Wednesday 31 August 2011

Author interview: Gerard Woodward on Nourishment

Gerard Woodward is a prolific and interesting writer and poet. Since his first published collection of poetry in 1991 he has produced three more, the latest in 2005, We Were Pedestrians. In addition to this, he's written a collection a short stories, Caravan Thieves and trilogy of novels. He won a Somerset Maugham Award for his poetry collection Householder, and two of his books, based on his own family history, have been shortlisted for significant literary awards: August for the Whitbread First Book Award in 2001 and I'll Go To Bed At Noon for Man Booker Prize for Fiction in 2004.



Some of his stories, although describing quite ordinary lives, are quirky with unexpected twists in the plot. For instance his collection of short stories begins with a tale of a couple who's caravan has been stolen - with the occupants still inside.    


Gerard Woodward's latest novel, Nourishment, is set in London during the 2nd World War. It tells the remarkable and tragic story of Tory, who while trying to survive the Blitz, receives a letter from her POW husband demanding a dirty letter by return. Neither her ageing mother, nor her female workmates at the local gelatine factory are willing - or able - to help Tory in her task, so she's forced to search for inspiration in the more seedy parts of the city. This quest for sexy vocabulary affects Tory's life in a way she could never have expected.


I'm a great fan of Woodward's quirky writing, and his latest novel certainly doesn't disappoint.  After I finished reading it, I had several burning questions for the author, the answers to which I'd like to share with you here (Beware there are spoilers in the interview):


I must first ask where you got your inspiration for this extraordinary book?


A family  story concerning a friend of my mother's who was in Tory's situation of being asked to write saucy letters for her POW husband. She asked my mother for advice on how to reply - but there the similarity ends.

The themes you explore in the book are so many: sense of duty, morality, poverty, war and its effects on people, family, love, feminism. Which of these would you say is the most important?

Most important - probably love - the way love is mediated by both physical and emotional desires - it is the conflict between these that drives the book.
                       
To me the book is as much about the relationship between Tory and her husband as it is about the one one she has with her mother, Mrs Head. Where did you get this character from? She is so multifaceted; yet she is almost a shadow throughout the story, with her true desires and dreams only becoming clear at the end of the book.

Like most of my characters she is an amalgam of people I've known, seen, read about and imagined.
           
Donald’s character is the most tragic one, in my opinion. He’s lost everything in the war, including his morality and humanity. The war turned him into a bitter, sad, selfish man without empathy. Where was your inspiration for him?

Same answer as above, really. I didn't have a specific person in mind. Do you think he's amore tragic figure than Tom? 

The thing with Donald is that he was unlikeable from the start. Tory is never sure if she loves him or not; she is more in awe than in love. 

He is my first attempt at a thoroughly bad character, though maybe he does have some redeeming qualities, in the way that he takes to Branson after the death of Tom, for instance.
                        
How did you decide to make Tory your main point of view? Nourishment is her story, but could it also have been told from Donald’s viewpoint? Isn’t a female voice often considered difficult for a male writer?

It is very much Tory's story, she is affected by Donald, not the other way round. I enjoy writing from viewpoints dissimilar to my own. It couldn't have been told from Donald's point of view, I don't think, because it's important that the reader doesn't know Donald's state of mind or motivations until later on.
                       
The tragic story is interspersed with black humour ‘Mrs Head is now Mrs Dead,’ and sexual innuendo, ‘Stiff red fruits, …entwining wreaths…erect little towers.’ Did you do that on purpose so that the book wouldn’t be too serious?

I see the novel as a dark comedy, but like (I hope) the best comedy, it is very serious.
                       
The sex scenes are done without ever actually mentioning the act. I believe this is one of the most difficult things to get ‘right’. Is there a secret to getting it right?

Yes, the sex scenes are suggested by people's reactions to the letters, though there is some suggestion in one of the chapters. In a book about taboo, prurience and suppression of emotion, it was important that the sex was conveyed in a way that fitted in with those themes. To have been explicit would have ruined the tension.
                       
Finally, the timeline – sometimes we start at a point in the future and work backwards, sometimes we start with a statement, ‘Tory was very proud of her son, Tom,’ and then go into his sad story. Is this something that comes naturally to you as a writer, or do you have to plan the structure of a chapter - or novel - in detail?

The movement of a story through its scenes and chapters is not something
that I plan much in advance but emerges through successive redrafting.

Thank you so much Gerard, for indulging my curiosity. 

Nourishment by Gerard Woodward is now in paperback.  
                                       

Tuesday 30 August 2011

What I'm selling on eBay

As the weather's recently got quite autumnal I decided to start my annual summer to winter wardrobe sort out. At the end of the season I'm quite strict with myself and put summer in boxes and bring out the stuff that I've put away last spring, and vice versa for the winter clothes. This twice-a-year ritual is quite good for several reasons: it makes me look at my old clothes and accessories in a completely new light: every time there are several garments I've forgotten about. If things still fit me, the whole process makes me feel pretty good about myself - if they are loose, even better (this has only happened on one occasion years ago, but I live in hope). Finally, it's a way of discarding things which I've just not worn, or are past their best, or too tight (ouch) or too loose (jippee).

While going through my wardrobe at the weekend, I saw a couple of items that although I absolutely love, I just have never worn. Both are new and never worn: an Issa top and a pair of Parisian slouchy boots. Perfect for eBay!

Slouchy Yellow Mellow boots, on sale here 

Issa silk jersey wrap-over top, on sale here

Wish me luck with the rest of my wardrobe reorganisation!

Sunday 28 August 2011

A cool city dog

Our little terrier as a puppy
I'm so impressed how our little border terrier has adapted to city life. When we moved up to London from the sticks a year ago, he'd been a country dog for all of his life. He was born only half a mile down the lane from where we lived; he'd hardly spent any time on the lead; he rarely met other dogs than those on the two neighbouring farms. He'd never been to a city before we brought him here to Hampstead. And he was not a young dog either - he was seven when we moved.

Now, only twelve months later, he walks nearly perfectly on the lead (as much as a border terrier ever will); he doesn't think every person and dog on the Heath is his friend; he comes when he's called - eventually. I've even managed to teach him how to stay with me off the lead when crossing the road, and to sit when I'm taking him on and off the lead. The power of doggie biscuits!

What's more the terrier who used to disappear across the fields chasing after a deer (we often wondered what he would do if he actually caught one) now doesn't even bother running after a stray pigeon.

At the Yuppy Puppy on Finchley Road
Plus our butch little terrier has even go used to the doggy parlour. Only once did I have to collect him early when he got rather amorous with a young lady poodle...

Thursday 25 August 2011

Ladudu in West Hampstead

Ladudu
I love Twitter. About noon today when both the Englishman and I were busily working away in our separate rooms at home, I had an email from him, 'Let's go for lunch.'  He'd seen a Tweet via West Hampstead that a new Vietnamese place on West End Lane, Ladudu, had a special lunch offer: a noodle soup and drink for £7-00. It was perfect as I really needed to get out of the house for an hour and The Englishman needed to catch a bus into town from West End Lane.

Ladudu is just off the West Hampstead tube and is a room kitted out with a combination of brown sofas and stools, with low slung lighting. My heart sank a bit at the decor - it looked more like a furniture store than a restaurant.

But as soon as the staff showed us to our table and the friendly owner came over to take our order, I settled down. I decided to have the vegetable noodle soup and the Englishman the beef one. We both opted for the mixed fruit juice, which was freshly pressed carrot, apple and orange. It was really good, not too carroty, or sweet.

When my noodle soup arrived there was a wonderful scent of lemongrass and spices; I later realised there was cardamon in the broth as well as the two tiny quils' eggs nestled amongst strips of fried tofu, thinly sliced celery and beansprouts. The Englishman finished all of his cinnamon spiced soup in record time and said it was delicious.

Beef rice noodle soup
After the meal I felt so healthy - something I haven't been feeling lately.

The chef and owner of this little Vietnamese place in NW6, Teresa Le, was delighted to hear we'd seen the lunch offer though Twitter. 'It works then,' she smiled. It does definitely work and what's more we'll definitely be back. Especially if there are more unbeatable offers like this one.

Ladudu
152 West End Lane
West Hampstead
London
NW6 1SD
Tel: 020 7372 3217
Open 7 days a week (closed on Bank holiday 29th August 2011)

Food served from:
lunch : 11am - 3.30pm 
dinner : 6.30pm - 10.30pm 

Wednesday 24 August 2011

Vogue's Fashion's Night Out

Bond Street, London
Don't you sometimes miss good old fashioned high-street shopping? I get most of my clothes - even shoes - online now and never seem to have time to get some serious retail therapy in London. When we moved here a year ago (I know - doesn't time fly?) from the sticks, I imagined myself popping up to Selfridges and Liberty's - my favourite stores in London - almost every day. In reality, when I'm in town, I'm rushing from one place to another and very rarely have time to actually go into the shops.

That's why the letter I received today about a special Vogue shopping event taking place on 8th September in London was such a nice surprise.  Fashion's Night Out event is already in its third year, but it seems such a fun idea. Bond Street is going to be traffic free; over 200 shops and stores are taking part and organising fashion shows, roller discos, pop-up restaurants and styling sessions.

This is just the boot up the whatsits I needed to take more time to shop in real shops. As silly as that sounds...!

All details about the night are here.

Tuesday 23 August 2011

'Salt of Life' at The Everyman Cinema in Hampstead

Valeria De Franciscis and Gianni Di Gregorio in Salt of Life. Picture Guardian online 
If you love Italy (Rome in particular) you'll love this film. It's a gentle, tragic and funny story of Gianni, a fifty-year-old man who after having been made redundant is being trampled on by all the women around him. His wife sleeps in a separate bedroom but is each morning brought coffee on a tray by Gianni. His mother (absolutely brilliantly acted by Valeria De Franciscis) calls him incessantly, always demanding attention, faking illness and generally being a strain on his resources, both mental and financial, yet has an observant mind and a sharp tongue, 'You retire at fifty now?'

Gianni's daughter is sweet but equally oblivious to her father's mounting unhappiness, while his beautiful young neighbour flirts with him unashamedly in order to receive dog-walking favours.

What Gianni really would like is a good lover, but in spite of seeing amorous goings-on all around him, Gianni just doesn't seem to be able to get some for himself, not even with the help of his old lawyer friend, Alfonso, nor his daughter's layabout boyfriend, Michelangelo. (What a name!)

There's little plot, and I would have wanted to see some development in Gianni's life, rather than a number of consequential amusing and rather sad scenes. Daughter, who's about to embark on her own Italian odyssey soon, thought the main character didn't really go on much of a journey. The Englishman said it was as if we'd just spent a week with an Italian family; it was as if we'd been on a holiday to Rome again. (I wish)

But just like spending time in Italy, the film brought home to me how differently we here in England (or Northern Europe) regard love and marriage. Although I felt sorry for the ageing, unloved Gianni, I couldn't exercise too much sympathy for an Italian man who seemed to think having a lover was his right, not something morally wrong.

But then I know I take these things far too seriously. 'It's only moving pictures,' as my old grandfather used to say when my grandmother was in tears over some TV series or other.

Saturday 20 August 2011

Helena samples Blossom Hill Vineyard Collection White

Blossom Hill has just launched a premium range of wines called Vineyard Collection. The white wine is a blend of grapes including Blanc, French Colombard and Chardonnay.

The wine arrived in a very stylish box - a girl appreciates these nice little details.
I don't usually choose a wine with the Chardonnay grape in it - and this has nothing to do with the silly character in the TV series Footballers' Wives, or snobbery for that matter - but when a bottle of Blossom Hill Californian wine arrives in the post, what is a girl to do but to drink it?
Remember Chardonnay?

But I was pleasantly surprised how tasty it was. There were none of the (to me) overly sweet scents. Instead I got citrus flavours. According to Blossom Hill there's 'Ripe melon, apricot and delicate vanilla.' My tastebuds aren't that delicate, but I could agree with them: it's a highly quaffable wine, drunk on its own or with chicken and fish dishes. I found myself humming, 'I wish they all could be Californian girls wines'.

The bottle didn't last very long between our little panel of three, and both the Englishman and Son's Girlfriend said they'd buy a bottle of Vineyard Collection again.

I just managed to get a picture of the last of the summer's wine (OK, that's enough TV references)
At a price of £5-99 a bottle, the Vineyard Colection isn't a bad choice for weekend tipple.

Blossom Hill Vineyard Collection White (Blanc, French Colombard and Chardonnay)
Available from major wine retailers. 

(Helena was gifted this wine and nice it was too - thank you Blossom Hill!)

Friday 19 August 2011

A true story: me as mission control


Last night I got a call from Son, 'Have you got mummu's (Granny in Finnish) telephone number?'

I was in London, he was in Sweden, with my mother - or so I thought.

'Yes, but persumably you're on the same ferry with her and can locate her without having to use your mobile?' I asked, drily. My clever son is not known for caring much about life's boring little practicalities. I knew he was travelling from Stockholm to Mariehamn with my mother. The cost of mobile telephone calls between Swedish and English phones are astronomical so we try to avoid calling each other when on holiday.

'No, I'm on the side of the road and they've driven off!' said Son.

I listened in stunned silence (Husband told me later my jaw literally dropped). My son, mother and step-father had been driving along the road from Stockholm to the port of Kapellskär when the engine made an unusual noise. They stopped at the side of the road. Son decided to get out of the car and investigate. When the door slammed shut my mother drove off.

'Didn't you try to wave?' I managed to say. I know this is bad of me, but I was trying to stifle a giggle.

But Son was more than a little perturbed, 'Of course I did - like mad! I'm on the side of the road somewhere in the middle of bloody Swedish countryside and they've driven off without me!' he repeated.

He had a point; I could picture the deserted road, the dark woods all around him. (My novelist brain was in overdrive).

It had become serious. Thinking about it, the situation wasn't funny anymore.

And my mother wasn't answering her mobile. I later found out it was because she'd had it on silent after the funeral they'd attended that morning. (Another story) I quickly penned a text that I'm sure I'll not see the like of in the history of texting: 'Mum, look behind you, you grandson's not in the car!'

On the sofa opposite me in London, the Englishman and Son's Girlfriend (who happened to be with us) stared at each other, then both turned to look at me. 'How do two adults manage to leave the third on the side of the road without meaning to?' said The Englishman.

Girlfriend, who luckily for my son has a strong practical streak, said, 'Do you think he has his wallet with him?' Her thinking was that if my mother didn't realise Son was missing, she could easily drive onto the ferry and sail off to Mariehamn without him.

I saw what she meant; they were late for the last Ålandsfärjan already. We've made the same ferry by the skin of our teeth many times; there's not even been time to get out of the car before the bow doors have been shut. What if this happened now? At least if Son had money and credit cards he could walk to the nearest house, or village, and get help. But was Sweden as safe as it used to be? Would anyone let him in at seven in the evening? He was in the countryside and spoke no Swedish. An episode of Wallander began to play in front of my eyes.

Girlfriend and I stared at each other when there was another call, 'They've just driven past me, not spotting me!'

Then my mother called, panicked, 'This is terrible, I can't believe it. We thought he just opened the car door to look at the wheels, and was back in the car, and the sun is so low, and I can't see through my windscreen, and there's something wrong with the wipers, and the water won't come out, and I had my phone off because of the funeral, you know...'

My mother speaks little English and my son basic Finnish, which make communications a little difficult at times.

'Calm down, mum,' I had to hide my own growing panic, 'Just turn around and try to find him again.' Son on the other line said - rather quick thinking of him in the circumstances - that he could see a road sign for the next village. I repeated the name to my mother. 'Ah, I know where he is,' she said, a little more calmly.

A few minutes later I had a text from son saying he was back in the car.

'Have a schnapps with your smörgåsbord on the ferry,' I texted back.

'Thanks, Mission Control,' came the reply.

Thursday 18 August 2011

Mary Queen of Shops and My Mother

Mary Portas. Photo: Telegraph.com
I am extremely happy to see that Mary Portas new collection at House of Fraser is aimed at the over 40's. As she says, it's this market segment that has money to spend - not the one populated by the 20-somethings. (Sad as that may be). So why are the models in magazines so young? Maybe, like sex, youth sells?

I thought it was interesting that at the same time as Mary has began a crusade for women looking beautiful at any age, my mother has been approached to model clothes for a fashion boutique in Stockholm. In spite of being in her seventies, she was told she is the perfect shape to take part in their fashion shows.

In a way this came as no surprise to me; she follows the trends - in a grown-up way. Also, in addition to dressing fashionably, she's always looked much younger than her age. When we're out together, I am often (in fact almost every time) mistaken for her sister. People are genuinely astonished to find that there is an age gap of over twenty years between us. When I was a teenager this was intensely annoying, now I am rather flattered and hopeful those same genes will serve me well too. (I am an optimist by nature).

So here's to older women looking beautiful. I will check out Mary Portas collection at House of Fraser on Oxford Street as soon as I can. In the meantime, here are a few pictures of The Mannequin, a nickname my step-father has coined for my mother.

My mother in Östermalmshallen in Stockholm

On her 70th Birthday
With me, in the kitchen, preparing for some party or other....

Wednesday 17 August 2011

My new favourite shampoo: Pureology

Pureology Super Smooth Shampoo
Good looking hair is a priority for me, because I've always felt it's my best feature. You know how we all think that there's one thing that's ok about our bodies and that if it's not looked after our appearance suffers more than if we neglected something else (like nails...you should see mine at the moment).

Since I've succumbed to the super time-saving Brazilian hair blow dry, I've been using the Pureology range of shampoo and conditioner called Super Smooth. This range was recommended to me by my lovely hairdresser, Claire at the Bloww Salon on Glasshouse Street in London.

Me at the Bloww salon before the magic happens...
My hair after the treatment

Like the treatment, this hair care product range isn't cheap, but it's not the most expensive range of hair products I've ever used either. And it leaves my hair looking good. As I said, a good hair day boosts my confidence in a way I just cannot describe.

While on the lookout for the cheapest place to find this product, I did some quick online market research and found Beautifully Gorgeous. This site seemed OK, it was easy to navigate and the prices and products were displayed clearly.

Keep your fingers crossed they deliver fast, though, because I've all but run out of my shampoo.

Pureology Super Smooth Shampoo 300 ml £11.70
Pureology Super Smooth Conditioner 250ml £13.40
P&P £3.50 (Free delivery on orders over £50-00)

(Just a note: this is not a sponsored post)

Tuesday 16 August 2011

A little bit of Sicily in Åland

Rosario Brancato of Belissimo Glassbar
Åland islands (where we go on our summer holidays) has always been culturally a funny sort of a place. It's closer to Sweden than Finland, yet is an autonomous part of Finland. It has a rich history of seafaring; it even played a role in the Crimean war when the English invaded part of the islands. There's a small green space in Mariehamn called The English Park as a sort monument.

Yet Åland has remained defensively, almost stubbornly, unique. Even post EU membership, there's still legislation in force to protect the islanders from foreign invasion. In order to own land there, or to trade, you basically need to be Finnish and speak passable Swedish (this, odd as it may seem, is quite rare), or marry an Ålänning. Even having passed these tests, you have to live on the islands continuously for five years in order to earn your Åland stripes.

No wonder, then, that there aren't many foreign cafes or restaurants in the capital Mariehamn: so far during the twenty or so years we've been visiting the islands, we've noticed one Thai restaurant, a cafe/home-made chocolate shop run by a Venezuelan lady, a fast food kebab house, and now most recently a Sicilian cafe/bar.

Bellissimo cafe in Mariehamn
This year's newcomer, a Sicilian cafe called Bellissimo, seems to have arrived without much fuss. When the Englishman and I passed it the first time, we didn't go in as the place looked so unremarkable from the outside. But when shopping with my mother in the town a few days later she dragged me inside. (She's always keen to try anything new in Mariehamn.)

We were welcomed with a loud 'Ciao' from the owner, Rosario Brancato, who was busily wiping the counter. When I spotted an expresso machine and a display of ice-creams and the word 'Gelatiera', I was sold. My mother had in her turn spotted the apple cake. Just as in Italy - or Sicily - the man frowned at the request of skimmed milk, so we had double expressos instead of our usual mid-morning lattes. After a long time at the ice-cream counter I chose the cherry yoghurt whip. And boy, was it delicious (so much so I again forgot to take a picture!). My mother's apple cake was equally tasty.

The choice of ice-creams was overwhelming
The apple cake went so quickly I hardly had time to photograph it...
The ice-cream counter was busy
On leaving, Rosario shouted, 'Grazie mille signora!' My mother turned to him, smiled sweetly, and said, 'Ciao'.

This licensed Sicilian cafe should do well in Mariehamn - all I'd ask is that they advertise themselves a little more visibly to the many tourists - an Italian flag outside would do the trick nicely.

Monday 15 August 2011

Do you follow The Rules?

One of the things I really miss when away from London is my weekly dose of celebrity gossip and fashion in the form of the weekly magazine, Grazia. I know reading it is silly, and a useless waste of time. Plus my weekly bad habit probably feeds the dubious methods of the paparazzi and the gutter press. I'm also aware who owns the magazine, still, I just cannot help myself.

In this week's Grazia, which I devoured yesterday, there was a headline, (it ended with a question mark, so I presume it had no relation to reality or the truth) about Blake Lively and Leo DiCaprio. It's rumoured that Blake has hooked the 'straying' actor with following The Rules a la the 1990's book by Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider. You know the ones that could have been taken from the script of Mad Men about how to get Mr Right. According to them a girl is to remain aloof in the relationship, never to be the one to call him first, have other interests than him (wow!), not to say 'I love you' first, make him jealous, etc., etc.

Blake and Leo in New York. Photo: Greatnewmovies 
This, I presume, is in stark opposition to the tactics deployed by Miss Hurley, who seems to have manufactured Mr Right out of the original bad boy cricketer Shane Warne. He now looks more like Barbie's Ken than a real person.

The Real Shane?
Shane or Ken? Picture: Getty Images
So, ladies, which are you? Follower of The Rules or Self-build-your-man-Hurley?    

Sunday 14 August 2011

Åland Islands: Glada Laxen restaurant in Bärö



On Friday, the last but one day of our week-long holiday to the Åland Islands we joined my family to celebrate a 75th Birthday by visiting a remote island restaurant, The Glada Laxen, near Kumlinge in Bärö. This restaurant belongs to a number of establishments listed in The Best of the Archipelago guide, so we had high expectations.


Sailing in the Baltic

The weather was sunny and warm - not as hot as it had been in Finland over the summer - but it was perfect weather for a spot of island hopping. We began the journey from our base on the island, Lemland, by driving Northeast via Bommarsund to Prästö, where a small cable ferry took us over the water and to another island, Vårdö, where we picked up a larger car ferry. These car ferries criss-cross the archipelago, with a schedule that 'You need a masters degree in to understand' (comment by locally born and raised birthday boy). All the same as a foot passenger you pay nothing. We left our two cars behind in the deserted car park at Vårdö so all of us could enjoy a drink. Onboard the ferry there was a bar and the hour's or so trip to Enklinge went quickly while we admired the scenery (which I never tire of) and toasted our 75-year-old youngster.


The car ferry dropping us off at Enklinge.
Inside the ferry isn't exactly luxurious, but its clean and roomy.

Once the ship dropped us off on the island of Enklinge, we did feel a little abandoned, but were soon picked up by the friendly owner of the Glada Laxen restaurant, Henrik.

I could quite easily live here...though the commute to London might be a little tricky.

Our host and chauffeur.
First view of Bärö and the Glada Laxen
Onboard Henrik's motorboat we were quickly whisked off to Bärö, a former Finnish coastal guard station. The braver of us climbed the now redundant guard tower, an experience they said they'd rather not repeat.

The top viewing platform had a slatted floor.

The view from the Bärö watch tower 
Because I was still recovering from my op, I stayed put on the sunny but windy terrace and began to study the menu at Glada Laxen.



I decided to have the 'Archipelago bread' with a seafood röra - a mixture of prawns, whitefish roe, gravad lax, dill and soured cream. The other dishes around the table looked equally delicious.

My seafood röra

Gravad (marinated) siik (whitefish)
Archipelago tapas including whitefish roe, dill marinated herring and smoked salmon.
En route from Enklinge our host had picked up some fresh abborre (pike perch) fillets prepared by his fisherman friend on a nearby island (we were in the deepest darkest Åland archipelago). Henrik prepared this local fish simply for our main course by covering the fillets thinly with rye flour and frying them in butter. With a cold herb sauce of soured cream, tasty new potatoes, lettuce and tomatoes from his own vegetable garden, this was one of the best traditionally cooked abborre I've ever had in Åland. Just a  note to save my neck here - nothing beats abborre caught and smoked by the birthday boy in Lemland. Although it says something that he too loved this dish - and he's a man who very rarely orders fish in a restaurant.  


The other main course chosen by our party was lamb raised by Henrik himself. I don't eat lamb - one of the few things I don't like - but according to the Englishman it was delicious.


The small kitchen at the Glada Laxen
 For pudding we had yet another traditional local dish: Ålands pannkaka.

The Åland pancake was served with whipped cream and lightly stewed blueberries.
About half way through our meal we were joined in the otherwise empty restaurant by three sailors. They were in good voice, singing schnapps songs. 


When they found out the cause for our celebration, they promptly got up and sang 'Ja må han leva' - the birthday song in Swedish. After we'd chatted about the food for a bit, we suddenly realised we had acquaintances in common. One of the sailors had also studied at the same university as I did (although a good few years before me) and we knew some of the same tutors. 'It's a small world,' commented the Swedish speaking Finn from Helsinki. 'Or a small archipelago,' I thought.

This is definitely the best way to visit the Glada Laxen

Henrik delivering us back to Enklinge to catch the last ferry of the day back to Vårdö.
The position in the middle of the beautiful Åland archipelago and the clean, fresh taste of the food at Glada Laxen receive top marks from me. Also the food wasn't over salted, as is often the case nowadays in Finland and Sweden. However, I was a little disappointed in the surroundings: the terrace had seen better days. In a top restaurant people expect high quality furnishings as well as good food. White plastic flower pots and mis-matching, chipped chairs won't do. The dining room inside too needed some investment; there were paper napkins, the glass-topped tables were easy to clean, I'm sure, but wouldn't inspire a picky customer. The menu was good, short and not too pricey; but the cost at the end was the same one would pay in Mariehamn, Stockholm or Helsinki.

Would I visit Glada Laxen again? If I was sailing past, yes, if nothing but for the friendly, all-accomodating service and the excellent, fresh fish.

Bye, bye Henrik and Glada Laxen