The German Gymnasium provides a perfect culinary Christmas work out

Kholrabi and beets

Back in the dim and distant past (late 1999 to early 2000, to be precise), I worked in Camden and travelled there daily via two buses. The second was a 214 and I was often joined by a colleague at the time.

He was German – complete with huge, soup-straining moustache. And, as the bus turned down Pancras Road, he introduced me to the German Gymnasium – the first purpose-built gymnasium in England, and key in the development of athletics in this country.

Designed by Edward Gruning, it was built in 1864-65 for the German Gymnastics Society, at a time when there was a large German population in the city – and it was funded solely by that community and was used by both men and women (women’s classes were first held there in 1866).

It ceased to be used for its original purpose at some point before WWII and subsequently played a variety of roles, from office space to storage space to exhibition space.

But, with the regeneration of the whole King’s Cross area over recent years, the building has, in the past 18 months, been reborn as a cafe, bar and restaurant, with a menu that more than nods at German and central European cooking.

The Other Half and I, having some schooling in German food, had always intended to visit, but you know how it is, and it was only on a work-related Christmas lunch today that we finally made it.

It’s a wonderful space: cafe and bar on her ground floor and the restaurant at mezzanine level. Amazingly, it manages to feel spacious but without any overt echo.

The OH started with a smoked pork sausage salad, which I am assured was very good, while I opted for marinated kohlrabi, sweet and sour beets, horseradish and rocket.

There was too much rocket. However, the beets were beautiful – so earthily sweet – and the kohlrabi, while thick, was very, very tasty. It’s probably the first time I’ve really appreciated horseradish, and it complimented those sweet beets so well. All in all, it was remarkably light, yet perfect for the season.

Venison Baden Baden

For a main, we both opted for Venison “Baden Baden”, which was centred around two lovely pieces of meat (cooked rare, as asked), and with sprouts, a halved pear stuffed with sharp lingonberries, Germany’s noodle, Spätzle, and a juniper jus.

This was simply wonderful, seasonal food. The flavours sing – the pear and lingonberries are such a good compliment to the meat, cutting through its sweetness at slightly different levels, while the Spätzle was not overdone and added a fine extra component, and the jus was simply divine.

Accompanied by a glass of Gewürztraminer from Italy, this was a truly excellent dish.

For dessert, I opted for a sea buckthorn mousse, with a pumpernickel ice cream, Glühwein gel, spiced sponge and pistachio shards – and it was also a delight.

Now, I’m a raving Germanophile – as regular readers here will know – but this is a fascinating restaurant, taking German food and showing its haute cuisine side for sceptical Brits.

It’s worth noting that we were some such diners – who had little familiarity with the reality of German food and only a British stereotype, and they were equally impressed if certainly more surprised.

Service was excellent and, to be frank, it was the best Christmas work-related lunch I’ve ever had.

I doubt it’ll be the last time that the OH and I dine there – and I’d heartily recommend it to anyone.

My late German friend, though he might have found the food itself a little fussy, would have bristled with delight at the thought that such a building, with such a German heritage, is now showing Brits just how good German food can be.

When monsters help face life's brutality

There is little that is as infuriating as feeling that one is being manipulated into crying by a piece of entertainment.

Now of course, almost all entertainment seeks to manipulate the emotions, but some instances are rather more subtle than others.

And where the unsubtle can annoy, the subtle can have a cathartic effect.

With A Monster Calls, it’s very much a case of the latter.

Written by Patrick Ness and based on his own novel of the same name (which itself originated from an idea by Siobhan Dowd, who died from cancer before she could develop it), the film follows schoolboy Conor O’Malley as he faces the terminal illness of his mother.

His father is in the US with a new family, his grandmother is a cold, uptight figure and he’s being bullied at school.

But one night, an ancient Yew from a nearby churchyard roars into life as a monstrous tree, and challenges Connor to listen to three stories – told through beautiful animations – asserting that then Connor himself must tell a fourth but that it must be the truth.

An extraordinary screen representation of complex emotions, it bucks most current cinematic trends – not least in leaving some viewers wondering what age group it’s really ‘meant’ for, as though such stories can be filed away conveniently in boxes divided neatly along the lines of age.

To work, not only does this require an assured but delicate touch from director JA Bayona, but a top-notch cast too.

Signourney Weaver is excellent as the grandmother, while Tony Kebbell as the departed father adds to the sense of adults not knowing how to reach out to the boy.

If there’s a problem – and this risks being churlish – it’s that Felicity Jones as the dying mother can seem altogether too saintly in her suffering, although it’s to the film’s credit that the brutal progress of the cancer is portrayed utterly unflinchingly.

But boy and monster are at the heart of this.

Lewis MacDougall as Connor turns in a super performance of remarkable nuance and depth, while Liam Neeson lends a deep, primal power to the monster of the title.

A tale about truth and emotion, the power of stories and so much more, it could, all too easily, have lapsed into mawkish sentimentality, but it steers a clear path throughout to place before us a profoundly moving experience.

It opens across the UK on 1 January and should be widely seen. Just don’t forget the hankies.

Rogue One arrives in the Star Wars orbit

Given the classic Hammer films that he appeared in, there is something quite apt about seeing Peter Cushing reanimated for another cinematic fling, 22 years after his death.

The distinctive British actor appearance as Grand Moff Tarkin is one of the major talking points of Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, the first in a series of stand-alone films now being made as Disney successfully reboots the franchise that its own creator had seemingly done so much to damage.

Having declared that only the initial trilogy is cannonic, Disney has set about delighting those fans who felt desperately let down by George Lucas’s subsequent trilogy (supposedly a prequel) and his insistence on remastering the first three films to take account, amongst other things, of the actors playing the same roles in the prequels.

Indeed, if Disney had taken this approach on board, they’d have had to remaster Star Wars: A New Hope all over again – with whoever else they had cast as Tarkin for Rogue One then the relevant bits to be inserted into A New Hope.

Given that rather mind-bending thought – and the simple observation that being able to bring dead actors back to life digitally has been discussed for a good decade plus, the squeamishness that has surfaced seems a tad odd.

Still, this hasn’t stopped the film getting good reviews and already proving a hit with fans.

And it’s little wonder.

Finally, we’ve got the prequel we wanted – the one that shows how, as the iconic opening crawl of the 1977 original pointed out, the rebels have got hold of the plans to the Death Star.

That crawl said: “It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire.

“During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the Empire’s ultimate weapon, the DEATH STAR, an armored space station with enough power to destroy an entire planet.

“Pursued by the Empire’s sinister agents, Princess Leia races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy ...”

So the story that Rogue One gives us is just how they got the plans.

The central protagonist is Jyn Erso, a young women whose father is an Imperial scientist. Her own past is murky, and she’s rescued from an Imperial prison by the Rebel Alliance, which wants her to test the veracity of claims by a defecting pilot that the Empire is building a massive new weapon.

With the offer of freedom if she undertakes the mission, Erso sets off with Rebel officer Cassian Andor and his de-programmed Imperial droid, K-2SO.

And as their quest picks up steam, so they pick up more allies.

Far grittier and darker than the previous films, Gareth Edwards’s direction and Chris Weitz and Tony Gilroy’s screenplay still ensures that it has the feel of a proper Star Wars film.

The battle scenes on land and in the sky are stunning, while there’s just enough character development to have you caring about our central group.

In Felicity Jones, Erso is a feisty young woman; beset with her own demons and doubts, and not unafraid, but with the guts to take a lead when others fail.

Diego Luna gives good support as Andor, as do Donnie Yen as a blind martial arts warrior who believes in the Force, Jiang Wen as his close associate, Forest Whitaker as a fanatical veteran rebel and Ben Mendelsohn as director of weapons research for the Empire.

James Earl Jones brings his resonant tones back for Darth Vader – whose initial appearance is fabulously shot and whose final scene in this film is simply spine tingling.

And there has to be a special mention for K-2SO (voiced by Alan Tudyk), who is the best Star Wars droid bar none.

This, George, is how you add a bit of humour to one of the films – sadly, Jar Jar Bloody Binks cannot be unremembered.

And as for Peter Cushing? Well, Tarkin is actually played here by Guy Henry, with Cushing’s likeness then applied digitally.

It’s not gratuitous, but helps cement the film exactly where it should be in the canon. And if it has an air of creepiness – then it’s a perfect fit for the sinister nature of the character.

I like to think that Cushing himself would have been wryly amused.

So, some serious Star Wars cinematic enjoyment, which will keep us going before next December’s scheduled release for Episode VIII.

Sex, materialism, a fab soprano and wonderful food

Manon and her brother

“Why shouldn’t there be two operas about Manon? A woman like Manon can have more than one lover,” said Puccini, when challenged over his choice of the same source material as that used by Massenet just nine years earlier.

And he went on: “Massenet feels it as a Frenchman, with powder and minuets. I shall feel it as an Italian, with a desperate passion.”

The story of Manon Lescaut is based own a 1731 novel, L’histoire du chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut by the Abbé Prévost (all “powder and minuets” – or the literary equivalent of the latter, presumably).

That the libretto was put together by five writers chosen by Puccini, plus his publisher and himself, suggests an early version of US sit-coms by committee, but like some of those, somehow it works. Though it is advisable, as always with Puccini, not to look for any great profundity in the text.

This Royal Opera House production by Jonathan Kent debuted in 2014 and this first revival is directed by Paul Higgins.

Controversial for its suggestions of sex trafficking and prostitution, it’s an entirely modern setting of a work that has been considered troublesome to update.

So does it work? Well, to answer this, we need to take a closer look at Puccini’s version.

The story revolves around Manon Lescaut, a young woman whose father has decreed that she enter a convent and has entrusted her brother with ensuring it happens.

However, on the eve of her entry into the convent, she meets Des Grieux, a student who falls head over heels in love with her and urges her to run away with him.

In the meantime, Geronte di Revoir, an elderly treasurer general, tells her brother, who is escorting her to the convent, that Manon would be wasted in a convent – and her brother starts to have second thoughts about his task.

As her sibling is caught up in gambling, Geronte plots to take her to Paris with him instead – but Manon has already fled with Des Grieux.

Fast forward to Act II, where we find a pampered Manon living in opulence paid for by Geronte, who had hunted her down with the aid of her brother.

And after an initial period of love with Des Grieux, it seems that Manon had realised that love was not enough for her and that she required the material comforts that a poor student could not hope to afford.

Now, she’s putting on sex shows for Geronte’s friends, but when Des Grieux turns up, she has the chance to flee once more for love.

However, Manon’s material instincts come to the fore again and, so determined is she to pack as many jewels as possible, she’s unable to make her escape in time.

Geronte, feeling betrayed and being – here’s a guess – impotent in more ways than one, has shopped her to the authorities as a prostitute, and she’s taken by those authorities to be sent into exile in the New World with other sex workers.

But as the women (they’re all women, of course) brave a jeering crowd, Des Grieux steps forward once more and begs to be allowed to go into exile with her.

Finally, she dies in his arms in the middle of an American plain, realising the error of her materialistic ways and the value of true love – his for her and her’s for him.

It’s not hard to see that, texturally, there are things that modern sensibilities might find difficult. It’s also perhaps predictable that sex is the biggest problem for some – although in the case of both Des Grieux and later, Geronte, Manon makes her own choice to go with them.

Although the libretto uses the word ‘abduction’, she makes her own decisions.

Indeed, if we were going to talk of ‘trafficking’ in terms of Manon herself, then in modern terms, that would most appropriately apply to the initial decision of her father to force her in a convent – without any consideration for his daughter’s own choice.

Of course, hypocrisy about female sexuality is highlighted, but it’s also difficult not to see that, in terms of cause and effect, it’s not sex that gets Manon in trouble, but her devoted insistence upon trying to grab all the jewels possible rather than flee from the authorities after the lovers have been warned that they are coming for her.

It seems reasonable to suggest that what has upset some in terms of this production is that it makes these issues clear – perhaps, to some minds, such uncomfortable questions sully the lovely music?

And oh, the music is lovely.

It never ceases to amaze me how modern Puccini sounds – and while there are moments here that reflect the influence of Wagner (the later stages of Act II specifically), there are also sounds that seem to predict Ravel.

Of the cast in this revival, we were unfortunate that Aleksandrs Antonenko as Des Grieux was struggling with a sore throat (his apologies and plea for understanding conveyed to the audience during the evening, and totally understood), but it certainly didn't ruin the evening.

Sondra Radvanovsky was simply radiant as Manon: what a wonderful, soaring soprano – she hits the heights with apparent ease and is convincing in all other ways that the role demands too.

She creates for us a tragic heroine who is at once earthy yet saint; gritty, yet vulnerable. A wonderful performance – and honestly, I was aware of wearing an expression of delight during some of her singing. 

Ricotta underneath – delicate ribbons of butternut atop 

Levente Molnár’s Lescaut and Eric Halfvarson’s Geronte are both more than up the the task.

In the pit, the orchestra were excellent, with Antonio Pappano demonstrating once more his superb command of Puccini.

But before we got to the auditorium, we also dined in the Amphitheatre Restaurant for the first time, since it was the start of my birthday weekend.

I enjoyed a starter of truffled Westcombe ricotta, with ribbons and roasted cubes of butternut, and toasted pine nuts, micro herbs and a very subtle dressing.

The cheese was utterly delightful and the truffling serious.

The Other Half enjoyed a service of sea bass with fennel and orange – a perfect winter salad.

For a main, both of us opted for guinea fowl.

Now, I love game, but am not really familiar with this bird.

It was advertised as a ballotine, but was not. That was no problem. As a game bird, it was dryish, but the accompaniments of a frankly sensational jus, beautiful creamed parsnip, turned and cooked dessert apple and a bed of baby spinach more than assured that it was not a dry dish.

We had a single side portion of boulangerie potatoes between us.

For dessert, The Other Half went for 'winter fruits' (pineapple, pomegranate, papaya, melon and clementine), while I picked a poached Comice pear with quenelles of what turned out to be an insanely smooth Poire Williams cream.

We haven’t eaten at a theatre restaurant for a good 15 years: that was the Barbican and it was a bad experience – not helped by being far in advance of what we were used to at that stage.

This was not cheap (as we knew when we booked) but it was very, very good food and was also a very pleasant dining experience that made for a perfectly relaxed way to start the evening.

And as for being able to leave your dessert until the interval – well, that’s simply inspired.

I spent several years imagining that the Royal Opera House would be, per se, VERY expensive and also rather intimidating.

In terms of seats, prices are essentially better than those in the West End – and generally speaking, far more so.

In terms of atmosphere, I continue to be delighted and surprised by a friendliness that I have never experienced in any other live performance setting. Covent Garden is the only place where I've found myself engaged in conversation with complete strangers about what we’re going to see – and not in a negative way.

Alongside the Vue cinema in Islington, where we have thoroughly enjoyed deeply intellectual Marvel  and movies this year, the Royal Opera House has become somewhere I feel wonderfully at home.

All in all, this was a close-to-perfect evening.

And if memory serves me correctly, there’s more Puccini coming in the summer season …

Arrival is well worth the cinematic journey

Is it better to have loved than have lost? The question asked by director Denis Villeneuve’s new film, Arrival, is very much along the same philosophical lines, and getting to that point provides viewers with a compelling, grown-up, cerebral cinematic experience.

Based on Ted Chiang’s Nebula-winning short story, Story of Your Life.

Some time after a family tragedy, linguist Louise Banks is visited by the US military, for who she has previously undertaken translation work.

This time, the world is in panic after 12 vast spacecraft appear across the globe, hovering just above terra firma.

With host nations forced into sharing information in an effort to work out what’s happening, Banks is to accompany Ian Donnelly, a military theoretical physicist inside a ship in Montana, where they will face a pair of aliens and try to communicate.

But as they appear to be making some headway, crisis nears, as one host nation after another threatens to attack the unknown visitors.

It’s to Villeneuve’s great credit that a film where linguistics is such an important component never lags, even though it builds up slowly and allows time for some linguistic theory to be explained. And however emotional the story is – and it is – it never leaks into mawkishness or cheap sentimentality.

The aliens are as alien as could be imagined and, even more important, their way of communication is also completely alien, while Bank’s methods of trying to break down that barrier ring completely true.

Amy Adams turns in a superb performance as Banks – quietness, fortitude, fear and grief all conveyed with great subtlety. It would be a surprise if she doesn't feature when the Oscar nominations are announced early next year.

Jeremy Renner (last seen by me in the utterly dreadful Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters) proves a perfect foil – again, this is a finely-judged piece of screen acting.

Forest Whitaker is in fine form as a senior US military officer, weary, under pressure to provide fast answers, but with enough intelligence to be persuaded by Banks, while Michael Stuhlbarg as a smarmy CIA officer lends further weight to proceedings.

The look of it is fascinating, from soft-focus Montana landscapes to the dark, almost monochrome look of the spacecraft interiors – though one could suggest that some scenes could have benefitted from a little more light, but this is being pernickety.

Jóhan Jóhansson’s score is worth noting, but I particularly liked the use of Max Richter’s On the Nature of Daylight, which bookends the film.

Arrival is a fine, contemplative film. It’s in cinemas now.