Caked in paint.

I'm loving Paul Ferney's sumptious little oil paintings of cakes this morning. A bargainous $325. I love Paul's American landscapes but these are easier on the pocket, plus a couple of these to gaze at would surely help to kill cake cravings, wouldn't it? And how cool do these pictures from the opening show look? It just seems like the kind of super cute event that could only happen in San Francisco. (I'm reading Jack Kerouac at the moment and the urge for a trip to San Fran to beatnik about is currently Very Strong!)

Nitrogen ice-cream from Chin Chin Laboratorists.

Saying to the average Londoner, 'Let's meet in Camden', will usually produce a loud wail of despair. Camden is a pandemonium of goth shops, tourists and teenagers trying to buy drugs. However, follow it up with, 'We can try out the nitrogen ice-cream parlour!', and now you're talking.



Chin Chin Laboratories opened a couple of weeks ago in Camden Lock; the first nitrogen ice-cream parlour in Europe. Most people will be aware of this miracle of molecular gastronomy thanks to Heston Blumenthal. But for those who haven't made it to The Fat Duck yet, Chin Chin has taken it to the streets. For £4 you can buy a little pot of ice-cream, freshly frozen by a man in a white coat in a little shop kitted out as a science laboratory. Pretty awesome, really!



On the day we went the special flavour was victoria sponge with green tea. My friend Emilia adventurously agreed to try it whilst I stayed trad with vanilla. When asked if her ice-cream tasted like victoria sponge with green tea, I was given an emphatic, 'NO'. She said it tasted like rose, and it did look a bit pink.



My vanilla ice cream didn't particularly taste of vanilla, which you'd think would be fairly easy to achieve, but it was a lovely, dense, creamy ice-cream. (There is a good description of how nitrogen ice-cream differs in texture to the regular stuff here. It is a pleasingly non-scientific breakdown of the process.) The topping of salted caramel was a total winner, though, and I would happily go back just for a salted caramel fix.



Not bad for £4 and a scientific adventure, but I would advise any ice-cream seeker in the environs of Camden Lock to instead continue north up Chalk Farm Road for five minutes to Marine Ices for some proper old school London ice-cream eating action.

[Chin Chin Laboratories, 49-50 Camden Lock Place, 07885 604 2841. Marine Ices, 8 Haverstock Hill, 020 7482 9000.]

Knitted record player.

A knitted record player that plays My Way: one of those things you don't know you need until you see it. I found it in Eeny Meeny, a local shop for tots, when browsing for a present for a friend's new addition. They have a great edit of pretty toys,  cool decorations, party bags with things you'd actually want to keep and, best of all, a nearly-new clothes exchange. Basically, thrifting but for kids! There were some really cute things on the racks at great prices. But yeah, I want the knitted record player, definitely one for the grown ups.

[£94 by Anne-Claire Petit, available at Eeny Meeny, 8 Campdale Road, Tufnell Park. Telephone 020 0011 4202.]

September music.

I must urge you to listen to this mix for September put together by my friend John, who is the god-daddy of mixing together dusty old rekkids. It's a bit mellow, a bit melancholy, a bit free your mind, and very, very awesome. Perfect for listening to at your desk and riding out the rest of Friday. (Scott Walker! What a voice.) Thanks JB.

Aerolatte – frothing in the real world.

As I was frothing my hot chocolate to perfection last night I had the horrible thought that maybe some people don't have an Aerolattein their lives. Seriously, they're amazing. They make perfect coffeshop froth for your coffee, I use mine every morning. And for winter hot chocolate, they froth the whole thing up and take out any lumps at the same time. I have done a lot of froth research in my time and have used one of these babies for a few years now. If you value your froth, order one right now – they're about £20 from Amazon. You're welcome!

Telephone brooch.

Hot on the heels of yesterday's Mad Men post, more television fashion. Do excuse me, I don't usually go on about telly. I was a latecomer to Glee but am loving its cheesy all-singing, all-dancing American high school vibe. Kurt is the winner in the costume stakes with his fluffy jumper and bow-tie combos (you may have seen me jubilantly tweet this outfit).

However, I am loving the strangely alluring Miss Pillsbury's selection of costume jewellery, described by my new role model, Sue Sylvester as, '...the kind of jewellery my grandmother was buried in.' I particularly love the telephone brooch she's wearing above, which has now sparked an annoying obsession to find my own tiny telephone to pin onto my clothes. There are a few similar on eBay, including this cute vintage Avon brooch. And Tatty Devine did a telephone range. But it's just not the same. Ah, fashion's cruel lure.

Mad Men dress-up.

I'm drooling over the latest Mad Men and, as usual, the costumes. Unfortunately I'm like a scruffy little child compared to those ladies but a girl can dream. I'm loving this shop's treasure trove of garms that wouldn't be out of place at Sterling Draper Cooper Pryce. Great quality vintage and not bad prices, either.

This coat would be bang on trend this winter, with its furry collar. And I could just see Joan in this. (Although the grey might be a little too dowdy for her tastes.)

One for Betty. This dress is too pretty to rightfully exist, in my opinion.

This dress is a bit more Peggy Goes to Church. I don't think Joan could fit her rack in there. But this would look awesome with kitten heels, a camel coat slung over the top and a messy beehive. Totally wearable and only $68!

Notting Hill Carnival.

Yes, it's August bank holiday weekend and that means CARNIVAL! I'm a serial carnival goer, I missed it last year for the first time in years because I went on holiday. But I'm up for it again this year, despite the fact it gets more crowded every year and as I get older the crowd gets inevitably younger. But no matter. I love the fact that the streets get packed with people revelling through the long weekend; music pumps out of almost every house and shop and little stalls of homecooked food pop up everywhere. (Ackee and saltfish, I am really looking forward to getting my chops around you.)

You have to approach it tactically as it gets so rammed. The loo situation doesn't even warrant mentioning. But we have a tradition now which is quite laid back: meet at Warwick Avenue tube station EARLY to avoid the crowds, wander along the canal towards the corner of West and Southern row, where Norman Jay's Good Times sound system is, hang around there listening to the more chilled out early sounds then quickly depart when the heaving crowds of straw hat wearing party kids arrive. Lurk around a couple more sound systems then depart back along the canal, perhaps stopping at another food stall on the way.

I hope it's not raining. But then again, it's sometimes quite nice if it is. I have really good memories of this playing one year as the heavens opened and dancing through it. Ooh, wave of excitement, I must remember to take my whistle.

LA KJAZZ radio.

I happened upon LA KJAZZ by chance, driving through Los Angeles and flipping through the radio stations for something to listen to. You can listen online. It's all snoozy hepcat DJs with gravelly voices playing atmospheric jazz and taking the stress out of choosing what to listen to, a big problem for indecisive people such as myself. I like to imagine folks driving around LA at night listening to the same thing as me.

At Least.

I read Raymond Carver's What We Talk About When We Talk About Loveon my Red Hook day. I love his moody, intense style; all littered with booze, super stark and suggestive. Then yesterday I opened the 20x200 newsletter (I never usually do) and his poem At Least was sitting in there. It was so relaxing to read. I thought I'd share. (Anyone else take pictures from behind their book? I've realised I have a few!)

At Least

I want to get up early one more morning,
before sunrise. Before the birds, even.
I want to throw cold water on my face
and be at my work table
when the sky lightens and smoke
begins to rise from the chimneys
of the other houses.
I want to see the waves break
on this rocky beach, not just hear them
break as I did all night in my sleep.
I want to see again the ships
that pass through the Strait from every
seafaring country in the world—
old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,
and the swift new cargo vessels
painted every color under the sun
that cut the water as they pass.
I want to keep an eye out for them.
And for the little boat that plies
the water between the ships
and the pilot station near the lighthouse.
I want to see them take a man off the ship
and put another up on board.
I want to spend the day watching this happen
and reach my own conclusions.
I hate to seem greedy—I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.
And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what's going to happen. 

We'll go to Coney...

This will be the last of my America posts. I've been a bit lazy by just posting up my holiday pics, sorry! I have been super busy, nothing blogworthy, but imma pull my socks up around here. It feels as though summer is over so back to school. These cloudy Coney Island pictures match the gloomy end-of-summer weather outside, today.



We decided to go to Coney one evening as we thought The Cyclones, Coney Island's baseball team, were going to be playing. Apparently their baseball ground is really quaint and old-fashioned. Well, it looked nice from the outside but as soon as we approached we realised we'd messed up. The floodlights were off and they were playing away that night.



So we strolled down the boardwalk instead. I was very, VERY tempted to get a Nathan's hotdog but I'm sticking to no-meat.



I wished this rollerskating rink was open. It was so old-timey and crumbly looking.





The Cyclone looked well shonky. It's a Coney institution, where every young Brooklyn couple has been for a date since 1927. It looked well sinister to me, though.



And Astroland, the theme park. Looking moody.

Albert Ayler Festival.

As soon as I got to New York I did the obligatory scan of Time Out to see what was on. Top of the listings was a free festival to celebrate the life of saxophonist Albert Ayler, taking place on Roosevelt Island on the East River, the very river in which Ayler's body was found thirty years ago.



Ayler was a really raw free jazzer. I don't routinely listen to his stuff – it is pretty far out – but I saw a film about him a couple of years ago, My Name Is Albert Ayler, which really brought his music and story to life for me. He was seriously talented but struggled to make a living from his music. It included some footage of him playing a tribute at John Coltrane's funeral, possibly one of the more intense bits of footage I've ever seen. So I was really keen to go to the festival and pay my respects to him.



Roosevelt Island provided a backdrop to the music that some might say was bleak but I thought was really pretty. It was a really muggy day, quite cloudy, but every so often those clouds would break for a spell of intense sunshine. People laid out on the grass and just got lost in the music. It was really uplifting.



The lineup included several artists from ESP, the record label that Ayler recorded for and who released avant garde music, placing absolutely no musical constraints upon their artists. Andrew Lamb was a stand-out. He paid tribute to Ayler before playing, saying, 'He pushed the instrument to another level', then poured out some of his 'libation' – Poland Spring – for Ayler. Which was awesome! His playing was really powerful. Here he is.



This is Charles Gayle on saxophone. He is an original ESP recording artist and quite frail.



Reading up about him later I found out he spent 20 years in New York homeless and, from what I can work out, he squats now. These stories of musicians who are so incredibly talented but get little recognition or payment make me so sad. His playing was quite subdued but listening to his recorded work is a revelation.  This album of his seems to be essential: Touchin' on Trane. He is an amazing pianist as well; I've been listening to this album of him playing jazz standards and it's lovely. If you're in the market for some extremely lovely easy on the ear jazz piano please buy it.

This dude, Gunter Hampel, played vibes and sax or a clarinet AT THE SAME TIME. Far out.



And it finished up with Marshall Allen, playing his space sax with an ensemble of the day's players.



Then it was back home across the bridge.



The man himself. Read more about Albert Ayler and ESP here.

Red Hook day.

After nearly a week in NYC, I was gagging for a bike day. Luckily Jenny had a bike I could borrow so I set off from where I was staying in Park Slope to an area called Red Hook, which I'd visited before and really liked. It's only a couple of miles away but it's always a bit hair-raising cycling in a different country. And you have to cross a really busy expressway and go through an industrial area to get there.





I liked how it looked, though. I had to cross the Gowanus Canal, which is apparently completely fetid; it's where mafia dudes used to dump bodies, but is now inevitably slowly becoming gentrified. Although it really is disgusting; they've just been granted Superfund status to clean it up.



The F train, which connects Brooklyn and Manhattan, runs on this really shonky looking elevated railway which had some kind of fabric stapled to it. And there was a playground underneath. Made me glad to have grown up playing in the rolling fields of Yorkshire.



Red Hook feels as though it's a million miles away from Manhattan. It's cooler as the breeze rolls in from the river and the streets are wide and airy. It's fairly industrial with lots of artists studios and little independent shops plus a huge supermarket called The Fairway. (Spent quite a lot of time browsing around in there, I love American supermarkets!)





After a week of late nights and no sleep because it was SO HOT, I happily spent most of the afternoon reading in this deserted park which overlooks the Statue of Liberty. 'Til it started raining.



I quickly stopped to take a few more pics.





Then stopped off in Baked, purveyor of fine cakes and whoopie pies, until the rain passed.

Passing the The Red Hook Lobster Pound, I was overcome with excitement. I had already ordered a lobster roll (the only thing on the menu) when I noticed the big vats the lobsters lived in. Felt extremely guilty and remembered David Foster Wallace's genius essay Consider the Lobster which, after reading, had made me vow not to eat lobster again. Felt more guilty. But decided hearty enjoyment of the roll was the only solution. It was delicious. Sorry lobster.





It was getting quite late at this point and I was thinking about the cycle back past the industrial estate and over the big road. But this bar Botanica looked so cute, I just stopped for one.



My view from the bar. So chillaxed. I felt as though I was in an Edward Hopper painting.



And then back home. It all looked even prettier at dusk.





[Photo of baked by vvvanessa]