Isson is an Australian sunglass brand, founded by Catherine Federici. I first read about Isson in DumboFeather, and have always admired their avant-garde styles. Recently, when doing some picture research on Bauhaus, I came across these wonderfully styled shots:
The Bauhaus collection was shot by Cybele Malinowski, and based around the idea of four eccentric characters who may have attended the school of Bauhaus in 1934. Read more about the different personas here. My favourite is the Alberta Albers image – I think it’s a combinaion of the turban, the chunky jewellery, and the vivacity of that little pug face.
As for the sunglasses – I would love to buy a pair of steam punk inspired Marthas – in tortoiseshell. Nice work, Isson.
“Negativity is the enemy to creativity. So if you want more ideas flowing, happiness in the doing, happiness in the doing, happiness in the doing. I love, capital L-O-V-E, building a thing that ultimately has to feel correct before it’s finished, and that feeling correct is like a drug. It’s like a thing that kicks you and makes you feel so good, You almost pass out. You fall off your feet.”
I scored these two very shiny and pretty cookbooks for a fiver at Oxfam Dalston:
Heston’s Fantastical Feasts by Heston Blumenthal, and Creole by Babette de Rozières. I bought the Blumenthal book mostly because it has instructions on how to make lickable wallpaper, a la Willy Wonka. But I am more excited about the Creole book, described as a “colourful and sumptuous celebration of West Indian Creole cooking”.
Just a bit of a preview before adding the to the towering pile of books next to my bed – aren’t the pictures luscious? Can’t wait to make some of the sweet dishes from the Creole book, like coconut flans with caramel, and try some traditional Guadeloupean ti’punch – a white rum and lime mix.
I’ve been hearing for years that Anthony Bourdain is a bit of a badass, and then a copy of Kitchen Confidential showed up in my Christmas stocking. Funnily enough the parts I’m enjoying thus far, are those moments from a softer time:
My brother and I were reasonably happy here. The beaches were warm, there were lizards to hunt down and exterminate with readily available pétards, firecrackers, which one could buy legally (!) over-the-counter. There was a forest within walking distance where an actual hermit lived, and my brother and I spent hours there, spying on him from the underbrush. By now I could read comic books in French and, of course, I was eating – really eating. Murky brown soupe de poisson, tomato salad, moules marinières, poulet basquaise (we were only a few miles from the Basque country). We made day trips to Cap Ferret, a wild, deserted and breathtakingly magnificent Atlantic beach with big rolling waves, taking along baguettes and saucissons and wheels of cheese, wine and Evian (bottled water was at that time unheard of back home).
A few miles west was Lac Cazeaux, a fresh-water lake where my brother and I could rent pédalo watercraft. We ate gaufres, delicious hot waffles, covered in whipped cream and powdered sugar. The two hot songs of that summer on the Cazeaux jukebox were Whiter Shade Of Pale by Procol Harum and These Boots Were Made For Walkin’ by Nancy Sinatra. The French played those two songs over and over again, the music punctuated by the sonic booms from French air force jets that would swoop over the lake on their way to a nearby bombing range.
There’s something about food & music isn’t there? The two seem inexplicably linked. Laura Vincent of Hungry & Frozen always lovingly lists her current sounds, and Turntable Kitchen matches recipes with records. How does Tame Impala with creamy couscous sound? I think they’ll even post you out a pack of ingredients with a song to match.
Likewise, last night’s Mexican feast at Thor and Liv’s place probably would have had an entirely different atmosphere if we weren’t stuffing our faces to the sweet tunes of Mariachi El Bronx. (By the way, thinly sliced green apple, dressed with fresh lime and Swedish black salt is incredible. Think of that if you listen to the Mariachi song.)
What do you like to listen to when you’re eating, cooking, or dreaming of food?
Last weekend Thom and I headed to Maltby Street in SE1. Tucked away from the tourists of Borough, and far from the puppy mêlée at Broadway Market, it has a reputation as a place to make a food pilgrimage. It’s for serious foodies. Of course, that ruled us out as the target market, but we still enjoyed ducking in and out of the railway-arches-cum-food-warehouses.
There was all manner of things to buy: crumbly cheeses, oatcakes, beer made from New Zealand hops, and fresh shellfish – still wriggling about in their polystyrene coffins. My favourite was the Colombian drinking chocolate, shaved from solid bars, and stirred into warm milk. I also really liked the remanents of industry lying about too – stacks of wood, old radiators, and piles of tiles. It was certainly interesting, so if you’re game for a different Saturday morning scene, head south to Maltby Street.
Steve’s Sydney apartment has it all. Twin chestnut chesterfields, a sun-room peppered with hanging plants, and an appropriately seedy King’s Cross sign. In particular the stacked and strapped filing cabinet wall of storage is an idea I’d like to steal, and a giant mirror wouldn’t go amiss in my house either.
Scooch on over to Apartment Therapy for all the pictures and to read about the inspiration behind it. Meanwhile, I’m still be busily scouring the classifieds for the perfect couch…