Author: bigdunc09

THE BIRD

pinion1

/ˈpɪnjən

noun

  1. the outer part of a bird’s wing including the flight feathers.
  • verb
  1. restrain or immobilize (someone) by tying up or holding their arms or legs.

“he was pinioned to the ground”

synonyms: hold down, pin down, press down, restrain, constrain, hold fast, immobilize; More
  • cut off the pinion of (a wing or bird) to prevent flight.

“We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish.” 

I suppose it’s somewhat serendipitous that my first encounter with Gary Usher’s cooking was at Wreckfish, in Liverpool city centre, when – before the meal – I should have met my number two hero of all time, Liam Fray of the Courteeners, just happening to walk past the restaurant as we were sat deciding what to order. The meal itself was equally memorable, so I couldn’t wait to contribute to Usher’s next crowdfunding venture that his ever-expanding group announced: an old bookmakers’ in Prescot, a town close to our hearts for other reasons.

I really admire this chef’s ideals: his plans for social change; his ambitions for contributing to the reinvention of a struggling high street; his dogged determination to remind diners of modern etiquette (more of which later) and ultimately, his food. Oh, his food. But his morals, his conscience, his keenness to help regenerate Prescot especially – this all linked nicely to the ideas put forward by the Inspector in An Inspector Calls because he was all about togetherness and socialist ideals.

Thanks to PPI payback, we were able to have invested £50 in Pinion on the first night of the investment opportunity, and were rewarded with £50 off our first meal there, so booked a trip down memory lane when time allowed and forged new Prescot memories during October half term on a drizzly Thursday evening, preceded by a couple in the nicely designed Wetherspoons (with Edward Lear themed toilets) and the impressive (Shakespeare themed) micropub, The Bard, in which I got talking to an eccentric local about Oktoberfest in Germany.

Now at this point, I’d just like to say I have read some really rubbish restaurant reviews recently; often in local newspapers, by people who write like it’s a chore to be going out for a nice meal and have very little to compare the place to. They use clichés and bland, factual language with little or no personality, which suggest that’s what their life is like.

Of course, I’m envious…

For me, Giles Coren’s reviews are the best because of their eccentricity and irreverence – although I don’t rate his political stances (and bizarre views on primary school admission policies) whilst Jay Rayner’s are the most relevant in terms of their focus on the food. Whilst not a critic, I’ve always disliked William Sitwell so I was glad to hear of his recent demise, meanwhile I used to dislike her, but Cumbrian Grace Dent’s writing is – for me – the most improving as she is growing on me weekly with her knowing honesty.

Naturally, though, my own reviews are even better because I don’t come from privilege, I have an arduous day job so only get to enjoy the good life once in a while (oh, and I’m true and I’m real, and this is how I feel…)

Back to Pinion, though.

I’ll be honest, during the days before, I’d been looking at the menu before our visit and checking the restaurant’s Instagram feed because I was so excited. I felt almost relieved when I saw it, as it contained all the things I’d been looking forward to since the project had been announced. I knew what starter I wanted; I knew what main I wanted. Thankfully both were on the menu and I could enjoy the perfect evening.

I started with the Pinion Pale Ale and it was a nice accompaniment to the starters which we swapped half way through. I opted for the crispy pig’s head croquette – with quince butter and mustard sauce – which brought back lovely memories of when I cooked a pig’s head a few years ago, although tasted so, so much better. Better half, meanwhile, opted for the salmon with watermelon and a radish salad. I enquired about the watermelon because I’d never tasted anything like it; sous-vided then blow-torched and it was a thing to behold.

The main, however, was my highlight, as I knew it would be. Now, I know not everyone will like the sound of raw steak mince mixed with raw egg and a plethora of other ingredients, but it’s one of my favourite meals ever. I’ve written before that I have enjoyed the same dish in several restaurants including Antony Bourdain’s bistro in New York and the wonderful carousel-themed restaurant La Rotonde in the Hotel Negresco in Nice, where we dined whilst ‘enceinte’ with B. this was the meal, on 5 April 2013:

And this the restaurant:

However, I was sad to discover during my research that the restaurant has been reinvented since our memorable evening, and this made me think about making the most of special places.

 

Talking of Pinion, WW opted for the salt-baked celeriac and the signature truffle and parmesan chips.

Those chips!

Heavenly stuff, for both of us, with a rather restrained glass of wine each. I was recommended the Grenache which complimented the tartare perfectly (in another life, I’d be a sommelier; you make so many people happy doing that job, as opposed to mine)

So far, so brilliant… Desserts were equally special; a perfectly portioned slab of Colston Bassett stilton cheese with wonderful black crackers and port, whilst WW devoured a dark chocolate mousse with the honeycomb Usher’s restaurants are famed for.

Only that day, I’d read a lovely poem by Rupi Kaur:

I asked her for permission to include the beautiful words in this blog, but she didn’t respond.

I did it anyway… as a thank you, follow her on Insta.

To celebrate the wonderful evening, I ordered a nice brandy and some sumptuous pieces of chocolate fudge to finish with.

If you’re unaware of how Usher’s projects work, the money invested comes off your first bill so it was excellent value; not just the meal, service and experience itself but also seeing the plans come to fruition.

After the bill came, we then had a great conversation with the front of house manager about her interesting past colleagues and how things were going so far. We also discussed a recent Twitter spat between Usher and various ignorami, unaware of how the restaurant industry works and unsure of why the restaurant groups’ booking policy covers cancellations. Here’s another frustration of many smaller businesses; rich people who should know better, who book several tables and don’t turn up at most of them.

It’s the sort of thing the Birling family would probably do.

So, all in all, after reading this reflection you might be unimpressed; vegan; Capitalist; unwilling to believe my playful yet sincere honesty, or even bored by now.

But remember this: you can make a difference.

Support your local community, support people wanting to make positive differences. If you can afford it, help crowdfunding projects because you can make a real difference and reap the benefits. There are so many out there: yes, some might be questionably, but those brainchilds and lightbulb moments deserve investing in, especially when you get something so memorable back.

As for Pinion, it wasn’t just a one off… Of course, we will be back, but felt very special that night and proud to have our family’s names on the wall.

Let the birds fly; don’t see them restrained or immobilised… or having their wings clipped off.

I’ll end with the words of the Inspector:

“We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other.”

Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable

“But take my word for it, you youngsters – and I’ve learnt in the good hard school of experience – that a man has to mind his own business and look after himself and his own – and –
We hear the sharp ring of a front door bell.”

I’ve really enjoyed spending a lot of time recently inside a play, written in 1945 and set in 1912 but equally relevant to today’s society and – as I entered my fortieth year and thus a period of self-reflection – really got me thinking about social divide, the importance of social media ratings and the absurdities of the society we live in.

Anyone unfamiliar with J. B. Priestley’s seminal play might wonder what on earth it has to do with what I’m about to tell you but – please be sure – “we are all part of one body” and, as Edna opens the door, things now cloudy should come clearer as we progress.

First, we go back to the start of September and a brilliant evening at a gin festival. A great night was had by all, and I was introduced to some amazing Gs and Ts. Bravo, all involved.

The following weekend – to celebrate E’s second birthday, and how amazing he has become regardless of the terrible twos starting in earnest – we went to the Sea Life Centre in Manchester and had a great day. The kids were in their elements looking at the varied aquatic diversity on show, especially the king spider crabs which were reminiscent of Stranger Things or other seminal 80s set horrors… Even Mr Birling: bloated, ‘heavy-looking’ and thinking he’s top of the tree.

The following week brought a very enjoyable christening at which – due to my own daughter’s disappointment at losing one of the DJ’s games, I had to do a catwalk in make up in a competition which I thankfully didn’t win but reminded me of Sheila and the need to keep up appearances. Real life was intertwining with the narrative of the play and society in general as I too felt slightly perturbed by the expectations involved.

Funnily enough, whilst finishing off this article I caught a guy urinating in the street in broad daylight. Kopite behaviour, yes – he was wearing a red t-shirt – so I reported him to his company but stated clearly that I didn’t want to ‘do a Sheila’ and have him disciplined, so I was deliberately vague within the communication (even if he is a Liverpool fan).

This is the reply I got:

Thank you for your gentle humour and understanding. 

 The strange thing is that we don’t have a site in your immediate area and so I am not sure we can make much progress with identifying the offender. Perhaps you teach children and obviously your in the middle of raising some too, I’m afraid I have to liken managing our 100+ bricklayers as a similar career path. To think I had hoped that the vests would be a positive marking tool! 

 I resisted the urge to get the green pen out: they go low, you go high.

Back to life; back to reality… The following week brought with it some reasons for optimism and the chance to get down to Goodison. It was great to be back, although the first half against Fulham did little to suppress the groans of the fans around me, especially towards certain players. There would appear to be a growing divide across the fan base in terms of certain players of preference; not yet threatening, and not at the minute e.g. at the end of this match, when everything seemed rosy, but I’m sure, would have been heightened after the Southampton cup game.

I couldn’t attend that as well, and couldn’t get a stream, so had to listen. I guess these two games were the ‘Gerald’ of the month: appearing to be impressive and a rich ‘good looking man about town’ but actually with a dark side and secret persona which frustrates and disappoints in equal measure. Flatters to deceive, even. Twas ever thus, where the Blues are concerned.

Still, I got a lovely new Sir Peter Blake t-shirt this month, which proves this remains an art blog.

“One line of enquiry at a time”

At this point, my little girl was given a homework to find out all about Neil Armstrong and Tim Peaks so we took her into town to the always excellent World Museum and the planetarium, and managed to squeeze in a quick visit to a brilliant new exhibit at the Walker, by a local artist. I won’t give away the clues but it’s a clever piece of curating and makes us think about how we look at things, and people.

Leo Fitzmaurice, kudos to you.

Like I said, self reflection this month, linked to personal events and a real inspector calling… only doing his duty, but upsetting all the same.

The rest of the month was spent working in ever decreasing circles and watching the odd documentary when time allowed (Synth at the BBC, Imagine; Tracey Emin and Sgt Pepper’s as examples) and was made up with the Banksy shredding event. How wonderful, how beautiful that it didn’t quite work as he wanted to complicate the narrative even further!

Oh and I loved the Flight Of The Conchords live, and revisiting several old episodes… Plus, we thoroughly enjoyed the Great British Menu series – especially because it featured an old family friend from Lancaster, Craig Sherrington, who did so well on his way to the final – and I managed to read some very impressive YA books by the likes of Patrick Ness, Marcus Sedgwick and Geraldine McGoughrean which I’d recommend to anyone with teenagers.

More culture and a trip to the theatre for an amazing performance of not ‘An Inspector Calls’, but ‘A Taste of Honey’ at the beautifully preserved Epstein Theatre. The themes of racism and feminism weren’t as immediately apparent when I’d first watched the film version a few years ago – it was mainly inspired by the lyrics of Morrissey and the Smiths – but the sad tale this time sat a little uneasy with me, again because of the situations many are facing at the minute whilst many are oblivious.

It got me thinking how Mrs Birling would have treated Jo.

Then, the following week I took the boy to his first proper game, the FA Cup Fourth qualifying round tie between our local team – Marine – and Salford City, currently atop the non-league pyramids. There were 1709 of us there tht day and despite an oblivious two year old crying in the buggy (and more interested in the team coaches parked outside the stadium) Jamie Carragher was there too, and Peter Hooton, and a great Tommy Fleetwood lookalike who I thought – no, was genuinely convinced – for a short time was actually him.

Marine lost 2-1 as was to be expected… though probably by a higher margin given the divide between the two since last they met. Salford, we know, were bought a few years back by some ex Man United players and have had a meteoric rise to the top of the non-league tree. They have ex-Fleetwood boss Graham Alexander in the dugout, and a striker upfront – a certain Rooney, who scored lots of goals in the Scottish Prem last season but moved to non-league with Salford because his wages were apparently higher.

This reminded me again of one of the key narratives of the play when Eva went on strike for higher pay: denied, she goes on to ultimately kill herself.

“One Eva Smith has gone- but there are millions and millions and millions of Eva Smiths and John Smiths still left with us, with their lives, their hopes and fears, their suffering and chance of happiness, all intertwined with our lives, and what we think and say and do. We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish.” 

 

A group shot from An Inspector Calls (1954)This, and two other news stories of the weekend, got me thinking about whether or not the inspector is right and we’re all actually in this together. I was thinking about players dropping down the leagues, and then the fact that I couldn’t watch the first fifteen minutes of a five o’clock kick off in Italy due to the current legislation and how outdated it is – Eleven Sports have apparently started a legal challenge – and then the development that some clubs are exploring the option of serving alcohol on the terraces rather than just in the concourses.

As a dad, looking forward to taking his boy to his first Everton game at some point in the future, I had mixed feelings on this subject, and all the talk of drinking got me thinking of Eric: “you’re squiffy” etc.

Half term, then: We watched lots of Balamory, including a mad episode featuring Keith Floyd that I’d never seen before (he looks drunk on it, I guess he’d have to be) and we watched old episodes of Ghostbumps -some of which are pretty unsettling for kids, and kind of Tales of the Unexpected-y – which put us in the mood for Halloween. Nicely linked to ghosts and Gooles (the inspector’s real name) this takes us swiftly on to Rentaghost:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbZgv7FkZBI

What’s weird is that Timothy Claypole actually reminds me of Damien Hirst!

Talking of which, the other good things I watched during the week off were the curious documentary about Damien Hirst’s recent Venice exhibition: Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable which is a fake documentary about a collection of expensive artefacts plundered and then lost at the bottom of the sea, which not only linked back to the previous regime but also the Titanic – which itself is integral to the plot and setting of ‘An Inspector Calls’ – and just life in general, salvaging the good stuff from the bottom of the deepest darkest depths.

Births, celebrating good times, precious moments with loved ones.

I suppose it also connoted the likes of Ghostwatch, The Blair Witch Project and other non-Halloween-y fake documentaries, although the other televisual highlight of the month, The Possibilities Are Endless was very true and real and thought-provoking as a harsh and sometimes uncomfortable – though still heart-wrenchingly – beautiful account of the genial Edwyn Collins’ recovery from not one but two brain haemorrhages. His resilience determination and of course music – and newly found ability to draw – are simply awe-inspiring: please watch it.

As the film reminded me, and the twist in the J. B. Priestley’s tale tells us, bad things can still happen just when you’re celebrating how great things seem.

However, to end on a positive, we went picking our own pumpkins and the kids had a happy Halloween.

In between times, WW and I  had a perfect evening at Pinion, a restaurant we’d helped to crowdfund, and soon I’ll write a short review of a wonderful evening – perhaps the shiniest treasure from the wreck – because it links nicely to the inspector’s final speech…