The Protest

M and I watched British Muslims protest the Danish cartoons this afternoon as marchers made their way from Trafalgar Square. Although the Times Online described the city’s concerns that violence might erupt, the protestors, though loud and impassioned, marched peacefully. Many of the marchers called for dialogue on a more serious level than cartoons can provide whereas other more misguided protestors argued that a “War on terror is a war on Islam.”

V&A

A block away from the Natural History Museum is the V&A, an art and design museum more along the lines of where M and I envisioned spending our day. Quiet and serene, the V&A was church-like in comparison to the NHM we had just left. I love the museum’s entrance with its large, modern, green-blue chandelier-type ornament hanging from the ceiling. Its shape recalls the image of deep-water vegetation on an ocean floor. Behind the hanging ornament is the Hereford Screen, dated 1862 and made in England. Its enormity is striking; weighing in at eight tons, the metal screen displays the figure of suffering Christ. Arches, columns, and mosaic tiles decorate the quartz and copper screen. I read that the Christ figure was made of electroformed copper, a method of making metal objects using electricity. M preferred looking at the collection of medieval sixteenth and seventeenth-century wrought iron, steel, cast iron, and brass keys and locks. While he studied the ways in which the keys and locks were engineered, I wistfully peered through the cutaways in the floor at the Southeast Asia exhibit below us. Later, we both marveled at Gronling G.’s “The Stoning of Saint Steffen” (1680-1710), a limewood carving that depicts the stoning of the saint in an outdoor courtyard. M loved the sculptor’s ability to create “a deep sense of perspective” and was impressed by the level of detail in the carving’s trees. Worth a re-visit, the V&A exhibits a wide enough range of objects to engage the right and left-brained sides in all of us.

Natural History Museum

An underground passage runs from the South Kensington tube station to Cromwell Street where London’s Natural History Museum is located.  My view of the NHM is that it is worth visiting if only to see the hulking example of architectural excellence that is the museum itself.  I am apparently not the only person to praise the museum’s architectural splendor: this year’s London Fashion Weekend will be held right outside the museum’s doors.

A second sight worth the short trip from central London is the dinosaur skeleton that greets visitors as they enter the museum.  However awesome a sight the skeleton is, M and I were too busy making sure we didn’t step on any of the equally diminutive in size children milling around us.  M concluded that the reason we didn’t see any children in London was because they were all at the MNH; I think he was right.  The demographics for the museum’s most passionate and interested visitors are from ages two to ten, apparent not only by the museum being swarmed by them but also by the exhibits themselves.  The Mammals exhibit begins by asking bold questions such as “What is a mammal?” and explains that five thousand human cells make up the size of one morsel of grain.  Stuffed lions and monkeys, lifelike in pose, sit protected from the children, all of whom touch the glass with hopes of petting the poised animals.

We struggled our way through the throngs of children to the Darwin Centre.  Surely, I thought, these kids were too young to know who Darwin was and their parents too far removed from school to remember?  But, no, anxious parents determined to have physician children can sign up for private tours to view the exhibit’s collection of jarred scientific specimens.  We concluded our quick visit to the NHM in the Human Biology gallery.  The exhibit resembled a life-size sex-ed class that would inspire protest among the Upper East Side’s concerned mothers and have the NEA threaten to cut off federal funding.  Of course, the kids were oblivious to the content of the exhibit and for the most part ran in circles around the cardboard cutout skeletons.  London’s Natural History Museum is like a remedial science class attended by students with ADD.

Food Review: Saharaween

Last night we had dinner at Saharaween, a Morrocan restaurant located in between Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square.  Of all the restaurants we’ve tried, Saharaween (Arabic for “people of the Sahara”) is one of our favorites.  A BYO establishment, Saharaween’s menu is limited to traditional Middle Eastern fare consisting of hummus & falafel appetizers, vegetarian or non-veg-flavored couscous, and hearty stew-like meat entrees centered around your choice of lamb, chicken, minced meat or seafood.  A small nook of a restaurant, Sharaween would be easy to overlook were it not for its distinctly Middle Eastern aesthetic in an otherwise tourist-ridden street.  From the outside one observes parted folds of fabric at the restaurant entrance and, upon entering, met with a clutter of Middle Eastern paraphernalia such as hookahs, colorful pillows, and golden plates piled with regional deserts.  Look beyond the initial overload of ethnic objects and ask to sit downstairs in the cozy lounge.  The tables are low and guests sit on cushions; all the furniture is for sale, and, in eastern tradition, prices are negotiable.  Lit candles are strategically placed around the den to create hulking shadows on the walls and lend for a more cave-like décor.  The sweet smell of strawberry-flavored tobacco fills the air; ordering a smoke from a hookah is a popular item on the menu.

We had the vegetable mezze starter—warm pita accompanied by falafel balls and hummus next to an array of spicy dips: tubule, aubergine compote, and potato & cheese briouat.  Simple, fresh, and tasty, the vegetable mezze starter was perfect on the palate.  For my entrée, I ordered the cook’s specialty, the mhamar tagine.  The lamb was marinated in Maghrebine spices and served with thinly sliced glazed apples and diced plum; the meat sat in a hearty lamb juice flavored with almond flakes and pine nuts and served in a large wooden bowl.  Saharaween’s cozy Middle Eastern den served as a haven from the noise and traffic of Piccadilly Circus, and the mhamar tagine sent me to culinary heaven.