Latest news with #DavidHockney
Time Out
15 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Time Out
Trishna
Forget the elevated chains, the Michelin magnets, the Desi pubs and the Indian-Irish fusion joints (alright, there's only one of those). Trishna in Marylebone pre-dates and outshines them all, a graceful doyenne, gliding across the hectic ballroom of London's high-end Indian restaurant scene. There's nothing particularly flash about Trishna's baby-blue panelling and simple wooden furniture. It doesn't scream 'design consultancy has been here' or 'immersive dining concept'. Instead the vibe is straightforward and friendly. This is a 'normal' neighbourhood restaurant that achieved (well earned) city-wide fame, jacked up the prices (understandably) and lived happily ever after. It's your talented and hard-working grandmother, happily remarried to a millionaire. If you can accept the cost, Trishna will deliver every time The considerable cost of eating at Trishna is reflected in the food's quality. Everything bar a few starters is top notch, the kind of delicate-yet-punchy south Asian cuisine you'd be mad to try replicating at home. A perfect example of a 'Trish dish' is the bream: jade-like slices of fish, marinated with coriander and green chilli, served with a floral tomato salad. Not only is it as eye-catching as a David Hockney still life, the bream has a high-wire balance of flavours, cooked with expert precision in the tandoor. Another signature offering is the legendary aloo chat, a lip-smacking lattice of chutney and sev, crowning a chickpea and potato nest. It's almost as if the folks at Trishna saw Gymkhana's famous aloo chaat, had a taste, rolled up their sleeves and said 'hold my (Cobra) beer'. The hits don't end there. Pray silence for Trishna's Dorset brown crab - a dish that staff bring out with a silent-yet-discernible pride, like a Soviet leader on parade day, watching his troops roll out a nuclear missile. It's a nourishing bowl of chive-and-chilli-topped crab meat, imbued with a truly shocking (in a good way) depth of flavour. Not only the best thing we ate at Trishna, it's one of the best things we've eaten all year. Hot on its heels in the tasty stakes was the beef shortrib, a hockey puck of stewed and shredded meat, atop a chickpea dosa raft floating on a pulsating bed of coconut and shallots. Meanwhile, the Goan prawn biriyani - served with a cute pink-peppercorn raita - is a delicate delight, the shining antithesis of claggy, heavy curried rice dishes the world over. Some of the starters are comparatively one-note. And the desserts, as you'd expect, aren't really the point. But if you can accept the cost, Trishna will deliver every time. The vibe Quietly confident south Indian fine-dining establishment, masquerading as a 'normal restaurant'. The food South Indian cooking that packs flavour and nuance into every dish.
Time Out
15 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Time Out
Trishna London
Forget the elevated chains, the Michelin magnets, the Desi pubs and the Indian-Irish fusion joints (alright, there's only one of those). Trishna in Marylebone pre-dates and outshines them all, a graceful doyenne, gliding across the hectic ballroom of London's high-end Indian restaurant scene. There's nothing particularly flash about Trishna's baby-blue panelling and simple wooden furniture. It doesn't scream 'design consultancy has been here' or 'immersive dining concept'. Instead the vibe is straightforward and friendly. This is a 'normal' neighbourhood restaurant that achieved (well earned) city-wide fame, jacked up the prices (understandably) and lived happily ever after. It's your talented and hard-working grandmother, happily remarried to a millionaire. If you can accept the cost, Trishna will deliver every time The considerable cost of eating at Trishna is reflected in the food's quality. Everything bar a few starters is top notch, the kind of delicate-yet-punchy south Asian cuisine you'd be mad to try replicating at home. A perfect example of a 'Trish dish' is the bream: jade-like slices of fish, marinated with coriander and green chilli, served with a floral tomato salad. Not only is it as eye-catching as a David Hockney still life, the bream has a high-wire balance of flavours, cooked with expert precision in the tandoor. Another signature offering is the legendary aloo chat, a lip-smacking lattice of chutney and sev, crowning a chickpea and potato nest. It's almost as if the folks at Trishna saw Gymkhana's famous aloo chaat, had a taste, rolled up their sleeves and said 'hold my (Cobra) beer'. The hits don't end there. Pray silence for Trishna's Dorset brown crab - a dish that staff bring out with a silent-yet-discernible pride, like a Soviet leader on parade day, watching his troops roll out a nuclear missile. It's a nourishing bowl of chive-and-chilli-topped crab meat, imbued with a truly shocking (in a good way) depth of flavour. Not only the best thing we ate at Trishna, it's one of the best things we've eaten all year. Hot on its heels in the tasty stakes was the beef shortrib, a hockey puck of stewed and shredded meat, atop a chickpea dosa raft floating on a pulsating bed of coconut and shallots. Meanwhile, the Goan prawn biriyani - served with a cute pink-peppercorn raita - is a delicate delight, the shining antithesis of claggy, heavy curried rice dishes the world over. Some of the starters are comparatively one-note. And the desserts, as you'd expect, aren't really the point. But if you can accept the cost, Trishna will deliver every time. The vibe Quietly confident south Indian fine-dining establishment, masquerading as a 'normal restaurant'. The drink We tried two signature cocktails (aamra negroni and shimoga gimlet). Both were exceptionally well made and balanced.
Daily Mail
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Harry Styles keeps things casual in shorts on day out in London
looked ready for summer as he was spotted showing off his tanned legs while running errands around London, England on Sunday. The 31-year-old singer kept things casual in a pair of red shorts, a black jumper, and suede trainers. Harry completed his relaxed look with sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a tote bag from the National Gallery's David Hockney exhibition. Ready for summer: Harry Styles showed off his tanned legs in London on Sunday
Daily Mail
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Harry Styles flies under the radar in a pair of tiny shorts as he runs errands in London
Harry Styles flew under the radar as he ran errands around London on Sunday, wearing a pair of tiny shorts. The singer, 31, shielded his face with a purple baseball cap and oversized sunglasses and went unnoticed by fans. Showing off his muscular legs, Harry teamed is pair of red sports shorts with a black jumper. He completed his casual look with yellow, suede trainers and carried a tote bag from the National Gallery's David Hockney exhibition. Harry has been keeping a low-profile since wrapping his Love On Tour tour in July 2023, with it been more than three years since the release of his third album Harry's House. From A-list scandals and red carpet mishaps to exclusive pictures and viral moments, subscribe to the DailyMail's new Showbiz newsletter to stay in the loop. Last month fans in Rome Thursday caught Harry in attendance as a new pope was announced. The three-time Grammy-winning artist was seen in the crowd as Pope Leo XIV delivered his first public remarks in his new position. He wore a grey cap inscribed 'Techno is my boyfriend' along with black sunglasses. Harry - who has an estimated net worth of $140 million - also wore a blue coat he's been seen on during multiple previous outings. The English singer-songwriter was on hand to witness the first American named pope in Vatican City in the wake of a two-day papal conclave. While Harry has previously confirmed he isn't overly religious, the singer has been very open about his love affair with Italy as a country. Speaking to fans during his show in Bologna back in 2022 the star even gushed that the 'happiest and most special moments of my life have been in Italy'. The One Direction star has been known to retreat from public life in between albums and he took to the picturesque Italian town of Civita di Bagnoregio to reside following the conclusion of his Love On Tour tour. Harry has been keeping a low-profile since wrapping his Love On Tour tour in July 2023, with it been more than three years since the release of his third album Harry's House Situated in the province of Viterbo in Central Italy with only eleven inhabitants, Harry decided to live in a Etruscan-style house as he took a break from travelling the world. He expressed his personal gratitude to the country as he gushed over his 'special moments' in the country and even showcased his Italian speaking. Talking to the crown in Italian during one of his shows in Bologna in 2022 he began: 'I am learning Italian, but very slowly. So please be patient with me. 'Some of the happiest and most special moments of my life have been in Italy and I'm very grateful for everything this country has given me.' He continued: 'So my love goes to every single one of you. Thank you for being here. Tonight I want you to be free to be whoever you want to be.' The country has also served as the site for many of Harry's career highlights. While Harry has previously confirmed he isn't overly religious, the singer has been very open about his love affair with Italy as a country (pictured during a show in Bologna) The music video for his hit 2020 single Golden was filmed against the back drop of the Amalfi coast. He also returned, but this time to Venice to film his LGBTQ+ drama My Policeman alongside The Crown star Emma Corrin. Last summer Harry chose Rome as his living quarters as he was seen running errands in the Italian capital and speculation suggests he even owns a home there. In July he was spotted doing shopping at the local Co-op, pausing for coffee and browsing for bargains at a flea market.
The Guardian
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Butt-naked Milton and a spot of fellatio: why William Blake became a queer icon
William Blake may be known for seeing angels up in trees, for writing the alternative national anthem Jerusalem, and for his emblematic poem The Tyger. But his story is far more subversive and far queerer than cosy fables allow. It's why Oscar Wilde hung a Blake nude on his college room wall. It's why Blake became a lyric in a Pet Shop Boys song. And it's why David Hockney is showing a Blake-inspired painting at his current exhibition in Paris. When I lived in the East End of London, I'd walk over Blake's grave in Bunhill Fields every day. It felt sort of disrespectful. Perhaps that's why he has haunted me ever since. Years later, while trying to write a book about another artist, I got ill and very low. Suddenly, echoing one of his own visions, Blake came to me and said: 'Well, how about it?' I felt I had to make amends for treading on his dreams. I've met many artists – Andy Warhol, Lucian Freud, Derek Jarman – but it is Blake whose hand I would love to have held and whose magical spirit I summon up in my new book. He even gave me my title: William Blake and the Sea Monsters of Love. (A friend has since pointed out that the title sounds suspiciously like a 1970s album by a certain starman from Mars). I was writing about a man who had died a long time ago, yet who still seems alive and among us. Born in 1757, dying in 1827, Blake had perfect timing: not to be confined by Victorian mores, but to live in a looser, revolutionary age. He only ever sold 61 copies of his revolutionary 'illuminated books' – which, for the first time, placed images and words together. Each would be worth £1m now. Blake might have died in poverty and obscurity, but that is exactly where his potential resides – as an unexploded but benevolent device. His posthumous influence lives on in flash-lit scenes – as if his afterlife were a movie being screened in front of us. Cut to the 1820s and Blake's young fans, called the Ancients, are led by Samuel Palmer, who bends to kiss the doorbell of their master's lodgings as he passes by. They enact their Blakean cult in the Kentish countryside, swimming naked in a river and growing their hair long. Jump forward to Manhattan in 1967 and Blake's new disciples, Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe, are reading his poetry to each other every night in their poverty. They're obsessed. Mapplethorpe gets a job in an antiquarian bookstore and when a copy of Blake's revolutionary America: A Prophecy comes in, he tears a page out and stuffs it down his trousers. Then, freaking out that he might be discovered, he goes to the toilet, rips it up and flushes it away. That evening, he confesses his sin to Smith, who celebrates his act, seeing it as a fabulous infection of the sewers of New York with their hero's subversion. Five years later, on the rocky coast of Dorset, Derek Jarman, deeply under Blake's influence, recreates a Blakean scene for his first narrative Super 8 film. In flickering, saturated 70s colour, Andrew Logan poses as a sea god in the deconstructed dress he'd worn for his first Alternative Miss World that year. A half-naked young sailor floats in a rock pool. A young woman, wearing only a fishing net, plays the siren who lured him to his doom. That night, the crew meet Iris Murdoch in a nearby country house. She takes them up a hill to dance around a megalith in the moonlight. Murdoch cites Blake in a half a dozen of her queer-friendly novels, and discusses him with her lover, the gay liberation hero Brigid Brophy. Flashback to Paris, 1958: Allen Ginsberg, citing Blake in his outrageously queer poem Howl, emulates his hero by reciting it in the nude outside Shakespeare and Company, the famous bookshop on the Left Bank. He's accompanied by a besuited William S Burroughs, whose cut-up writing technique is heavily influenced by Blake's proto-surrealist texts. In 1975, in the New Mexico desert, David Bowie will play a queer alien, singing and speaking Blake's words, in the Nicolas Roeg film The Man Who Fell to Earth. Like Shakespeare's Prospero or Doctor Who, Blake has the power to appear anywhere, any time, rewriting his own fate through his art. That's why one of Oscar Wilde's young lovers, W Graham Robertson, was so inspired by Blake's sensuality that he became his greatest champion, using a multimillion-pound fortune to buy up every work by Blake he could. Presenting them to the Tate 40 years later, Robertson saves Blake for the nation. Yet Blake remains a secret, hiding in plain sight. In Milton, his astoundingly beautiful and prophetic book of 1804, he creates two images of male fellatio and a butt-naked Milton. They wouldn't look out of place in a Mapplethorpe photograph. One reason Blake published his own work was to escape the censoring eye of the printer. It is this same transgression that powers James Joyce in 1920s Paris, as he deploys Blake's queerness like a grenade in Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. Joyce's Leopold Bloom changes sex in a lucid dream sequence, while British grenadiers drop their trousers to bugger each other as an emblem of the anti-imperialism Joyce and Blake shared. In 1970s London, in their house that is as old as Blake, the artists Gilbert & George claim him as their saint. Like them, Blake would today be seen as one artist in two people. Misogynistic history has written his wife Catherine out of the story – but she shared his visions, printing and colouring them in. Then they'd spend the afternoon sitting naked in their backyard. 'Come on in,' they'd tell visitors. 'It's only Adam and Eve, you know.' Their neighbour is the Chevalier D'Eon, a former army officer who now performs fencing demonstrations in a black silk dress. D'Eon duly appears as Mr Femality in a witty salon skit written by Blake that today reads like a Joe Orton farce. Blake declared gender a mere earthly construction and agreed with Milton: 'Spirits when they please / Can either Sex assume or both.' Faced with this fantastical cast, I can only wonder at Blake's alchemical effect. His large colour prints – such as a nude Isaac Newton with Michelangelo thighs sitting at the bottom of the sea – have a 3D texture that still defies explanation. He was trying to make reproducible paintings. Like Andy Warhol and Albrecht Dürer, Blake trained as commercial artist. He believed in the egalitarian power of art. He even proposed a 100ft tall image of a naked 'Nelson Guiding Leviathan' to be set over the road to London like a Regency Angel of the North. Shockingly modern, Blake burned with a fire that can't be put out. His new Jerusalem was an achievable utopia, if only we shook off our 'mind-forg'd manacles' – our prejudices about gender, sex, race and class. His art still inspires us as he shoots his arrows of desire from his bow of burning gold, standing there naked, bursting out of a rainbow. Blake's new world is the one we long for, where we will all be gloriously free to love whoever and however we like. William Blake and the Sea Monsters of Love is published by 4th Estate
