The Swipe Volume 1 Chapter 25
A short one this week. TLC and I are off to That London for a significantly-adjacent anniversary treat. The Gods of Transit were kind and stalled a potential tube strike on the day itself. Hail to The Gods of Transit, may their fast lanes be ever free-flowing.
Anyhoo. Join NYT restaurant critic Pete Wells for lunch, get a little worried about fish and chips and yes, we have items pertaining to Barbieheimer. Finger firmly on pulse, yo.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
A Great And Terrible King by Marc Morris. I’ve become increasingly fascinated by the formative centuries of The United Kingdom. It’s an era of cruelty and creation, brutality and bravery. The struggle which gave birth to this nation was great and terrible indeed, and Marc Morris’ depiction of a key player is unflinching and clear-eyed. Edward Longshanks is just one in a line of uniquely British bastards.
Rob is watching…
The Bear Season 2. Like, duh.
Rob is listening…
To Panda Bear and Sonic Boom. Their 2022 album Reset takes the sound of The Beach Boys and fires it through a glitter cannon into the future. Heady stuff.
Rob is eating…
at The Bull on Arborfield Cross. One of those local pubs which went through rocky times over The Lockdowns, nearly closed, then came back strong. A young and enthusiastic staff and a kickass kitchen make this joint a must-go. If you’re in Reading and can drive, that is (or grab the No. 3 bus). Order the chicken wings to start, but plan to share. You get a stupidly generous portion for the price.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
The Women’s World Cup. I suspect it will become less low-key as the competition progresses. Go, Lionesses, go!
Pete Wells is the restaurant critic for the New York Times. His reputation is fair and objective reporting, which involves a certain level of anonymity. He uses credit cards which don’t have his name on them and tries to keep his face out of the press. I rate his work, fascinated by the beat he covers—one of the most culturally diverse food cities on the planet.
We pretend humans are the masters of the planet on which we live. This is absolutely not the case. There are times when it’s blatantly apparent we are being trolled.
I have on occasion run a low-key version of a perpetual stew, over the period of a week or so. The problem is not nerves at hanging onto food for that long. The problem is it all gets eaten. In an era of food poverty, as we confront the lie of the best-before date, this ancient approach feels more sensible than ever.
Speaking of food poverty. Tom Lamont’s elegy for the good old fashioned Scottish chippy fills me with sadness and a kind of dread. Fish and chips is, after all, one of my favourite meals. But the cold economic facts make it plain—it’s not a sustainable business model when energy prices and commercial rent keep spiking.
I should address the big cultural event of the weekend—the opening of two big weekend movies on opposite ends of the snob scale—Barbie and Oppenheimer. I’m not entirely convinced I want to see either (off to see Mission Impossible this weekend, which is genuinely exciting me) but you can’t deny the pull of the marketing machine pulling both films along.
Barbie, of course, contains multitudes, so I was amused by Katie Pennick’s thread of comparisons between her life and that of one very special version of the doll.
Film geekery alert! How will you be watching Oppenheimer? More precisely, how much of Oppenheimer will you be watching? Most of us, it seems, will not see the whole picture…
Last up, I am very on board with the Spanish idea of The Vermouth Hour. After last week’s post on amaros, it’s becoming clear how my tastes are skewing towards the continental. A sip of something cold and complex and a little snackie to start off the evening seems like a mighty fine habit to slip into. Who’s going to join me?
The Tiny Desk Concerts have always toyed with the notion of performance, and the way they cram major artists into a wee space is fascinating to behold. I toast whoever decided to stuff the greatest horror-monster-metal band in the universe GWAR behind the desks. It’s an utterly delightful 20 minutes, and weirdly adorable. Enjoy this. I heckin did.
And that’s it! I beg forgiveness for the truncated nature of this week’s chapter, but life has this habit of getting in the way. Hopefully, back up to full ABV next week.
See you in seven, true believers.
