Wary of Wellies...

Since I first arrived in the UK, I've fought the Wellies movement with the hope it would .... well, move on. The cascade of polka dots, flowers and stripes have been a little too much to bear... as evidenced at last year's folk festival when a little rain brought out everyone's short shorts and rubber.

There is another personality that ascribes to the Wellington boot, i.e., the country walker. Usually in our village that means the dog walker, but occasionally we see others sporting them. Alastair and I do own pairs of wanna-be wellies, but they are stashed in the attic since I found them a bit complicated when worn around mud and very hard on the knees. I just couldn't get the hang of them around the riverbottom mud that assumes the surface position after a good rain here. It's like cake icing.

A couple of weekends ago, Alastair and I joined friends for a walk in Essex. It had rained the day before but was clear Saturday. After an interesting lunch at The Cricketeers in Clavering, which some of you would appreciate knowing is where the Naked Chef got his start, we wandered about the fields, enjoying the clear skies and a small hill. Up a hill means down a hill, right ... which is where we came upon a little ravine with the announcement, "It's a little slippery down here." That was a classic British euphemism for a 100 yard bobsledding track. With much holding of breath, children and our trousers, we finally got skidded down it. As you can tell from the photo, I finally gave in and walked right through it. Further afield, we passed a dogwalker, well dressed with a clean dog. He took one look at me and shook his head... he was wearing wellies.

I can't say how I would have managed in wellies on that walk. I was grateful for the waterproof quality of my Blundstones ... but perhaps a little rubber would have made the clean-up easier.

Breakfast in the West End

Not a stone's throw from where Alastair and I lived on Highburgh Road, there's a new cafe/restaurant/deli called Kember & Jones. I'd read about it as a brunch spot in a weekend newspaper and put it on the list of things to check out. The review said to expect queues, which is a promising sign for breakfast... I mean, the fact that a group of Scots would actually get out of bed for breakfast is breaking news.

Alastair and I walked over from our B&B next to the River Kelvin. It was cool, crisp and clear and there was much to note on our walk, but I'll share that later. By the time we reached K&J, I was starving... and guess what?! Not a queue in sight. We grabbed a table near to the window, sitting next to a German couple. The first sign that we might be a little early, don't you think?

The menu had all the expected items from muesli to traditional breakfast, and --- waffles with fresh strawberries and blueberries. Do you need to ask what we had??? They were wonderful, albeit small and more like dessert than breakfast, but enjoyable nonetheless. The coffee was good as was the fresh squeezed orange juice. Geez, one might think I was back home.

About twenty minutes after we arrived, we witnessed the queue of people, it was around 11am and within ten minutes there were more than twenty people waiting for about 10 tables. The paper called that one, alright.

We slipped out, noting the deli foods we'd be back for the next day to picnic with in our travels.

Kerala, amen.

After a couple of days of freezing weather and dense fog, we sought refuge in a night of flavorful eats and conversation at the Rice Boat, just on the other side of Cambridge. With a previous experience under his belt, so to speak, Alastair was heartily optimistic when he rung to say his workmates were dining together and I should come. All who know me know full well my response!

Specializing in Indian food from the southern region of Kerala, the Rice Boat is noted for being different and therefore more than welcome beyond a lengthy list of average Indian food in Cambridge by local reviewers. After eating there, it's easy to see why it stands out. The flavors are familiar but unusually arranged to perform exceedingly well without going overboard.

With a group of seven at the table, we managed to order just about everything and this is the meal that stood out for our next visit:

For a starter, I really enjoyed the Vada, a fried lentil cake in the shape of a doughnut served with a curry soup and coconut chutney. As the British like to says, it's moreish. Alastair would opt for the squid fried with onion and peppers.

For our main course, it would have to be Meen Polichathu which is Kingfish steak, packed with a spicy masala, and wrapped in a banana leaf parcel that is cooked on a dry griddle. It's full of spice that doesn't overwhelm the fish itself.

To complement all of that flavor, I would opt for Puttu, a rich rice flour and coconut bread, steamed in a bamboo tube. Alastair favored the rice pancake, Masala Dosa, filled with sauteed potatoes and onion, served with sambar and coconut chutney

An unexpected treat was Vazhakka Mezhukkuperaty, a simply sauteed unripe banana. Rumor has it that if one can pronounce the dish, it's free.

This is plenty, but if there's room for more, then for dessert, Ada Prathaman, a pudding made with milk and vermicelli noodles, something kin to rice pudding with cashews and an essence of cardamom.

Finally, masala tea, a smoothly spiced cha or chai steeped in milk and slightly sweet.