I am a great fan of antiques. One of my best friends is legally classified as one, as it happens. I won’t tell you which but you should be able to tell by context. Indeed, St Nick, my other best friend, is ancient in every way but his actual age, which experts estimate is around 49 or so. It’s hard to tell when all he talks about is Schubert and The Sodding Bach Cantatas. In any case, I took it upon myself to inspect some more traditional antiques in Brampton, visiting this charming little antiquary.
Among the wondrous debris, I found this peculiar print from Vanity Fair circa 1930. Titled Ape, I was most concerned by the length of the gentleman’s nails! Not the most conducive to smoking I shouldn’t think!
Please ignore the hideous Guinness cufflinks in the background. There’s nothing more tacky than obviously branded clothing. I am, however, a fan of a Faberge egg it must be said. While this one is common, as reflected by the price, it still stands out as a unique adornment to one’s collection, if one collects such things.
I remember when I went to Prague, one of the places I loved most was an antique shop called Mucha Antiques on Staré Měst. I bought my mother the most beautiful silver greyhound necklace. The chain went through the curve in the tail. This silver, crudely rendered greyhound paper weight reminded me of this Praguean purchase.
With these creepy Beatrix Potter figurines, I leave you. I recommend this charming little antique shop in Brampton, which brought me so much joy during my time there. I do hope it will do the same for you.
I took it upon myself to eat breakfast while in the country. Usually such a meal os a luxury I have neither time nor patience for. A quick cup of tea and jam-garnished slice of toast will satisfy me most days. Luckily, going to Frosts afforded me the opportunity to take a somewhat larger breakfast. It is pictured for your delectation, and as a visual aid to me, below.
The astute among you will note the strange, unappealing, quasi-fecal appearance of the saussies. These were rosemary and red onion saussies, which did not feature on the Saussie Poddy which we did earlier this year. You’re welcome and indeed encouraged to listen to it (the podcast, not the sausage). I found these execrable in honesty. They were already vastly peculiar in concept, but their cooking time left them charred beyond all recognition. I felt like a teething baby once more, unable to get through even the most rudimentary bite of nosh. This was the least pleasant saussie I have eaten in quite some time. Everything else on the plate was palpably unimpressive.
At this juncture, you might be wondering why Frosts is even on Cedric Suggests. Allow me to dispel your overwhelming curiosity. The above picture made me change my mind. Of course, it was not just a picture when I saw it, but a full and delightful plate of the most exquisite yet deeply damaging breakfast. My arteries and yours will not be grateful for this recommendation. I can almost hear their groans of pain. The American combined three perfectly innocent ingredients: bacon, pancakes and maple syrup, into an amalgam of sheer and unadulterated beauty. This melding together of sweet and savoury makes for a distinguished and indeed exceptional plate, whose texture lends itself to descriptions quite beyond my linguistic remit.
For this and this alone, you must go to Millets Farm and try Frosts. The Farm Shop itself boasts in house butchers, confectioners and home grown produce which left me slack jawed, such as the game pie pictured above. I think I have rarely been this close to heaven sober.
As none of you were aware, I went to Oxfordshire recently for a peaceful weekend. Getting out of Birmingham has become a great joyful comfort for me. Being away from one’s home town periodically gives great perspective. This goes some way in resetting my creative metre, as it were, and provide you all with a much boosted sarcastic outlook on my various escapades.
Brampton is an idyllic village in the Cotswolds. It lies about 4 miles from Witney. The West Ox Arts Gallery is a jewell in the middle of Brampton village. Inside, there is a spacious gallery which showcases local artists’ work. The light streams in from large vaulted windows, as can be seen below.
Since the gallery hosts 12 exhibitions a year, it is unlikely you will see the same pieces as I have when you visit. But it is worth pointing out some of the pieces I found most exceptional.
The first is this magnificent fused glass bowl. I felt the vibrancy of the colours was astonishing. Fusing glass is not an easy process, even for the most simple combinations. There’s a kiln involved and all sorts of scalpels and tongs, not to mention the fusing gloves. There is a real skill in creating something this complex and beautiful. I can only commend Pamela Fyvie, the artist.
Pamela also created this astonishing time piece using the same method. Observe the variations within each strand of fused blue glass. This pseudo-patriotic artwork delighted me completely.
But above all, this stunning acrylic work by Leigh Henry stole my heart. If anyone is willing to spend £345 on my birthday present, six months in advance, I would be most grateful. The bold brush strokes, startling colour contrasts and overall concept of this piece shook me. I could stare at it for hours and not be bored for a moment.
I encourage you to go to West Ox Arts Gallery if ever you are in the region. It is well worth an hour of your time.
Ever eaten an Octopus burger? Me neither, until one fateful day in Dubrovnik. Now, those of you who have been within a five-mile radius of me will know that I cannot stand fish. But St Nick and Louise insisted that being within smell of the ocean, we ought to eat something which once swam in it. I conceded and we ate at Barba.
The first thing to notice here is that the bread bun is black in hue. This is due to Barba’s ingenious chefs mixing some of the octopus’ ink in the homemade dough. Octopus ink is quite edible, I remember fondly laughing at an ex who had consumed octopus ink pasta and had a black smile as a result. No such fate will befall you eating this bun, of course. I found this meal to be quite extraordinary. The texture was just like that of a beef burger but the flavour was completely different. There was an astonishing depth and variety but a subtle richness there, which I found most pleasant.
St Nick opted for the shrimp burger. I did not dare try it as I had had my own maximal dose of shrimp that day, as you will find out to your horror. Although this shrimp burger was fried, St Nick tells me there were no chunks. This is certainly not the healthiest option on the menu, but it is filling, flavoursome and great quality. The bread here is just astonishing across the board.
I went for the shrimp and parmesan salad. This was a disappointment, frankly. I asked for something which did not taste too strongly of fish, and they gave me something devoid of flavour entirely!I suppose that isn’t fair, I could taste a little vinegar if I strained my neck very hard. Even the capers seem to have been power-washed in a vacuum-sealed room. Avoid the salads at all costs.
Overall, I would say this is a terrific restaurant, charmingly down to earth with great hospitality. I would recommend it to anyone in Dubrovnik for a holiday or business.
St Nick and I ‘did a thing’ as the youth would say. Revision period was particularly tough and we faced the immense challenge of revising for half a dozen exams in tandem by writing and acting in a comedy podcast. Here, for your keen listening displeasure, is our pilot episode. If all of you don’t unsubscribe immediately, we may consider releasing another episode. Who knows? The night is young.
Enjoy the fruits of our misplaced labour and step into the world of St Nick’s Pontifical Hour…
