Aldeburgh

We made our first trip to the Suffolk Coast yesterday. We intended to do Aldeburgh, a couple neighboring villages and then go up the coast to Southwold. We got a little sidetracked on the way to the coast however, by Framlingham Castle so it was time for lunch when we arrived at Aldeburgh and we never made it to Southwold. That was just fine with us, we were ready for fish and chips. So my daughter stood in line at the famous Aldeburgh Fish & Chips Shop, while my son-in-law got our cider & ale at The White Hart, and I sat in the beer garden and was waited on. The biggest piece of plaice I have ever seen, a delicious piece of cod, a bag of chips, and a very tasty deep-fried veggie & cheese patty - so nice to be in a situation where you are expected to eat fatty food.

It wasn't very warm, but it was a Saturday so the streets were quite crowded.

We were already aware that one didn't say 'Ald-uh-burg', but it was nice of this mile marker sitting on High Street to confirm what we had already learned...

The most important building, and far away the most interesting is the Moot Hall, a Grade 1 listed building that has been used for Council meetings for over 400 years.

The back side of the Moot Hall

Aldeburgh has a shingle beach with the boats pulled up, something you never see in the states - at least on the West Coast.

I'd like to think that the cod and plaice we had for lunch came directly from the
 Aldeburgh fishing fleet, I know it probably didn't, I choose to believe it did.

 

A short ways north of town you find 'The Scallop' a stainless steel sculpture by Maggi Hambling dedicated to Benjamin Britten, who used to walk along the beach in the afternoons. The upright shell is pierced with the words: "I hear those voices that will not be drowned", text from Britten's opera "Peter Grimes"

 

It was a brilliant sculpture in its own right, but the text added such poignancy.

The an internationally known Aldeburgh Festival, actually takes place at nearby Snape Maltings... more about Snape and the Maltings later.

Peeking through the Windows

When you live in a quaint little cottage in a lovely little village with tourists trouping through on a regular basis, you expect that they will be peeking in your windows  and that privacy will be at a premium. So it matters what people will see as they walk by.

If you live in a historic house, you'll want something historic in the window.

If your house is not exactly historic, but definitely quaint, then something colorful will do nicely.

Some people, however, don't see to mind what the tourists might think....





Who needs the Cotswolds?

One very long day between packing up, making our way to Heathrow, picking up the rental car, and finding our way to the heart of East Anglia – no blogging.  Another very long day driving from one village to another and an evening with the wifi down – no blogging.  At last, I am up and running again, so let me tell you about the villages of Suffolk.

As cute as anything in the Cotswolds

I honestly do not know why they have taken a back seat to the Cotswold villages all these years.  They are loaded with thatched cottages, and are beautifully maintained. Each village greets you with a distinctive and decorative sign, and they have easily as many well-tended greens and ancient churches.  The real difference lies in the materials and colors. Instead of the warm golden tones of the Cotswold stone, you have half-timbered  cottages in-filled with either brick or pargetting on plaster in colors that range from  a lovely rich mustard to deep rust and back to what must be called pink. Now if you asked me if I wanted to spend the day driving around looking at pink cottages, I would be dubious at best, but somehow, it works.

Yes, I said pink....

Like the Cotswolds, the Suffolk villages are not inhabited by the poor. Thatched cottages are not cheap to maintain and driving down the narrow country lanes here you are overtaken by speeding Bentleys, Jags, Mercedes, and BMWs.  On the edges of and between them you pass gated entrances to estates that leave you wondering if someone famous lives there – and someone famous probably does.

Today we visited ten villages. Half of them were only intended to be drive-thru’s but in the end, only one was. We could have spent a whole day wandering through a couple of them, especially Lavenham, a well-known tourist stop and calendar subject. Between my daughter and I we took 367 pictures. Given enough time and a little sunshine we could have easily taken twice that. 

Just one of the many amazing buildings in Lavenham

Pargetting...more about that later.....

Somehow, way back in the early days when tourism was just a baby, the Cotswolds got a jumpstart on Suffolk. But I'm not complaining, we had traffic to deal with in Lavenham and Long Melford, but otherwise we had these lovely villages all to ourselves.

The People Factor

Nobody wants to read a post about someone else's troubles, so I'll leave that to a small bit at the end...

Instead let me tell you about some of the lovely people we have met in our five days in London.

     The Verger at St Mary le Strand - While I took advantage of a chance to sit a spell and Amy ran over to take a look at Kings College, this lovely man kept me company, sharing a wealth of information on all the churches in London as well as their history and architecture - Charles Dickens' parents were married at his church. At that point our conversation branched out to his travels in Hollywood, football, Whitby and various joint replacements. Before we left, he took us to a particular room, off limits to the 'average' tourist. This was a small 2-story circular room with a plaster domed ceiling and ancient wooden walls and fittings. After a bit of a guessing game, he acknowledged that only recently had they discovered it was originally a 'powder room' in the first sense that the clergy wore wigs then and this is where they powdered up before conducting a service.

     The staff at our local Starbucks - In particular Megan, have been brilliant. I wish I could say they were as good as my local in Kenmore (Hi Guys!) but that would be impossible. We find ourselves stopping on our way to and from anywhere. My daughter - the world traveler - says that the staff in all the London Starbucks we've visited (don't judge, it's a good place to rest) are easily the friendliest she's found.

     The antique shop owner in Cecil Court - He did his very best to convince me that he REALLY did think Amy & I were sisters. When you've looked at your 67 year old jet-lagged, baggy-eyed face in the mirror that morning, you REALLY want to believe. But he still wasn't able to sell me his over-priced etching of the Tower Bridge.

     The girl who curated (and I use that term advisedly) and ran the tea-tasting at Twinings - she educated us, amused us, listened to us, and treated us to whatever variety we were interested in. She was a font of knowledge in all things tea as well as coffee. We left with lots of good tea-related ideas and a special autographed tea bag for my journal as well as inspiration for a "love journal".

     The staffs at virtually every business we have had anything to do with - real old-fashioned customer service, the kind where you look your customer in the eye and deal with them on a personal level, volunteer extra service, and escort them out the door with good wishes, is alive and well in London. In particular we are grateful to:
          London Camera Exchange on the Strand
          Cath Kidston in Covent Garden
          Neal's Yard Dairy
          Wild Juicery in Neal's Yard
          Maplin Electronics on the Strand
          The George on the Strand
          The original Twinings on the Strand
          Stanley Gibbons
At least one person in each of these places have gone the extra mile and then some for us.
         
This is my seventh trip to England, my daughter has been with me on all but one of them. I have always said that whatever happens, if I am in England, I'll be happy. I haven't always been very mobile, but you can enjoy a lot sitting on a bench. Past trips were always blessed with carefree driving, good weather, and a lack of any illnesses. If the last five days are any indication, the law of averages has caught up with us. We can only hope that the arrival of my son-in-law will bring some good luck. In any event, I can now say for certain that "whatever happens, if I am in England, I'll be happy."

Scotch Eggs

One more note about food...

My English friend and I had a conversation about Scotch Eggs before I left. He told me it was one of the things he missed most - the crisp outer crust and the spices of the sausage wrapped around a tummy filling egg. His eyes almost misted over as he let his memory go back to his favorite pub grub.

I had to admit I had only had them in the States and they were frankly a little disappointing.

"Try one when you are over there," he said, and he made me promise. So today we sat in The George on the Strand, suddenly starving when we realized it was 3: in the afternoon, and I saw Scotch Egg on the menu. I figured I might as well get it over with.

I am now officially a fan of Scotch Eggs. My friend was so right. I only wish I could bring him one back with me.

A little bit about The George: It was founded as a coffee house in 1723 and is almost as charming inside as it is outside.



For those of you who are very observant - yes, it was raining, pretty much all day in fact.
 

This should be the last post about food for a while...but don't bet on it.

Many years ago I bought a postcard from Simpson's in the Strand. It was from the 1920's and when I picked up another from the 1930's I became curious. The history of Simpson's is fascinating. It was opened in 1828 as a chess club and coffee house. In an effort to avoid disturbing the chess games in progress, they began placing large joints of meat on silver-domed trolleys and wheeling them to guests tables where they were then carved. It is a custom that continues to this day. Another thing that makes it distinctive has come down from one of the earliest chefs - the ironclad rule that all food served be British. My guide book describe's it as "an unchanging bastion of upper crust Britishness
beloved for its roast beef and soggy veg."

I planned to treat myself to a meal at Simpson's when I was in London in 2009. Every time I came out of my hotel, I looked across the street at the elegant entry and told myself I would do so. Somehow, I could never work up enough nerve to walk, all by myself, into this bastion of Britishness.



 

On this trip, I did my research and decided that my daughter and I would have breakfast there. We could order just one Great British Breakfast (Cumberland sausage, streaky and back bacon, Stornoway black pudding, fried mushrooms, baked tomato & egg (fried, poached or scrambled, tea or coffee, toast, Orange Juice) and another side of something and then share it. The Great British breakfast alone comes in at about $30. I was not prepared to spend $60 for breakfast.

Even split in half, there was plenty for both of us.

Everything was wonderful. It was the best black pudding either of us had ever had, the coffee was wonderful, and the butter was so good it could have been eaten with a spoon.

Simpson's open for breakfast at 7:15 and we were there about 8:  There were only two other people in the restaurant - a rather posh young woman and the waiter. He was a rather dour character with a straight-lipped little smile when we did something he approved of - like when we both declined any ketchup, and a pointed comment when he disapproved - like when I asked for decaf coffee.

Absolutely every thing in the room was first class and beautiful...and well-lit.

And so, at last, I have joined the likes of Vincent Van Gogh, Charles Dickens, Sherlock Holmes, George Bernard Shaw, Benjamin Disraeli and William Gladstone. Not to mention Scott of the Antarctic, who had his last meal here before setting off on his ill-fated journey, or Charles and Di, whose last public appearance was here.

That big revolving door was not nearly so intimidating going out as it had been going in.



Cheese, Beautiful Cheese

All the guide books say you must visit Neal's Yard Dairy. I couldn't agree more. Neal's yard is little more than a small lane painted up  in colors that are guaranteed to cheer. Lots of art and lots of organic.


But the real reason to go is the Diary...the cheese. It's a small shop with three very congenial cheesemongers. Just being waited on is an education in the science of cheese, the samples come fast and generous. They have nothing but artisanal cheese and some is made at the dairy itself. Prices range from £4.95 to £47.95.  The place just reeks of cheese...for the first three minutes and then you cease to notice. Just take a good look...

We took home a Brie and a Cheddar, we bought a package of crackers and an apple at the mini Tesco across the street, and we ate in.