Toro y Moi @ KOKO Camden

You know you're uncool when your little brother posts a song to your Facebook wall, assuming you know it, and you simply pretend to know it and write a comment along the lines of, "I know right? This song is so ... cool." Then you spend a weekend tentatively testing out this new, cool artist who has infiltrated your life thanks to your younger sibling only to become obsessed a week later and search frantically for his UK tour dates. That's so uncool.

The artist in question is Toro y Moi, a 20-something recording artist and producer also known as Chazwick Bradley Bundick, who makes music in the "chillwave" genre (the first time I heard of "chillwave" was when I Wikipedia-ed Bundick, btw - I don't know what's more uncool, the fact that I've admitted to not knowing what "chillwave" is or simply using the word/phrase "chillwave").

Luckily for me, he was playing a show (they call them "gigs" here in the UK - to me, a "gig" refers to the instance when I was hired to play Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss a Thing" as part of a string quartet at someone's wedding. The bride came down the aisle, which was in the middle of a field, on a motorcycle. True story) at KOKO in Camden. The show happened this past Tuesday, and I bought tickets in March. I'm such a dork.

Anyway, he was nothing short of amazing. I definitely wasn't expecting actual instruments, so when he rocked up with keyboards, two guitarists, and a drum set, I was thoroughly impressed. He opened with a crowd pleaser, "Rose Quartz" (which is one of my favorites), and played quite a lot of the new album, as well as some of his older stuff. How would I describe his sound? Well, before I learned the term "chillwave", I'd call it funk plus electronic, which sounds horrible, I know. But it isn't. It's one of those magical combinations, like peanut butter and jelly or sea salt and caramel. And if you don't like peanut butter and jelly, well then, I feel sorry for you.

Also, have you ever been to KOKO? It's so fun! It's possibly the best (and definitely the prettiest) UK venue I've been to for live music. The interior resembles a ballroom, with sumptuous burgundy red carpets and decor, plus possibly the largest disco ball in London dangling from the ceiling.

Anyway, if you're all, "Who's this Toro y Moi guy and what's chillwave?" I'm featuring a video for you below. Enjoy.

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Real Estate Hell

I'm currently residing in a place that might be familiar to you renters and home-owners alike: Real Estate Hell. Raise your hand if you know what I'm talking about. Yeah. That's what I thought.

Our landlady has decided to sell up (which only seems to happen to us when we find a flat we like e.g. the same thing happened in Maida Vale four years ago), which is fine, really, since we had been house hunting since the beginning of this year. What's not fine, though, is the fact that we put the house hunting on hold for a while since we're also in the middle of planning two transatlantic wedding receptions, which are happening in July and August.

So, as if deciding on the color of chair covers in Seattle or putting in a bulk order of wedding favors from a chocolatier in London aren't stressful enough, these mornings find me fumbling for my iPhone, with my head still under my pillow, squinting with one eye open, and scrolling frantically through the newest properties that "match" our search terms on Rightmove.co.uk. It's become a well-rehearsed habit now, my flow-chart of deciding factors that will make me place the dreaded call to the real estate agent within the first fifteen minutes of my working day: 1) consider the price and our budget 2) location via map view 3) floorplan/square footage 4) outside space or no outside space 5) transportation links, bus routes, etc.

Then I arrive at my office desk at 9:15 a.m. and make the 3 or 4 calls to my selected targets. The words rattle off my tongue as I describe the properties we're interested in to the sales person on the other end of the line who sounds like a candidate for The Apprentice - and I mean that in the least possible nice way. I spell out my name once, twice, three times, and the agent still sends property emails to the wrong person (a man who shares the same name as me, different spelling, who happens to reside in Canada, btw), then texts me to say, "I have sent you 11 properties in the past 7 days. Please let me know if you are still looking as I haven't heard from you." You haven't heard from me, because I'm not the random Canadian man you've been sending the actual emails to, you idiot.

Or, I call an agent about a specific property I'd like to view, either with or without John, depending on our schedules. "That one's had an offer accepted, I'm afraid," he says with all the smugness of the Cheshire Cat over the phone. He's not afraid, not really. He's not apologetic - in fact, he sounds, could I be right? Downright gleeful. Yes, I have called agents before to cancel a viewing, only to have them chirp, "Perfect!" They're not disappointed you've cancelled. They're laughing at you. Because they know you're desperately looking and desperately not finding, but also that they have 1,000 other buyers just like you lined up and waiting to be screwed over. They're rubbing their hands in anticipation.

Of course, when you're the other side, i.e. the tenant whose landlord has decided to sell, you also get delightfully screwed over by agents. My favorite experiences include the agent who, given the responsibility for finding us a new place to rent last year when we were looking to move, sent us a photo of the very flat we were currently residing in. I wrote a one-line email that said simply, "Hi. We live there. Thanks." Or, the very same agent, who, after showing our flat to some potential renters left both doors unlocked for me to walk straight into after a late night excursion with a friend. Imagine walking straight into your home at 10 pm at night without having to use your keys, after a full 14 hours of not being in it. Scary, right?

When I hang up the phone with these agents, my hands are very nearly shaking with rage. It's the bullshit I can't stand. When I tell them my budget (which is already between £100-200k more than the average couple in our age bracket could afford, I'm guessing), they suck in their breath through their teeth: "Well, it's a bit difficult to work within that price range, I have to say. Everything I've sold in the last few days are going waaaaaaaayyy [and they like to stretch this word out] over the asking price. I doubt you're going to find anything for that. Still," he continues gravely, "I'll try my best, I'll try my best." As if they are a surgeon informing a patient that she has an inoperable disease but will nevertheless "try their best." I mean, come on. Have you seen me before? Do I have the words, "STUPID" or "GULLIBLE" written across my forehead? Bottom line is, I don't care if properties you've sold have gone over the asking price. I am not here to award you a medal. Just get on with your job.

Speaking of medals, I had a "sales trainee" call me up from another agency a few days ago who announced that I had been "shortlisted" for a property as if I had been shortlisted for the Nobel Peace Prize. I mean, seriously. I actually laughed out loud, which he mistook for joy. No, my friend, it was a pure, unadulterated, ironic laugh.

But it's the agents who'll be laughing all the way to their next commission.

Adventures in Edinburgh

I took the train up to Edinburgh last Friday to visit my friend, Adeline, who's lived there for the past six (seven? eight? nine?) years. Adeline is my French, impossibly petite, curly-haired (think: dark, glossy ringlets that Samantha from American Girls would be jealous of) friend who also happens to be my go-to guide on all things related to life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness - and more importantly, yoga and what beauty products to use on my face. True story. Speaking of stories, the tale of how we met will be saved for another post (suffice to say that you'll either find it really interesting or really surprising - or even both).

That evening, Adeline took me out to dinner (tres romantical, might I add) at The Pantry, a foodie's delight located in Stockbridge, which boasts all the types of things trendy restaurants these days like to boast of i.e. fresh, locally sourced food that's delicious and beautifully presented. And trust me, folks, it was all of the above. MY, WAS IT GOOD. After enjoying our fill of freshly baked bread, smoked salmon and main dishes compromised of sole (for Adeline) and pork belly (for me), we waddled - stomachs bursting - out of the restaurant and into the gusts of that famous Edinburgh wind.

Huddling under Adeline's turquoise umbrella, I managed to pinpoint the exact street I'd like to live on for the rest of my life:

The only problem is, I have no idea what that street is called, except that it's in Stockbridge. And I want to live there. Please add a grey cat scratching at that blue door and it'll be mine, thanks.

The next morning, we woke up late and stuffed our faces with pastries while watching an impeccably groomed Jillian Michaels scream, "MOVE!!! MOVE!!!" at clinically obese contenders for the Biggest Loser USA title. It was horrific and I may need to seek counseling for the trauma inflicted upon me during those moments.

We then made an effort to get off our behinds and do something productive by heading to the Shore in Leith, where I've never been. "There might be some historical buildings down this way," said Adeline as we wandered around the quaint port. "This one looks weird," I commented, with the intelligence and inflection of a Kardashian. "I'm not actually convinced it's really, like, you know, old and stuff," I said confidently to Adeline, while waving my hand. "Hmm ... I think it might be quite a significant building," Adeline ventured politely. I peered closer at the sign accompanying the house. Apparently, it was Lamb's House, where Mary, Queen of Scots, had stayed. Nicely played, nicely played.

And so, because my throat was feeling quite scratchy from my cold and talking too much like a Kardashian, Adeline took me to Roseleaf Cafe, which, at first glance looks deceptively like a pub. In reality, it's a pub, cafe, tea room (note: there is a difference between a cafe and a tea room), and restaurant all in one. Menus were bound and sandwiched within back issues of National Geographic and I ordered the "Heartbeat" - an ice cold, refreshing blend of pomegranate, apple, and raspberry juice - while Adeline went for the "I-Pal", a mixture of carrot, apple and ginger described as "a wee gold mine packed full of nature's nutrients". Delightful. We spent the afternoon there chatting away about nothing and everything.

A trip to Edinburgh isn't complete without a whisky purchase (or two). We headed to Royal Mile Whiskies - the one-stop shop for tourists and whisky fans alike. I'm not a huge whisky drinker, but my Dad loves Oban in particular and John's a Laphroig fan, so I bought a small bottle of Oban for my Dad in preparation for Father's Day and a mini sample of Edradour for John so he could try something a bit different.

Soon, my short vacay to Edinburgh drew to a close and I bid Adeline and the beautiful city farewell. If you've never been, I highly recommend getting the train from London. At four and a half hours, it's a bit long, but if you're at a window seat on the right side of the train, it's beautiful going up - especially along Scotland's east coastline. On the train ride back down, I smiled at the tiny lambs playing hopscotch on their mothers' backs whizzing past, before closing my eyes for some much needed sleep from all that yapping I did with my best friend.

Laduree & Uniqlo Partner Up To Make Irresistably Delectable Tees

 

My favorite French and Japanese imports have teamed up to make the most adorable selection of tees EVER. Laduree (of macaron fame) and Uniqlo (of chic Japanese-designed apparel fame) have combined their talents to produce this limited edition collection of t-shirts for women which are available to buy via Uniqlo's website. Already, the design I've shown above has sold out and the others are disappearing quickly as we speak.

I was initially introduced to Laduree by one of John's ex-flatmates, who suggested I bring a selection of the luxury macarons to a dinner party I was attending. Needless to say, I was smitten the minute I stepped into the Burlington Arcade shop. Rows and rows of pastel perfection greeted me as I struggled to make a selection of twelve, let alone six. My favorite flavor is probably salted caramel, although I'm also a sucker for their seasonal specialties as well. Their gift boxes are beautiful and terrific to use as keepsake boxes long after the last crumbs of macarons have been dusted/licked away.

I started shopping at Uniqlo when their first store in Hong Kong opened, taking advantage of their free alterations service and simplistic, clean lines with a twist. I was thrilled when they opened in London and still visit frequently for quality basics like shift dresses, leggings, and "comfy" clothes. 

I almost ordered the tee above (as I loved the design so much), but in reality, when am I going to wear a t-shirt with macarons and the Eiffel Tower printed on it? Certainly not to work, and probably not during my "down time" either - it's probably slightly too childish for me. But, I hope someone with more fashion sense than me has picked up a piece or two from this line because it's just too cute to pass up.

Fresh Fruit Popsicles, Biang Biang Noodles, and Provolone Meatball Subs at Harringay Market

Last weekend, it was beautiful outside, but I was feeling rotten with the onset of this flu virus I've had all week. Feeling bitter that none of the street food stalls I'd been dying to try in London were open on Sundays (including KERB, in King's Cross), I was super excited to stumble upon London Eating's mid-morning tweet announcing Harringay Market's food line-up for the day. My mouth watered at the prospect of trying Mama Wang's traditional Chinese hand "pulled" biang biang noodles, plus the enticing sound of Capish's provolone meatball sub.

At this point, I really should have listened to my body and stayed in bed (I had a fever and aches at this point, plus a throat so swollen that I could hardly swallow), but stubbornly, I didn't want the bug to ruin my weekend. So, John and I trudged to the bus stop and made it to Harringay in less than 20 minutes.

The market is set up within an elementary school ground, which lends it a terrific feeling of community. It's clear that locals visit regularly to catch up at the small tables set up on the playground, while their kids play happily within watching distance. There's also live music, which adds to the overall ambience. It all felt very friendly and inviting - but most importantly, not overcrowded, which can often ruin my food stall experiences in London (have you ever tried elbowing your way through Borough Market? I love it there, but it's often just too much for me to handle. Feel the same way about Greenwich Market).

In Vietnam and Thailand, we paid a pittance (around 80p per dish) to enjoy the street food - in London of course, it's quite a different story. A bowl of noodles, a sub sandwich, two popsicles, two brownies, and two drinks later (yeah ... um ... we overindulged) set us back around £25, which is more than we'd usually spend on lunch. But it's the experience that counts.

I had my first popsicle (or as Brits call them here, "ice lollies" - one phrase I will *not* be adopting, thankyouverymuch) of the year:

A delicious blend of fresh, frozen raspberries with a twist of vanilla ice cream from Ice Kitchen. At £2.50 a pop, it's possibly the most expensive popsicle I've ever had but undoubtedly the best as well. It's essentially frozen fruit, which I know I could probably make myself, given the time and effort, but on a day when I was feeling downright lousy, it was an absolute savior to my sore throat.

By the time we returned home, I felt a lot worse, so surrendered to Motrin and my bed. Still, I'll definitely be returning to Harringay Market soon for more delicious street eats and friendly conversation.

Say 'Yes' To Pulled Pork, Kimchi & Cheese Frites* (that's Freedom Fries to us 'Mericans) @ John Salt, Islington

There are "date nights", and then there are those spontaneous date nights that happen when John texts me out of the blue at work to ask, "Hey! Why don't we go out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us?" Yes, John, just the two of us - without our three imaginary, non-existent children. That would be so fun.

I love it when John suggests going out mid-week; it's exciting to try new places, order alcohol on a school night, and generally relax together with some excellent food. The problem is, when these spontaneous texts arrive, they always happen to occur on the one day I've decided to dress down (and I hardly ever do that) and he always happens to suggest a restaurant where palate refreshers and white tablecloths are involved. Get the picture?

Thankfully, he suggested going to one of our local favorites (that requires no dressing up, unless you want to make an effort to look like an anorexic hipster - challenging for me), Duke's Brew & Que (for those of you who are not acquainted, GET ACQUAINTED) for ribs, sliders, and burgers. Obviously, I love the place, but not when I'm trying to watch what I eat (I'm gonna avoid using the four-letter D-word here). So I suggested a possibly lighter option, John Salt, which has recently opened on Upper Street and might look familiar to you Islingtonites, because it used to be Keston Lodge (don't worry if you don't remember it, it wasn't really worth remembering).

Of course, being on a d*et and all, what did I order? Just a whole baby chicken and a side of pulled pork, kimchi, and cheese fries. And a green salad, for the healthy part.

So what if I had to not-so-surreptitiously unbutton the top button of my Topshop skinny jeans under the table? So what if the two pounds I managed to lose this week totally popped back on the scale when I got home? Can I just tell you, though? Those fries were AMAZING. Sorry, frites. AMAZING. I know that Kimchi fries have been around for a while now in the States, but the UK is a bit slow on the uptake for such things so John Salt deserves a serious pat on the back for bringing them to London. My green chilli poussin was tender and glazed in a deliciously tangy barbecue sauce. But the fries, oh, the fries. They were my downfall.

And then the dessert. THE DESSERT. Oreo, peanut butter (crunchy), and chocolate tart. Innocent sounding enough (to an American, at least), right? It was divine. I almost wept at how perfect it tasted (this could also be down to the fact that I've been trying to deprive myself of sugar all week). If there was a shrine to this dessert, I'd worship its incredible-ness. Even John, who usually feels so-so about the dessert, pulled the plate a little closer to his side of the table.

And the bill? It didn't hurt that much. Food, drinks, and service came to a respectable £63. I'd say that the 12.5% was deserved. Our server was pleasant, non-obtrusive, more than happy to answer my 100 questions about the menu (it doesn't give away much, to say the least, in terms of descriptions), and totally nice.

So will I be back? Absolutely. D*et or no d*et.

Warming Vinyasa Flow @ Yoga on the Lane, Dalston

The first thing I ask myself when visiting a new yoga studio that I've never tried before is, "Is it a friendly place?" Is it welcoming and inclusive? If not, I'll probably never visit again. There's nothing worse than feeling intimidated and shy already, only to be met with teachers who ignore you and students who give you the stink-eye when you've unknowingly "stolen" their usual spot. This has happened to me at a couple of locations across the UK and I've just walked away from my practice at those particular studios (and on occasion, gym) feeling a bit sad; it's a shame for yogis and yoginis to foster this kind of hostile attitude and environment. It bring so much negativity to a practice that should be open, kind, and above all, humble.

So, I was a little nervous to try the newest (and reportedly coolest, according to several online sources) studio in London. Not only is Yoga on the Lane in Dalston both friendly and inviting, but their beautiful studio and space makes you feel like you're practicing in the comfort of a friend's living room. Simply but tastefully decorated, the studio provides mats and a variety of props so you don't have to worry about bringing your own (plus, they don't smell, which is always good news to me).

Upon entering the studio, I was surprised by how small the room was. Long and narrow, I was worried about space, though it did fit about 15 students comfortably. Did I mention that their studio's floors feature under-floor heating? Do you know how amazing that makes savasana feel? Or how amazing it feels to practice vinyasa flow in a room that's gently heated when you've traipsed in from -2 degree temperatures?

The Level 1 class was taught by Tony Watson, whose background is in contemporary dance (like Lauren's). I remember closing my eyes at the beginning of the practice, when we worked on our pranayama, and feeling a smile creep across my face. I felt safe and mindful; I felt good. I was also concerned that the teacher wouldn't bother making corrections if the class was so full. I once took an ashtanga class where the instructor stayed on her own mat for the entire class - which is cool if that's the kind of instruction you prefer, but not for me, as I'm always striving to make improvements and learn more from my practice. I was super glad to see Tony making small corrections to students throughout, myself included, and grateful for his attention to detail. In particular, I found his detailed method of instruction helpful; I imagine it's difficult to teach alignment to students who haven't studied dance before (I had fourteen years of classical ballet training), but Tony managed to teach us how to feel correct alignment instead, which was both innovative and phenomenal.

I left the class feeling much more positive about my day and the rest of the week. If those are the benefits of taking one class at Yoga on the Lane, I'm eager to find out what a regular practice there would bring me.

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