Christian Northeast = Strange Genius

So not everything has to be about food does it? A man can have his moments of interior design impassioned femininity can't he? I sure hope so, because I get them quite regularly. About once a month. Um... OK, so moving on. When I go somewhere to eat, it's not always just the food that matters. An average food experience is undeniably bucked up by a great-looking place. And when you get the combination of the two: great food AND great environment, you don't want to leave. You miss your bus. You skip work. You forget to go to the toilet. Night draws in. The staff politely ask you to leave. You refuse. You end up being thrown into the street, sobbing uncontrollably, unaware of anything that has happened in the last 5 hours. You just went in for a coffee. I had that experience this Christmas in San Francisco, in Philz Coffee. It was awesome. Anyway, I think the point has been made. Good decoration is pleasing and not unimportant, and with this in mind, I would like to introduce you to Christian Northeast. I love his artwork. It's weird, funny and retro-tastic. Just look at his XYZ Blocks on his website (or if you're too lazy, just above this sentence). That's how I want to teach my children the alphabet. A is for Anvil, B is for biker, C is for Corndog. Now, let's hear the rest.

This Week on the Breadboard

Who doesn't love a sandwich? Not I, not you, not ANYONE. Sandwiches have been shaping the lunchtime landscape since our forefather, dear old Lord John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich slammed half a salt-cured boar between two mealy doorstops and said "scrummy!" Since then we have been forever modernising, refining and just downright jazzing up our sandwiches. When will it end? When we can no longer improve. When that elusive and mystical beast has at last been found out. When we are holding the very Messiah of sandwiches in our hands and looking it in the eye, or the olive, as it may later turn out to be, and feel its unearthly goodness climb inside our souls and wear us like glove puppets. Until then my friends, I leave you with this unbearably seductive selection of the top 10 new best sandwiches from across the pond. In particular, the Portland-crafted Maple moistens my loins. Enjoy, dear friends, and continue to dream. It's all we can do.

The Mothership

This is where it all started. On holiday in the States a few years ago, we stayed a couple of nights in Boston, in the old Back Bay neighborhood. On Newbury street, just round the corner from our hotel, was a little cafe called Trident Booksellers & Cafe. Tucked away from the rows of redbrick, this little hipster hideaway seemed the perfect place to take shelter from the Massachusetts winter. The atmosphere inside was buzzy, but super laid-back, "horizontally chilled" you might say. Folks browsing the book aisles, while others tuck into breakfasts, chew ruminantly, drink coffee black, study the New York Times. Through the sound system some alt. country lulls, and the buttery smell of breakfast is unbearably scrumptious. I ordered the corned beef hash with eggs- the hash was classic Boston style, and the eggs bulging, buxom and ready to burst. I have never since had a better breakfast anywhere, indeed the whole experience continues to exist as a deep source of inspiration. So this first christening post is dedicated to you Trident, and to your staff, and to your music choice and of course, to your perfect eggs. Comrade, I salute you.