Spume Tea

I spent the Easter break in Cornwall.

Flying seemed the obvious option what with high petrol prices or the inevitability of standing under someone's armpit in the train. Unfortunately Ryan Air managed to amplify a flight offered for a few pounds into a cacophony of seemingly farcical charges, making it a frustrating choice.

The 'bed and breakfast' was simply excellent. A large manor house near Padstow with a larger than life owner who proudly proffered his homemade marmalade and muffins. On arrival he pointed out the drinks cabinet. It was situated in the corner of an elegant sitting room and consisted of some very interesting wine. He proclaimed that due to his love for wine he chose to provide good bottles at a minimum mark up. Guests were welcome to have a glass or two and scribble in an honesty book. He would then quaff the remainder. How thoroughly civilised. He then wobbled off to cook some muffins while I got stuck into a very nice Pinot Noir.

Padstow is a pretty little fishing port, with some excellent restaurants. It is well know for Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant. However it would appear that the Rick Stein branding is a little out of control as he has a deli, bistro, cafe, shop, restaurant, cookery school and fish and chip shop. I would be surprised if the poor fish caught in 'Padstein' ever escape the Stein grip. I was intrigued to try the Rick Stein fish and chips. The chips and tartar source were superb, the fish a little disappointing.

Moving away from the Stein ego, I discovered an amazing restaurant called No.6 which was exquisite fine dining with a great tasting menu and optional wine matching. The wine list itself was not too big expensive and complex, which sat well as I don't like having to read War and Peace before eating.

The explosion of high profile 'eateries' in Cornwall has had some interesting effects. For example the arrival of Jamie Oliver's Fifteen at Watergate Bay has had a significant effect on the pull of visitors to the place. Swarms of tourists prompted the the owner of the local car park to charge all year round, not just in the summer. I heard that the locals were so outraged at the lack of free 'off peak' parking that they very theatrically blew up the charging meter. I think the message was received loud and clear as the meter has yet to be replaced.

Later in the week I ventured down to St Ives which was getting a battering from stormy weather. The sea had worked up such a foamy rage of spume it looked like thick whipped cream, ready to plop onto some nice warm scones. This prompted me to find shelter in a cafe, and I found cream tea solace in the cool contemporary Tate gallery.

Shmoozing

I sometimes throw together lunch for myself at work, and therefore keep the odd bit of fruit and veg in my desk.

Recently that Albert Square market feel has not been so apparent due to time pressures. I have had to spend a fortune on processed bread coated in hydrogenated fat cocooned in cardboard, exposing its flimsy tasteless wares through a thin plastic window, mocking me as I vainly try to get inside.

I opened the desk drawer last week to find an explosion of tendrils from a lone potato, all forgotten, desperately wanting to reproduce for a bit of company. In such a clinical office environment this display of nature was somewhat alarming at first glance, 'The Little Office of Horrors'.

I dread to think of the advanced lifeforms developing in my keyboard. I suppose I only need to worry when it starts typing by itself.

The rapid expansion of the potato made me think of some yeast I spilt in the sink recently, while exploring a new bread maker. The yeast multiplied very quickly when it hit the wet surface, then died from lack of nutrients, leaving big brown blobs.

Yeast cells are much like human cells, except they are capable of suspended animation when dried. Add water and they magically come to life, just like me in the morning.

I inadvertently delved into the black art of rehydration when very young and naive. I kept pet newts, and one escaped into my bedroom, only to be discovered weeks later all dried up under my bed. After several tears and attempts dipping it into the pond I sadly discovered the limits of most creatures.

Keeping yeast alive is a little tricky, the perfect Tamagotchi. In fact part of the yeast reproductive process is named after the 'shmoo', from old comic strip by Al Capp called Li'l Abner. This involves sending out a shmoo towards another yeast cell, a sort of long protruding tentacle like a slugs eye. The two cells then fuse. They stay alive as long as there is enough sugar and the temperature is right.

The yeast converts sugar into ethanol (alcohol) and CO2. The CO2 makes the bubbles in bread, and we know only too well the applications in wine making. There is a small amount of untamed wild yeast in grapes, too unruly and sparse to produce predictable fermentation, hence the need to add scholarly yeast from good homes called Saccharomyces cerevisiae.

Three hours after I had plonked my raw ingredients into the bread maker I proudly delivered a beautiful brown loaf into the world for the first time. Sadly all the ethanol produced by the yeast evaporates during the baking.

Life would be interesting if you were stopped by the traffic police and asked how many slices you had consumed before driving.