A Day at the Races

This week for the first time ever: I went Lindy Hop Dancing.

Last weekend saw the arrival of one of my favourite annual events: La Fête de la Musique, when the Francophone cities of the world are treated to three days of wall-to-wall free music. After a manic rock 'n' roll fuelled Friday night and an enthusiastic and well-received performance with Android 80 in the town of Malmédy on Saturday evening, what could be better than taking a trip back in time and revelling in the laissez-faire ambience of the Roaring 20s?

As part of the weekend's events, my friend Vincent was hosting an afternoon 'thé dansant' in the park and the dance of choice was Lindy Hop. It was not until very recently that I had heard of Lindy Hop. My friend Rebecca has been taking classes in Brussels and this piqued my curiosity. The dance first evolved in Harlem in 1927 as a mutation of Breakaway and Charleston and incorporated elements of tap and was made popular in the famous Savoy Ballroom. It was named after Charles Lindbergh's atlantic crossing in 1927.
As it turns out, I am slightly familiar with it through its other name, 'Jitterbug'.

Thanks to Vincent for recommending this scene from The Marx Brothers 'A Day at the Races' featuring Whitey's Lindy Hoppers. I'm sure I don't have far to go to reach the same level as the girl 52 seconds in.

Lindy Hop is a swing dance set to jazz and ragtime and, with a fondness for this kind of music, I had high hopes for an enjoyable afternoon. So I slowly ambled down to Liège's Parc d'Avroy in that half-hearted, post-alcohol manner that comes with the territory of Sunday afternoons.

On first arrival, events seemed a little tragic: One lone hippy-looking guy was flopping around the dancefloor to a Duke Ellington number, admittedly putting his best foot foward, but I have doubts that Caterpillar sandals were ever the footwear of choice at The Cotton Club. As often occurs on a June weekend in Belgium, the weather was also putting a dampener on proceedings. It was the kind of weather that lulls you into the false sense of security that Summer's almost here kids, until two minutes later, somebody creeps up behind you and throws a bucket of water over your head.

Never one to let the weather prevent my enjoyment, I ordered a round of beers (the Belgians would not dream of serving PG Tips at a tea dance) for me, my husband and the friends we had bumped into and dragged along, and soon settled into the relaxed Sunday atmosphere appreciating the delights of Count Basie, Louis Jordan and Cab Calloway. I was especially thrilled to hear Ella Fitzgerald's 'Paper Moon' and thought to myself, "If there's a dance to go with this music, I want to learn it!"

The opportunity was not too far away, as Vincent had engaged two teachers who were more than willing to share their expertise, and, before long, I was forming part of a 'Lindy Circle' on the dancefloor. After mastering some very basic steps in 8 time, we partnered up and put our newly acquired skills to the test. The girls where asked to move around the circle with the aim of changing partners, as is common practice in dance classes. I particularly enjoyed dancing with a little Indian guy half my height who seemed unable to stop giggling, but not so much with a little weasely guy wearing a flat cap who spun me 'round and 'round to the point of nausea. I became more and more relaxed with what seemed to be my kind of movements; shuffling feet, a shake of the leg, a shimmy here, a shimmy there...In fact, I was later informed by my husband that the Lindy Hop is no different to the way that I normally dance!

Looks a bit more like Riverdance here...

When the occasion presented itself to pair up with the professional dance teacher, it was clear that I was now a Lindy Hop afficionado, worlds apart from the other beginners and just a couple of lessons away from embarking on a new career in the world of dance. Bruce Forsyth would soon be knocking on my door.

Would I try it again?: Where do I sign up?

Spaghetti Western

Last week, for the first time: I cooked Spaghetti with Marmite.

I'm quite partial to the odd cookery programme these days - the excitement and pressure of Masterchef or Saturday Kitchen's culinary delights for the Swap Shop generation, but I think most of you would agree that there are way too many TV chefs cluttering up our screens. One that is definitely surplus to my requirements is Nigella Lawson. I really have no desire to watch some upper middle class wench strolling around in her satin dressing gown and sitcking her grubby mitts in a jar of Coleman's at 3am or immersing a ham shank in a litre of Red Bull. Her approach to cookery leaves a lot to be desired: I have actually witnessed her using the phrase "apply to face" as a final recipe step. Vile.

In a recent conversation with my dear sister-in-law, I discovered that Nigella's repertoire included a recipe for Spaghetti with Marmite, which she had pilfered from her Milanese mentor Anna Del Conte. I'm pretty confident that I can't be alone in finding the idea of mixing Marmite into butter and emulsifying it with pasta water before serving over spaghetti, positively bile-inducing. However, several reliable sources assured me that it sets the palette alive and my friend Maria persuaded me last week that it would be a positive addition to my quest for new experiences. The marmite campaign slogan claims:

"You either love it or you hate it".

I guess I must be the excpetion to the rule, as, quite frankly, I'm just not that fussed. (There's always one!) My husband has always been a big fan, so when I texted him to let him know what concoction would be sitting waiting for him on a plate that evening, he simply replied "Not Arf".

The beauty of this recipe lies in its simplicity and with its salty flavour and wealth of carbs, it is the ultimate in comfort food. It could be tempting to add some extras (chopped walnuts and/or fried mushrooms perhaps), but this can often be my downfall in the kitchen - I have a tendency to overload on ingredients until a recipe loses its distinct flavour and each pasta dish ressembles the last.

Although not strictly her own creation, Ms Lawson has come up trumps on this occasion. While not something I would serve to dinner guests, I will reserve this recipe for tv dinners and comfort food occasions. In fact, I am almost looking forward to coming down with a nasty cold so I can experience its psychological healing properties.

Would I try this again? Not Arf!

Some Marmite facts:

• The Danish government has recently banned Marmite as it contains an illegal amount of added vitamins
• There are claims that Marmite can be used in the prevention of mosquito bites (I'll wager that Dirty Nigella smothers herself in the stuff just before bedtime)
• 25% British people take Marmite with them when they go on holiday (presumably to prevent mosquito bites)

For more Marmite facts and quality products like Marmite Vaseline (mmm), visit http://www.ilovemarmite.com/

Welcome to The Spice of Life!

Somebody once said to me:

"I’ll try anything twice…in case I got it wrong the first time".

Not a bad philosophy on life if you ask me. On my 28^th birthday, my Mum very charitably bought me a book called Turning Thirty. One glaringly obvious truth hidden amongst what was mostly cliché-ridden, throw-away fluff, was that many thirtysomethings are very much set in their ways: they know exactly what they like and are reluctant to try anything new for fear of disappointment.

The blog you are about to read stems from my desire to avoid this kind of trap: Aubergines are yummy, but why not cook asparagus this evening? My exercise of choice is cycling, but how would I fair in a tap dancing class? I love the silken tones of Chet Baker, but how about a bit of Sun Ra?

I guess now I could be classed as thirtysomethingplus. In fact I’m expecting Mum’s next thoughtful gift to be a novel entitled Pushing Forty. But age is just a number and, at any time in your existence, life is like conveyor belt sushi: if you don’t grab as much as you can, then you won’t get your money’s worth. I intend to get more than my money’s worth (hopefully without making myself throw up in the process).

So I have come to a decision: every week I will try something new: this can range from the mundane, to the sensational via the downright pointless, but it must be a totally new experience for me. All ideas are welcome, within reason: I am not about to embark on a serial killing spree or sleep with my boss, and financial constraints will prevent anything involving a trip to the other side of the world (although all donations are welcome and will not be squandered!)