Multitasking Molluscs
I don't often travel on the tube in London, but when I do I never know where to look.
Hurtling along an eerie tunnel, encased in what could only be described as a discarded aluminium cigar case, is not the greatest starting point. With this backdrop you then have to deal with the hoards of people. Eye contact is not the best plan, so to avoid this I either look at the floor, or gaze at Harry Beck's masterpiece of a tube map. To pass the time and awkwardness I have taken to looking at people's shoes and socks and trying to guess the type of person that adorns such items. You can tell an awful lot from someone's footwear and I have found myself constructing bite-size biopics of the lives of the strangers around me based on this snippet of information.
The other day I noticed someone with purple socks. This person could well be a direct descendant of a Roman Emperor, blissfully unaware of his distinguished ancestry, flashing this regal colour in a subconscious display of self importance, mirroring the purple of togas symbolising money and power in those ancient times. The origins of this dye are contained in rather a nice myth along the lines of Hercules' dog making the discovery by biting into some poor unsuspecting molluscs and ending up with a purple mouth. 'Tyrian purple' was produced in Roman times from mucus of the hypobranchial gland of molluscs, this was far from cheap to produce, unless you were fortunate enough to come across some molluscs with a particularly bad strain of the common cold. We clearly have much more than limestone beds (and therefore good wine) to thank the molluscs for, which is worth a thought when you next rip one apart and devour it after it has been boiled alive and marinated in the very wine its ancestors probably helped create.
Purple socks aside, I have sampled quite a few wines of a deep purple colour. I have found these wines to be full in body and complex in flavour. They are not my first choice with food as it is like ploughing through another parallel course, not so complementary to the meal in hand. I seem to prefer lighter wines while eating, and I am becoming a Pinot Noir fan, not just because two blokes in a red convertible Saab, with a penchant for driving into trees, raised its profile in 'Sideways'.
Hurtling along an eerie tunnel, encased in what could only be described as a discarded aluminium cigar case, is not the greatest starting point. With this backdrop you then have to deal with the hoards of people. Eye contact is not the best plan, so to avoid this I either look at the floor, or gaze at Harry Beck's masterpiece of a tube map. To pass the time and awkwardness I have taken to looking at people's shoes and socks and trying to guess the type of person that adorns such items. You can tell an awful lot from someone's footwear and I have found myself constructing bite-size biopics of the lives of the strangers around me based on this snippet of information.
The other day I noticed someone with purple socks. This person could well be a direct descendant of a Roman Emperor, blissfully unaware of his distinguished ancestry, flashing this regal colour in a subconscious display of self importance, mirroring the purple of togas symbolising money and power in those ancient times. The origins of this dye are contained in rather a nice myth along the lines of Hercules' dog making the discovery by biting into some poor unsuspecting molluscs and ending up with a purple mouth. 'Tyrian purple' was produced in Roman times from mucus of the hypobranchial gland of molluscs, this was far from cheap to produce, unless you were fortunate enough to come across some molluscs with a particularly bad strain of the common cold. We clearly have much more than limestone beds (and therefore good wine) to thank the molluscs for, which is worth a thought when you next rip one apart and devour it after it has been boiled alive and marinated in the very wine its ancestors probably helped create.
Purple socks aside, I have sampled quite a few wines of a deep purple colour. I have found these wines to be full in body and complex in flavour. They are not my first choice with food as it is like ploughing through another parallel course, not so complementary to the meal in hand. I seem to prefer lighter wines while eating, and I am becoming a Pinot Noir fan, not just because two blokes in a red convertible Saab, with a penchant for driving into trees, raised its profile in 'Sideways'.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home