Latest news with #AnnabelCroft
Wales Online
13-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Wales Online
BBC's Annabel Croft suffered traumatic flashbacks after tragedy
BBC's Annabel Croft suffered traumatic flashbacks after tragedy Annabel Croft has become one of the BBC's most recognisable tennis pundits, but things have been difficult for the 58-year-old away from the court, following the death of her husband Mel Coleman British former tennis player Annabel Croft (Image: 2025 Visionhaus ) Annabel Croft, one of the BBC's most distinguished and recognisable tennis pundits and commentators, has a wealth of expertise and experience in the sport. At 58, she boasts an impressive career, having clinched the junior Wimbledon title back in 1984. Since her debut as a Wimbledon summariser on BBC 5 Live in 2000, she has become a knowledgeable and refined voice for the BBC. However, life off the court hasn't been smooth sailing for Croft, who continues to grieve the loss of her husband Mel Coleman in 2023. Despite her personal loss, she remains a fixture on our screens, providing expert commentary on all things tennis. As we reach men's final day at Wimbledon, where Croft will conduct the post-match on-court interviews with Carlos Alcaraz and Yannik Sinner, we delve into Croft's life and career. Substantial net worth Determining her exact net worth can be challenging, but previous reports suggest that Croft's value stands at approximately £1.2million. This figure takes into account the prize money she accumulated throughout her tennis career, which saw her peak at No.24 in the world rankings and earn £201,254 in winnings. However, it is believed that the majority of her net worth stems from her television work. Croft was a contestant in Series 21 of Strictly Come Dancing, where she secured fourth place alongside dance partner Johannes Radebe. Article continues below Croft has a distinguished career in broadcasting, having presented shows such as 'Treasure Hunt' and 'Inceptor', alongside her role as a tennis pundit for the BBC, Eurosport and Sky Sports. Her primary focus is with the BBC, where she serves as a commentator, pundit, and presenter, particularly during Wimbledon season. Tragic loss of beloved husband In a tragic turn of events in May 2023, Croft's husband of three decades, Mel Coleman, succumbed to sepsis after a valiant struggle with stage four colon cancer that had metastasised throughout his body. Speaking to The Telegraph, Croft disclosed that an overwhelming 97 per cent of his liver was afflicted with tumours. A mere 12 weeks post-diagnosis, Coleman passed away at 60 years old. Croft does not expect to return to the dating scene any time soon (Image: Getty Images ) While initially believed to have died from cancer, Croft clarified that the actual cause was sepsis, potentially triggered by a perforated tumour during a flight home from Portugal. Reflecting on the harrowing experience of her husband's demise, Croft shared: "I have traumatic flashbacks of the day Mel died. During his final hours, as he drifted in and out of consciousness, he started listing instructions like, 'Change the tyre on the van' and then saying to the children, 'Sorry I can't be there for your weddings'. "That memory breaks my heart. After Mel died, it didn't feel real, but as though he was away on a trip and would reappear. Weirdly, the pain of grief feels like it's growing, rather than easing, because of the realisation that he's not coming back." Views on dating The passing of Coleman, which occurred just over two years ago, understandably still affects Croft deeply. She has recently expressed that she's not mentally prepared to re-enter the dating world, saying: "I don't want to be a professional widow, but I'm not ready for another partner." Article continues below In a separate chat with Hello magazine, Croft reiterated her feelings, making clear that the thought of a new relationship is not on her mind at all. The celebrity from Orpington remarked: "I don't even consider it. "It's not something I'm thinking about at all. I'm not in that headspace – it's way too soon."
The Guardian
13-07-2025
- Sport
- The Guardian
Anisimova endures a hot Wimbledon nightmare after entering the Swiatek bakery
This is what a scream with no vowels sounds like. This is the weight of the soul leaving the body. The arms are no longer connected to the legs, the legs have been severed from the lungs, the lungs have lost contact with the heart and the heart is getting ghosted by the brain. Amanda Anisimova sits on her chair, baking in the heat, stewing in sadness. She dabs her face with a towel and hopes people won't notice she's wiping away tears. A faint voice from the outer edge of the universe calls time. She still has to go out there. She takes a deep breath. Lifts herself from her seat and takes the 18 long steps to her mark just behind the baseline. Ever found it a struggle getting up to go to work? Try summoning the strength to face Iga Swiatek when you're losing 6-0, 5-0 in a Wimbledon final. This was supposed to be the feelgood final. Two players who had already run through nettles and weeds to get to this point, who had already surpassed expectations, who in a way had already triumphed. Choose your own adventure: a heartwarming comeback tale for the ages, or the ultimate vindication of this generation's greatest talent. Everyone's a winner. How do you spin this irresistible yarn into something this bleak? 'We'll give you a moment,' Annabel Croft says a few minutes later as the tears flow again and the inevitable applause follows. The groans and sighs of earlier have melted into sympathy and kindness. Centre Court tickets for women's singles final day range from £240 to £315, and at that price value for money becomes a factor. But what this final lacked in actual tennis content it made up for as a historical artefact. The most one-sided grand slam final since the end of the cold war and an extra hour in the pub? Not a bad deal at all. And of course there were numbers that could help you make sense of it all: the fact Swiatek won the first set 6-0 despite hitting two winners, the fact 35% of all the points in this match ended in an unforced error by Anisimova, the fact only 78% of Anisimova's second serves went in. But really this game was most faithfully experienced as a kind of hot waking nightmare, a window into elite sport at its most brutal and exacting, a meltdown nobody truly saw coming. Did it matter that Anisimova looked nervous right from the start of her warm-up, when she kept flying the ball long and couldn't even seem to throw Swiatek a proper lob? Or that, as she would later reveal, she felt so leaden in her morning practice that she had to take a break after every single rally? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But either way these little brainworms take on a life of their own very quickly, and there are few players like Swiatek better equipped at finding your pressure point and squeezing it, sadistically and unapologetically. Within two points Anisimova was getting pity cheers. By the end of the fourth game her ball toss was going awry and she was picking listlessly at the strings on her racket. And for all the critics of the best-of-three format there is a real clarifying brutality to it too, the terrifying knowledge you can spend a lifetime working for this opportunity and about 25 minutes screwing it up. There is no real tactical expertise to bring to bear here. No technical analysis can ever satisfactorily explain how a player who was flaying apart the world No 1 Aryna Sabalenka two days ago now finds herself trapped in the Iga bakery, getting pinned down and force-fed. These are creatures of habit and routine, professional athletes who strive so hard to block out the external noise than when it finally comes crashing through the windows, it comes as a total shock to the system. The key to consistent success at tour level is treating every game the same. The key to mastering the big moments is tacitly accepting that no, they're not. Sign up to The Recap The best of our sports journalism from the past seven days and a heads-up on the weekend's action after newsletter promotion As Swiatek climbs the steps to celebrate with her team, the score is still showing on the scoreboard, the clock frozen at 57 minutes. And of course at a time like this all kinds of thoughts must intrude. What just happened? What happens now? How do you begin the day full of dreams and promise and end it as the woman who lost a Slam final 6-0, 6-0? But of course Anisimova has endured worse things than getting double-bagelled in a Wimbledon final. She's suffered the sudden loss of her father as a teenager, despair and depression, a crisis of purpose and meaning that forced her to leave the sport for eight months. And if she came back from that, she can come back from this. No walk in tennis will ever be harder than the walk she made to the baseline at 6-0, 5-0 down in a Wimbledon final. No speech she ever makes will be harder than the one she made to the Centre Court crowd here. The heart breaks. But it does not break for ever.
The Guardian
12-07-2025
- Sport
- The Guardian
Anisimova experiences a hot waking nightmare after being trapped in the Swiatek bakery
This is what a scream with no vowels sounds like. This is the weight of the soul leaving the body. The arms are no longer connected to the legs, the legs have been severed from the lungs, the lungs have lost contact with the heart and the heart is getting ghosted by the brain. Amanda Anisimova sits on her chair, baking in the heat, stewing in sadness. She dabs her face with a towel and hopes that people won't notice that she's wiping away tears. A faint voice from the outer edge of the universe calls time. She still has to go out there. She takes a deep breath. Lifts herself from her seat and takes the 18 long steps to her mark just behind the baseline. Ever found it a struggle getting up to go to work? Try summoning the strength to face Iga Swiatek when you're losing 6-0, 5-0 in a Wimbledon final. This was supposed to be the feelgood final. Two players who had already run through nettles and weeds to get to this point, who had already surpassed expectations, who in a way had already triumphed. Choose your own adventure: a heartwarming comeback tale for the ages, or the ultimate vindication of this generation's greatest talent. Everyone's a winner. How do you spin this irresistible yarn into something this bleak? 'We'll give you a moment,' Annabel Croft says a few minutes later as the tears flow again and the inevitable applause follows. The groans and sighs of earlier have melted into sympathy and kindness. Centre Court tickets for women's singles final day range from £240 to £315, and at that price value for money becomes a factor. But what this final lacked in actual tennis content it made up for as a historical artefact. The most one-sided grand slam final since the end of the cold war and an extra hour in the pub? Not a bad deal at all. And of course there were numbers that could help you make sense of it all: the fact that Swiatek won the first set 6-0 despite hitting just two winners, the fact that 35% of all the points in this match ended in an unforced error by Anisimova, the fact that only 78% of Anisimova's second serves went in. But really this game was most faithfully experienced as a kind of hot waking nightmare, a window into elite sport at its most brutal and exacting, a meltdown that nobody truly saw coming. Did it matter that Anisimova looked nervous right from the start of her warm-up, when she kept flying the ball long and couldn't even seem to throw Swiatek a proper lob? Or that, as she would later reveal, she felt so leaden in her morning practice that she had to take a break after every single rally? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But either way these little brainworms take on a life of their own very quickly, and there are few players like Swiatek better equipped at finding your pressure point and squeezing it, sadistically and unapologetically. Within two points Anisimova was getting pity cheers. By the end of the fourth game her ball toss was going awry and she was picking listlessly at the strings on her racket. And for all the critics of the best-of-three format there is a real clarifying brutality to it too, the terrifying knowledge that you can spend a lifetime working for this opportunity and about 25 minutes screwing it up. There is no real tactical expertise to bring to bear here. No technical analysis can ever satisfactorily explain how a player who was flaying apart the world No 1 Aryna Sabalenka two days ago now finds herself trapped in the Iga bakery, getting pinned down and force-fed. These are creatures of habit and routine, professional athletes who strive so hard to block out the external noise than when it finally comes crashing through the windows, it comes as a total shock to the system. The key to consistent success at tour level is treating every game the same. The key to mastering the big moments is tacitly accepting that no, they're not. Sign up to The Recap The best of our sports journalism from the past seven days and a heads-up on the weekend's action after newsletter promotion As Swiatek climbs the steps to celebrate with her team, the score is still showing on the scoreboard, the clock frozen at 57 minutes. And of course at a time like this all kinds of thoughts must intrude. What just happened? What happens now? How do you begin the day full of dreams and promise and end it as the woman who lost a Slam final 6-0, 6-0? But of course Anisimova has endured worse things than getting double-bagelled in a Wimbledon final. She's suffered the sudden loss of her father as a teenager, despair and depression, a crisis of purpose and meaning that forced her to leave the sport for eight months. And if she came back from that, she can come back from this. No walk in tennis will ever be harder than the walk she made to the baseline at 6-0, 5-0 down in a Wimbledon final. No speech she ever makes will be harder than the one she made to the Centre Court crowd here. The heart breaks. But it does not break for ever.
The Guardian
12-07-2025
- The Guardian
From tiger-nut milk to strawberry pasta: what Europeans eat to beat the heat
Wimbledon is no stranger to strawberries, but when the Polish tennis star- and championship finalist- Iga Świątek spoke of her favourite summer dish, it was far from the classic fruit and cream combination. 'Pasta, strawberries, a little bit of yoghurt,' she told her seemingly perplexed on-court interviewer, the former British player Annabel Croft, who could only respond: 'How strange!' Among watching Poles, however, there was no such bafflement. The beloved meal in question is reminiscent of long, hot childhood summers, and they may well concur with Świątek's later assertion that 'everybody should eat that'. But what are the other snacks, drinks and quirky delicacies that get Europeans through the increasingly punishing heatwaves of July and August? Here, five Guardian correspondents across Europe reflect on their countries' favoured heat-busting snacks – including, of course, strawberry pasta … Angela Giuffrida When, in 1913, Giovanni Crescenzi opened Alla Fonte D'oro, a drinks kiosk by Rome's Garibaldi Bridge, steps away from the Trastevere district, his main customers were the thirsty tradespeople passing through the Lungotevere, the road running alongside the River Tiber. It was not until after the first world war that Crescenzi added grattachecca to his menu, an icy beverage for which the kiosk, today run by the original owner's granddaughter, Rosanna, and her son, quickly became famous. Grattacecca, a snack with origins that can be traced to the Roman era, grew in popularity during long, hot summers in the Italian capital in the early 20th century. The drink is made with shaved ice, either scraped off a block with a type of ice pick, or put through an ice crusher, laced with flavoured syrup and topped with small pieces of fruit or coconut. For Rome residents, the grattachecca is a sacred refreshment, and stopping by Alla Fonte D'oro or one of the other few remaining traditional kiosks that serve it, is an essential way to get respite from the increasingly intense heat of summer. 'There is no better thing to help quench thirst,' said Rosanna when I visited this week. The drink is also popular among tourists, especially South Americans, although Rosanna said many mistook it for granita, the semi-frozen dessert invented in Sicily and enjoyed year-round on the southern Italian island, especially at breakfast with brioche. 'Granita is prepared in a different way and has a different texture,' she said. 'In Rome, you find real grattachecca, and although you can find granita here too, you only find the real thing in Sicily.' Rossana did ask if I wanted to sample some of her produce, but I declined, partly owing to my loyalty towards granita. I have fond childhood memories of the granita van turning up outside my nan's home in Catania, Sicily, early in the morning, and my dad stocking up on the lemon flavoured variety for breakfast. He has always sworn by granita for its heat-busting magic. Philip Oltermann The German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once described Italian culture as holding 'the key to everything', which may be just a bit hyperbolic. What is certain, however, is that for generations of German children, Italy has held the key to unlocking the taste of the summer, in the shape of Spaghettieis. A deceptively simple form of gastronomic mimicry, this summer delicacy is nothing more or less than vanilla ice-cream pushed through a modified Spätzle press or potato ricer to resemble curling pasta, with strawberry compote impersonating tomato sauce and shaved almonds playing the role of parmesan. To keep the optical illusion intact, a mound of whipped cream is typically hidden at the bottom of the ice cream rather than piled on top. Invented at a Mannheim ice-cream parlour in 1969, more ambitious contemporary establishments may also offer Spaghettieis variants: carbonara (with vanilla sauce) or pesto (with pistachio puree). Through Germany's passion for gelato, Goethe's Sturm und Drang for Italian culture lives on: in the capital, Berlin, alone, there are approximately 500 dedicated parlours, many opening only for the summer season. If your tastes are more savoury, you could do worse than visit Germany during the 'fifth season' – the asparagus harvest period, from mid-April to late June, when variations on the plant fill restaurant menus. But for many Germans, the true taste of summer is the Waldmeister, or sweet woodruff. The plant, with its sweet, hay-like flavour, is as revered in German-speaking lands as it is overlooked outside them. Traditionally harvested in April and May, it is turned into a syrup that flavours ice-cream, lemonade, beer (Berliner Weisse) and wine (known as Maibowle, or May wine). Jakub Krupa Polish cuisine, traditionally associated with hearty and meat-heavy meals meant to get you through winter, is not the most obvious choice for a heat-busting treat. But that is before you factor in Chłodnik, or cold borscht. A classic that Poles consider theirs, despite rival claims from Lithuanians and Ukrainians, this neon pink soup is as refreshing as it looks. Made with cooked beetroot, kefir, cucumber, lots of fresh herbs, and topped with a quarter of a hard-boiled egg, it's the real dill. (Yes, as most things in Polish cuisine, it involves a lot of dill.) If you want a true blast from the past, follow Świątek's recommendation and go for pasta with strawberries (makaron z truskawkami). A staple of school canteens in the 90s, alongside zupa owocowa, or fruit soup, it instantly brings back memories of childhood in a tasty, fruity, and summery lunch. Typically made with świderki or fusilli pasta, it needs to be executed perfectly to unlock that core memory. The basics: cook the pasta al-dente and get as many strawberries as you can (ideally Polish, bought from a stragan, a street stall, round the corner). Smash or blend them, add some cream or yoghurt, maybe some crumbled curd cheese on top and a generous pinch of sugar, and hello, you're back in Warsawin 1995, and you have not a worry under the sun. Twenty-odd years on, I still dream about the best strawberry pasta, cooked by my friend Konrad's mum, Mrs Mikołajczak, in my childhood neighbourhood of Muranów. And, sorry Britain, I'm not prepared to take lessons on how to eat strawberries from a nation that has embraced the sweetened-bread strawberry and cream sandwich. Makaron z truskawkami is far superior. Trust me. Sam Jones As befits the inhabitants of a country where summer temperatures can hit 47.6C (117C), Spaniards have centuries of practice when it comes to drinkable coolers. When the heat hits, they will often reach for a small, extremely cold beer, a serving of chilled gazpacho, a slushy granizado, or decant a coffee into a glass full of ice to make a refreshing iced coffee. In the eastern region of Valencia, however, people often cool down with a long, cold and sweet glass of horchata de chufa. Chufa, known in English as tiger nut, is the edible tuber of a plant in the sedge family that was introduced to the peninsula during the long period of Islamic rule, and which now has EU protected designation of origin status in Valencia. According to folk legend, horchata takes its name from a remark by King Jaime I of Aragón (1208-1276) when he was offered a refreshing drink by a young woman. Inquiring what he was drinking, he was told it was the milk of the tiger nut. Incredulous, he is said to have replied, '¡Aixo no es llet, aixo es or xata!' ('This isn't milk – it's gold, girl!'). A more prosaic (and likely) explanation is that horchata is derived from hordeata, the Latin world for barley-based drinks. The drink is prepared by soaking, washing and grinding tiger nuts and then mixing them with water and sugar. The resulting horchata, served cold, is sweet and nutty, and can be found in cafes and supermarkets well beyond the horchaterías of its native Valencia. Spain's colonial expansion in the 15th and 16th centuries has ensured that versions of the drink can be found across its former empire, from Mexico to parts of Central and South America. Drinks made from tiger nut are also popular in parts of west Africa. Horchata's proponents – not least the Valencian tiger nut regulatory council – say it is naturally free of gluten, lactose and caffeine, and contains sodium, calcium, magnesium, potassium and vitamins C and E. Helena Smith For nigh on 70 summers, on the squares and pavements of Greek cities large and small, it is the frappé that people have sipped when temperatures rise. In my experience, this accidental invention of instant coffee, water and ice – shaken but never stirred – is a sure sign that summer has arrived. For many, the frappe, or frapogalo if mixed with milk, is as much about sustenance as relaxation; a drink whose zingy taste and frothy top (for sugar is optional) are associated as much with cooling off as languid conversation. That the frappe may have come about by a twist of fate has only added to its allure. Origin stories, though varied in the retelling, agree that had it not been for Dimitris Vakondios, a Nescafé sales rep attending the World Trade Fair exhibition in Thessaloniki in 1957, the drink may never have been concocted. Legend has it that Vakondios inadvertently created it when, unable to find a utensil to heat up his Nescafé, he reached for a shaker that had until then been used to produce Nesquik chocolate shakes. The story goes that he added instant coffee granules, water and ice and shook vigorously before pouring the foamy contents into a glass. Whether sugar was thrown in remains open to debate. To this day, its addition is optional, but if you ask me, downing it authentic and strong gives by far the best frappé kick.
The Guardian
12-07-2025
- The Guardian
From tiger-nut milk to strawberry pasta: what Europeans eat to beat the heat
Wimbledon is no stranger to strawberries, but when the Polish tennis star- and championship finalist- Iga Świątek spoke of her favourite summer dish, it was far from the classic fruit and cream combination. 'Pasta, strawberries, a little bit of yoghurt,' she told her seemingly perplexed on-court interviewer, the former British player Annabel Croft, who could only respond: 'How strange!' Among watching Poles, however, there was no such bafflement. The beloved meal in question is reminiscent of long, hot childhood summers, and they may well concur with Świątek's later assertion that 'everybody should eat that'. But what are the other snacks, drinks and quirky delicacies that get Europeans through the increasingly punishing heatwaves of July and August? Here, five Guardian correspondents across Europe reflect on their countries' favoured heat-busting snacks – including, of course, strawberry pasta … Angela Giuffrida When, in 1913, Giovanni Crescenzi opened Alla Fonte D'oro, a drinks kiosk by Rome's Garibaldi Bridge, steps away from the Trastevere district, his main customers were the thirsty tradespeople passing through the Lungotevere, the road running alongside the River Tiber. It was not until after the first world war that Crescenzi added grattachecca to his menu, an icy beverage for which the kiosk, today run by the original owner's granddaughter, Rosanna, and her son, quickly became famous. Grattacecca, a snack with origins that can be traced to the Roman era, grew in popularity during long, hot summers in the Italian capital in the early 20th century. The drink is made with shaved ice, either scraped off a block with a type of ice pick, or put through an ice crusher, laced with flavoured syrup and topped with small pieces of fruit or coconut. For Rome residents, the grattachecca is a sacred refreshment, and stopping by Alla Fonte D'oro or one of the other few remaining traditional kiosks that serve it, is an essential way to get respite from the increasingly intense heat of summer. 'There is no better thing to help quench thirst,' said Rosanna when I visited this week. The drink is also popular among tourists, especially South Americans, although Rosanna said many mistook it for granita, the semi-frozen dessert invented in Sicily and enjoyed year-round on the southern Italian island, especially at breakfast with brioche. 'Granita is prepared in a different way and has a different texture,' she said. 'In Rome, you find real grattachecca, and although you can find granita here too, you only find the real thing in Sicily.' Rossana did ask if I wanted to sample some of her produce, but I declined, partly owing to my loyalty towards granita. I have fond childhood memories of the granita van turning up outside my nan's home in Catania, Sicily, early in the morning, and my dad stocking up on the lemon flavoured variety for breakfast. He has always sworn by granita for its heat-busting magic. Philip Oltermann The German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once described Italian culture as holding 'the key to everything', which may be just a bit hyperbolic. What is certain, however, is that for generations of German children, Italy has held the key to unlocking the taste of the summer, in the shape of Spaghettieis. A deceptively simple form of gastronomic mimicry, this summer delicacy is nothing more or less than vanilla ice-cream pushed through a modified Spätzle press or potato ricer to resemble curling pasta, with strawberry compote impersonating tomato sauce and shaved almonds playing the role of parmesan. To keep the optical illusion intact, a mound of whipped cream is typically hidden at the bottom of the ice cream rather than piled on top. Invented at a Mannheim ice-cream parlour in 1969, more ambitious contemporary establishments may also offer Spaghettieis variants: carbonara (with vanilla sauce) or pesto (with pistachio puree). Through Germany's passion for gelato, Goethe's Sturm und Drang for Italian culture lives on: in the capital, Berlin, alone, there are approximately 500 dedicated parlours, many opening only for the summer season. If your tastes are more savoury, you could do worse than visit Germany during the 'fifth season' – the asparagus harvest period, from mid-April to late June, when variations on the plant fill restaurant menus. But for many Germans, the true taste of summer is the Waldmeister, or sweet woodruff. The plant, with its sweet, hay-like flavour, is as revered in German-speaking lands as it is overlooked outside them. Traditionally harvested in April and May, it is turned into a syrup that flavours ice-cream, lemonade, beer (Berliner Weisse) and wine (known as Maibowle, or May wine). Jakub Krupa Polish cuisine, traditionally associated with hearty and meat-heavy meals meant to get you through winter, is not the most obvious choice for a heat-busting treat. But that is before you factor in Chłodnik, or cold borscht. A classic that Poles consider theirs, despite rival claims from Lithuanians and Ukrainians, this neon pink soup is as refreshing as it looks. Made with cooked beetroot, kefir, cucumber, lots of fresh herbs, and topped with a quarter of a hard-boiled egg, it's the real dill. (Yes, as most things in Polish cuisine, it involves a lot of dill.) If you want a true blast from the past, follow Świątek's recommendation and go for pasta with strawberries (makaron z truskawkami). A staple of school canteens in the 90s, alongside zupa owocowa, or fruit soup, it instantly brings back memories of childhood in a tasty, fruity, and summery lunch. Typically made with świderki or fusilli pasta, it needs to be executed perfectly to unlock that core memory. The basics: cook the pasta al-dente and get as many strawberries as you can (ideally Polish, bought from a stragan, a street stall, round the corner). Smash or blend them, add some cream or yoghurt, maybe some crumbled curd cheese on top and a generous pinch of sugar, and hello, you're back in Warsawin 1995, and you have not a worry under the sun. Twenty-odd years on, I still dream about the best strawberry pasta, cooked by my friend Konrad's mum, Mrs Mikołajczak, in my childhood neighbourhood of Muranów. And, sorry Britain, I'm not prepared to take lessons on how to eat strawberries from a nation that has embraced the sweetened-bread strawberry and cream sandwich. Makaron z truskawkami is far superior. Trust me. Sam Jones As befits the inhabitants of a country where summer temperatures can hit 47.6C (117C), Spaniards have centuries of practice when it comes to drinkable coolers. When the heat hits, they will often reach for a small, extremely cold beer, a serving of chilled gazpacho, a slushy granizado, or decant a coffee into a glass full of ice to make a refreshing iced coffee. In the eastern region of Valencia, however, people often cool down with a long, cold and sweet glass of horchata de chufa. Chufa, known in English as tiger nut, is the edible tuber of a plant in the sedge family that was introduced to the peninsula during the long period of Islamic rule, and which now has EU protected designation of origin status in Valencia. According to folk legend, horchata takes its name from a remark by King Jaime I of Aragón (1208-1276) when he was offered a refreshing drink by a young woman. Inquiring what he was drinking, he was told it was the milk of the tiger nut. Incredulous, he is said to have replied, '¡Aixo no es llet, aixo es or xata!' ('This isn't milk – it's gold, girl!'). A more prosaic (and likely) explanation is that horchata is derived from hordeata, the Latin world for barley-based drinks. The drink is prepared by soaking, washing and grinding tiger nuts and then mixing them with water and sugar. The resulting horchata, served cold, is sweet and nutty, and can be found in cafes and supermarkets well beyond the horchaterías of its native Valencia. Spain's colonial expansion in the 15th and 16th centuries has ensured that versions of the drink can be found across its former empire, from Mexico to parts of Central and South America. Drinks made from tiger nut are also popular in parts of west Africa. Horchata's proponents – not least the Valencian tiger nut regulatory council – say it is naturally free of gluten, lactose and caffeine, and contains sodium, calcium, magnesium, potassium and vitamins C and E. Helena Smith For nigh on 70 summers, on the squares and pavements of Greek cities large and small, it is the frappé that people have sipped when temperatures rise. In my experience, this accidental invention of instant coffee, water and ice – shaken but never stirred – is a sure sign that summer has arrived. For many, the frappe, or frapogalo if mixed with milk, is as much about sustenance as relaxation; a drink whose zingy taste and frothy top (for sugar is optional) are associated as much with cooling off as languid conversation. That the frappe may have come about by a twist of fate has only added to its allure. Origin stories, though varied in the retelling, agree that had it not been for Dimitris Vakondios, a Nescafé sales rep attending the World Trade Fair exhibition in Thessaloniki in 1957, the drink may never have been concocted. Legend has it that Vakondios inadvertently created it when, unable to find a utensil to heat up his Nescafé, he reached for a shaker that had until then been used to produce Nesquik chocolate shakes. The story goes that he added instant coffee granules, water and ice and shook vigorously before pouring the foamy contents into a glass. Whether sugar was thrown in remains open to debate. To this day, its addition is optional, but if you ask me, downing it authentic and strong gives by far the best frappé kick.
