, The Times. I found this article very moving, especially the moments where the indigenous Australians were able to immediately shed light on questions that had been asked of the collection for decades.
‘Judd Apatow on comedy, creativity, and embracing your inner weirdo’, The Rich Roll podcast. I’m working back up to longer runs now, finally, and had to tick off a fourteen kilometre one in Paris. I really like Rich Roll’s podcast for these kind of runs, they’re so long you can really get into them, and I like how my brain meanders on the topic as I listen to them. This one with master storyteller Judd Apatow was really good for getting me thinking on creativity. There’s a lot of useful insights in this one, not least: ‘you gotta get it down then fix it up’, gulp. I did find some of the comedy group backslapping a little tedious though. There’s a whole section when Apatow talks about how incredible it is that him and his ‘comedy alumni’ were such a tranche of funny, clever people, and amazing they all got jobs but then ten minutes later, it turns out they all gave each other work on their own projects? It’s easy to give them the benefit of the doubt - his peers were, and are, some of the greatest comedians of the early 2000s, but a little short-sighted in parts.
Arts, Culture & Entertainment
Barbie. I laughed, I scoffed, I cried, and I didn’t quite love it as much as everyone else seems to, but I did intensely feel the impact of this film. I know Gen Z have not celebrated it as much as Millennials, not thinking it goes far enough, but I still don’t think it can be overstated just how much progress we’ve made as a society for a female-focused, female-directed movie about the patriarchy to make a billion dollars at the box office. The fact that Gen Z don’t think it goes far enough is itself a great sign of how much progress has been made. I found it a little muddled and over-laboured with some of the patriarchy points - Gloria’s speech was a case in point; everyone is going gaga for it, but I found it hard to keep up with (I know that was partly the point, but I’ve heard punchier speeches on how women struggle under the weight of contradictory expectations). Ken’s discovery of the real world and how focused it is on men, though, was a delight (Ryan Gosling too). Scroll down to the Substacks section for a take I particularly loved.
Obsession, Netflix. Trash TV at its finest. Terrible plot. Risible dialogue. Wooden acting, despite some pretty big names. So why can’t I stop watching? In my defence, this rubbishy Netflix soap makes the perfect cultural equivalent to plane food: I can watch almost the whole thing in one return trip (something I’m doing more of right now). I do however feel the need to occasionally shield the screen when everyone takes their clothes off, especially when I’m in the middle seat…
El último sueño, Pedro Almodóvar. I’ve had a special place in my heart for Almodóvar ever since I first saw his films, aged around fifteen or sixteen, at the Phoenix Picturehouse in Jericho, Oxford. My friends and I would catch the bus over and soak in these strange, exotic even then, vaguely erotic films that we didn’t even completely understand despite the English subtitles, such were they about life and love and all sorts of other things we hadn’t yet experienced. I often wonder if Almodóvar was one of the threads that pulled me towards Spain my whole life, his portrayal of the country is so light-and-dark, fun and frivolous but always hinting at the fractious edges underneath, close to the surface, buried in shallow graves. This is his first book of short stories, compiled from ones he wrote throughout his life and career, banished to a drawer whilst he focused on filmmaking. I didn’t love them, unfortunately, but there are a couple of gems in there, and many stories which hint at the beginnings of films he later made (including La mala educación, the first of his I watched at the Phoenix). The story for which the collection is named, though, is a stunner, hitting that perfect short story rule of a moment so specific in time that you are transported right there. In this case it’s the last dream of his mother, told to him right before she died, and the tortured question left with him. I feel tears pricking just recalling the story. It’s beautiful, and captures the best of Almodovar: unspoken maternal intimacy, the urgency of life, and the nagging ache left behind when things go unsaid.
My unapologetic diaries, Joan Collins. I’ve loved taking Joan on holiday with me this summer and getting an insight into one of my improbable idols. Still none of my questions are answered (how does Joan have so much money when she’s always complaining about not having work? How does she know literally everyone? How does she not have cirrhosis of the liver?) but it’s a real blast. A lot of name-dropping, half-of-which are accompanied by catty comments, a host of first class British Airways flights, and aperitivo upon aperitivo that made me want to have a G&T with her come 5pm. I particularly loved Joan’s continued indignation that Hollywood folk all seem to want to go to bed by 10pm, and her confession that she prefers the ‘British dinners’ in LA as they all embrace smoking and drinking. The craziest thing reading these diaries from the 1990s was that I read them thinking of her as mid-forties, when she was already in her mid-sixties at this point. I saw her pop up on instagram the other day and my God if I look like she does at 90 I would be ecstatic. Maybe it’s time to do the Joan method? In which case pass me the Hendricks and a cig please, pronto.
Lifestyle
Bodega Anyora, C/ d'En Vicent Gallart, 15, Valencia. Andy and I went to watch the blue super moon rise at the beach the other week and we wanted to head somewhere nearby for dinner afterwards. I’m never as au fait with the Cabanyal area of Valencia as I should be having now lived in the city four years, but I’d read good things about Bodega Anyora so we booked a table. It’s a lovely little spot that feels casual but still special. I really enjoyed the wine suggestion, and we shared a bunch of interesting plates: my favourite was the smoked eel, absolutely delicious. A little on the pricier side for a midweek dinner but the food, drink and setting made it a memorable one.
La Botanista, Valencia. Last week I enjoyed my last few evenings in Valencia before heading off on a month of travel for work and play, so Andy and I went for cocktails together at La Botanista, fast becoming a new favourite after a friend introduced it to me. It’s a super small, intimate space in El Carmen, with an equally small menu, but both almost-perfectly formed. The menu is really creative with a mix of spicy, smoky, sour, fruity and sweet flavours which means there’s something for everyone, all mixed by the barman, Gabriel, and his girlfriend who are both really welcoming. It’s the kind of bar you go into and either bump into someone you know or, if you don’t know anyone, people will start talking to you (indeed, both happened last week). If you’re desperate to bag a seat, just head a little early, it’s absolutely tiny.
Sorolla en negro, Fundación Bancaja, Valencia. This year marks 150 years since the birth of Joaquin Sorolla and many galleries across Spain are marking the occasion with exhibitions and events shining a light on one of Valencia’s most famous ‘sons’. Known for his exquisite light-filled landscapes, the Fundación Bancaja has decided to mark this important year with an exhibition which strangely, or daringly, looks at Sorolla through the angle of blackness or darkness. Gone are his stunning paintings of the sea, the huerta (farm fields) in favour of an exhibition filled with more subdued, though technically brilliant, portraits and social commentary landscapes. Given the Fundación Bancaja has a huge permanent collection of Sorolla (he was a prolific artist) my suspicion is that they’ve probably lent all the light-filled, beachy landscapes to other celebratory exhibitions around Spain and the world, and this is what they were left with! That’s not to say that it’s not worth a visit, there’s an arresting portrait of Sorolla’s wife’s parents which was worth the entry fee alone.
Two coffee shops I frequented during my six days in Paris were Bonjour Jacob and Residence Kann, both in the 10th, both with largely smiley staff (je ne parle pas français :/) and both achingly hip. Watching the bright young things come in and out my friend and I accepted we officially don’t get today’s fashion. Well - I did get some of it, just the first time around. Great flat whites, great people watching, and a great way to start the day.
Musee Rodin, 77 Rue de Varenne. Rodin was just so talented, wasn’t he? His pieces remind me of El Greco’s painted figures, the long limbs and strong, sinewy flesh captured forever in bronze. Observing his pieces feels like a religious experience, and, like El Greco, still fresh and modern even hundreds of years on. I was struck walking through the rooms of the museum how awestruck, and possibly even shocked, the Parisian art scene must have been when they saw Rodin’s works. So daring, so heightened in their depictions, movements and sensibility and, of course, so real. I particularly love his sculptures of Balzac’s dressing gown, which appears almost fluffy in texture despite its immovability. And the many sculptures of Gods and lovers cavorting in ever-more-eye-opening poses, ‘je suis belle’ was a stand-out for me.
LouLou’s, Rue de Rivoli. A true special-occasion venue, I was lucky enough to bring my family here in 2019, and it remains one of the most incredible, memorable evenings I’ve ever spent in my life. So I was hesitant about coming back, this time to treat a very dear friend to dinner on what was a milestone birthday. What if it just wasn’t as special - or, even worse… as good, as before? Often when you have these wonderful dinners it’s the specific moment in time with those people that makes the moment come to life just as much as the delicious food, attentive service and cosy ambiance. What if they fell flat? But I’m so pleased to say that LouLou’s still had ‘it’ in spades. Despite noticeably more tourists in attendance (ahem, bonjour), and slightly slower service, the food was still to die for, and the candle-lit, lemon-strewn atmosphere a dream. We shared melon and prosciutto with dots of refreshing sorbet, a sea-bass ceviche (the most disappointing), octopus, and the best dish, a lemon spaghetti with tuna carpaccio. SO GOOD. Followed by a giant, airy millefeuille on a caramel sauce and a truly tart (but delicious) lemon tart. It’s almost prohibitively expensive (my generosity refused to stretch to paying 50 euros for a burrata) so whatever you do don’t go for a casual dining evening but rather fully expecting the once-or-twice-in-a-lifetime experience. Unless you have a stinking rich, kindly and generous Parisienne godmother in which case… introduce her to LouLou’s right now.
Substacks
‘Issue #106: A conversation with my Mom about our relationship and my divorce’ - Morning Person.
Nothing fascinates me more than stories about the contents of people’s fridges or bookshelves. I love looking at the shopping basket of the person in front of me and wondering what that says about them as a person (I wonder what it says about me that I’m playing this game). This kind of content fits into that bracket: two close people talking, neither of whom I know, about something very personal to the both of them. I know none of the details, and yet I’m hooked at the everyman quality of it all.
‘On scrapping a novel and starting again’ - The Hyphen by Emma Gannon
Caroline O’Donoghue sounds like a scream. I really enjoyed this interview and it made me feel better about the two novels I’ve started to plan out only to stick in a mental drawer for the time being.
‘Parenting in Barbie Land’ - Mad Woman
I loved this take on the movie - that Barbie wasn’t just a story about how the patriarchy hurts all of us, but also a bildungsroman on the move from girlhood to womanhood - a movement from ‘unknowing’ to ‘knowing’. The moment we leave the toys behind, along with our illusions, and grapple with the reality: what are we made for?
‘About halfway into the movie, I stopped trying to explain every part of the script to my daughter. I was crying, but also, I wanted to allow her that state of not knowing a little longer—not to protect her, but to allow her to come out of her fantasies and into the harder parts of the adult world in her own time. I hoped she understood that the film centers around a mother and her daughter, each trying to return to that once-shared dreamland, where every girl can be any woman, and where male power doesn’t exist to hurt them. But it didn’t really matter. We laughed at the jokes we both got, and held each other tight when things got real.’
That’s it for this week. I hope you find something in this list that sparks joy or curiosity.
If you’ve got any recommendations on articles, podcasts, Substacks or shows for me to dive into next week, please drop them in the comments. Until next time!
You're so bloody eclectic and clever!