some shoes not made for walking

Out from mind-melting exams at the end of June and straight onto Selfridges' shoe department (sadly pre- their current extravagant state) and the end result produced these beauties from a dear family friend. Finally got round to admiring them via my new DSLR (!) and currently it's the only way as a) the however-many inch heel, b) the unstable, but lovely, thin gold slingback strap and c) the blue satin means they'll never be seen outside on my feet, EVER. I have visions of myself pitching down multiple steps which give me real goosebumps though it doesn't seem to stop me mentally co-ordinating them with outfits in my head.

bye bye London, with pastel food

Leaving London tomorrow but not before I re-united with Jamie at the Hummingbird Bakery where we snagged lucky seats amidst the out-the-door queues of cupcake fanatics. For once, cupcakes so famous were actually good (sorry Magnolia) whilst their signature cake was the best combination ever of carrot cake + banana bread. Then onwards to Alecia's fabulous 21st where we started off sipping prosecco and gorging on beautiful smoked salmon before the rum came out and I spent the night losing-finding-losing my ring on the floor in a drunken blur. The past few weeks have gone so fast, now back to Beijing.

friends in the city on monday

buying beige dresses in Angel with Jillian (so glad we re-found each other at the Starbucks in Beijing airport); then apple tart with coffee/gin with DJ in sunset Baker St. and his 'It's Toasted' Luckies/dinner with Henry + Usman at Bistro Galvin, crab lasagne, kidneys, plaice/chocolate + duche de leche

to London, with pastel food

I spent my first few days in London being disgustingly grateful for the smell and taste of clean air and revelling in scooping up great things at sample sales (because they exist here and not in Beijing). In another fit of 'back in London' excitement, I rendezvoused for lunch at old time favourite St Johns. There, I watched Rachel dissect a teal carcass/ listened to Henry rave about chicory, whilst I sneakily shot the food on my iPhone (I have a guilt/embarrassment complex about being the Asian girl snapping away at the food) because the colours of lamb's sweetbreads, radishes and rocket were just too complementary. And then I just had to take a photo of the desserts because the raspberry Eton Mess (again, the meringue thing) and the freshly baked madeleines were, as ever, so delicious they demanded visual documentation too.

an ode upon pavlova

Pavlova is I think, one of the most under-rated desserts. Maybe this has something to do with my unhealthy love for meringue (which also translates into an equivalent macaroon obsession), but I've just never understood why more restaurants don't do it. Sweet and airy, with the tart tang of fruit, it just seems more wholly plausible after a few courses than heavy chocolate puds or too much cheese. Anyway, at a farewell brunch with my friends before departing Beijing, I made sure we ordered Capital M's 'Very Famous Pavlova' which a) is possibly the only pavlova to be found on a restaurant menu in this city, b) certainly lived up to its name and c) was so perfect sitting on their rooftop terrace in the summer/autumn transitioning weather. Whenever I have pavlova made for me by a friend, I request raspberries, but this Capital M version came with a much more exotic fruit mixture, topped with passionfruit sauce - to which I can only say YUM!

As a by-note, the one restaurant I know to always offer pavlova in England is Wagamama, but it's very disappointing. Despite sounding very chic, with its 'tamarind/chilli' combo, there is too little flavour, and too much meringue that feels like it's been sitting around for too long.

shanghai dreamers. part two

A while ago I had posted about Quentin Shih's series of Shanghai Dreamers and now it seems relevant to bring it up once more. When Quentin emailed a few days ago, he pointed out this comment piece which had appeared on the Guardian's website, which deemed his work 'nakedly racist', and asked for my opinion. The news did not come as a total shock, I had previously read similar accusations on the internet, but the forum on which it was now posted had made matters more serious and Quentin was rightly worried.

Yet, as we scrolled down the numerous responses left by readers, it seemed, thankfully, that most did not concur with the author's rather weakly constructed argument. The way words such as 'racism', 'Orientalism', 'cultural appropriation' were bandied about, with seeming neglect of their charged implications, was a little unnerving. But it seems that Quentin, being a born-and-bred Beijinger, was protected by the fact that as a native Chinese, his work could not be seen as deriding Chinese people. Whereas I was thankful for these counter-arguments which defended my friend and the integrity of his work, both points of view, both sides of the argument, left me rather piqued. Neither had rightly grasped the subtleties of what he was trying to express because it was ultimately, as he had already postulated in his statement of intent, historical. Being so, it was a remnant of something that was unique to China, 'a certain Chinese style of group photography' which anybody who lived through that era, in the shadow of its legacy or who had fully understood its impact, would find poignant.

There is nothing that angers me more when one person, often living on the outside, attempts to speak for the entirety of China. 'I have lived in China for 'x' number of years, with 'y' number of Chinese friends', 'I am Chinese but now live abroad in such a country'... with the implication that 'from my personal experience' I (and only I) am able to pass judgement on the situation fairly. I cannot agree with such sweeping sentiments as I read in these comments sections because I never feel that anyone of us knows China well enough (or in fact, any country's situation) to be able to speak for it. The 'mindless consumerism' people see in Asia, how China's future as a superpower ought to pan out etc. etc., all seem to preoccupy the western media. Frankly though, I am sick and tired of reading about this obsession with what China ought to be like.

As anybody who has visited Beijing will know, the city is vast. Yet it is not just filled out with space, but with the many lives which play out daily within it. It is so easy to get caught up in the big mantra of 'China this', 'China that'... but ultimately it comes down to the problem of what this 'China' is shorthand for. As Quentin rightfully pointed out, whether or not his photographs was seen as racist ought really to be decided by people back home, not on some British website.