Latest news with #ShroveTuesday
Time Out
14-05-2025
- General
- Time Out
You'll find a carving trolley here that's almost as famous as their regal regulars
If you're seeking a historical feast, you've come to the right place. One of London's most elderly restaurants, Wiltons has been in the game since 1742. Beginning life as simple shellfish mongers, Wiltons became a proper restaurant in 1841, and, after numerous address changes, moved into their current premises in 1984. Still, 40+ years in the same room is pretty good going for a city that turns restaurants over like pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. Foodie lore runs deep at this London institution; they supplied oysters to Queen Victoria (there's a signed picture of Her Maj in the ladies loo), and you'll find a carving trolley here that's almost as famous as their regal regulars. The dining room itself is pitched somewhere between Victorian grandeur and Jilly Cooper camp, with giant oil paintings of be-suited board members hanging next to jolly wooden booths, perfect for politicians who might need to plot the downfall of a colleague over an ice-cold Chablis. Red velvet swags hang heavy with portent over indoor windows which seem to lead nowhere, and the female waiting staff wear matronly tea dresses. It wouldn't be a surprise if the food at Wiltons was as old school as the decor, but there's some seriously impressive cooking happening here. An implacably good, twice baked stilton soufflé is wildly cheesy, served in a sterling silver dish, perfectly crisp on the outside and cashmere-soft on the inside, while lobster bisque is funky and dank in the best possible way. There are also bountiful platters of oysters, various plates of smoked fish, dressed crab and caviar to start, but the menu of mains is fairly short. Grilled halibut is fresh and simple, while lobster thermidor – served off the shell – is richer than the monied clientele. Time Out tip Puddings here are famously good and delightfully traditional. The trifle is a sturdy, solid thing of creamy wonder. Nearby
Telegraph
31-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Mardi Gras and much more: Louisiana's best festivals
The Mardi Gras floats just keep coming, swathed in colour, giant flowers and flashing lights. Their themes may vary – from animals and clowns to mythological creatures – but they are unified by a spirit of boisterous exuberance. New Orleans' most famous festival is gloriously over-the-top, with several weeks of Mardi Gras parades and balls leading up to Shrove Tuesday, known locally as Fat Tuesday. While the UK rustles up a few pancakes, Louisiana embraces vibrancy, with 'krewes' in colourful costumes throwing gifts from their floats and hundred-strong marching bands blasting brass renditions of traditional classics and subverted pop hits. The Mardi Gras balls were a European tradition that came to Louisiana with French settlement in the early 18th century, but the carnival-style parades developed later. Dozens of private membership clubs and organisations formed in the 19th and 20th centuries, creating the krewes that drive the Mardi Gras festivities today. Traditions, such as the 'throws' of gifts to the crowds and Rex, the King of Carnival, emerged over time. But when the Mardi Gras floats return to their garages at the end of the celebrations, the festival scene in New Orleans and Louisiana doesn't wind down one bit. The state is home to more than 400 different festivals across the year, celebrating music, food and culture. Such events are a key part of Louisiana's character. Making music The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival is the best-known of Louisiana's music festivals, and it has morphed into something more than a few jazz concerts. In the last weekend of April and the first weekend of May, massive outdoor gigs spanning the genre take place at the Fair Grounds Race Course and the temporary villages showcasing traditional Louisiana life and Native American customs play an important role too. April also plays host to the Baton Rouge Blues Festival, which embraces the seductively swampy side of the blues in the state capital. Later in the month, Lafayette opens itself to the planet at the Festival International de Louisiane. The focus for five days is on world music, although there are distinct Francophone leanings, with plenty of musicians from Canada and West Africa. Time to feast Music may be the food of love, but Louisiana firmly believes food can be the food of love, too. The lines between a food festival and a music festival are often hazy. Mudbug Madness is an excellent example of this. Taking place in late May, the musical side of things concentrates on zydeco music, a blend of Afro-Caribbean, African-American and French influences. The food is also resolutely Cajun, and while there is variety among the food stalls, most revellers come to feast on crawfish. In October, the Oak Street Po-Boy Festival embraces another Louisiana speciality – the po' boy sandwich. Oak Street in Uptown New Orleans sees numerous venues serve up a tantalising variety of fillings inside baguettes that are crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. Shrimp and crawfish are, of course, the options with most local flavour. Cultural celebrations Louisiana's cultural festivals tend to celebrate a particular strand of local culture. The Italian Festival in the town of Tickfaw honours the waves of Italian-American immigrants that settled there. Taking place at the end of April, the festival combines pageants, parades, Italian food and live music. The ESSENCE Festival of Culture in July, meanwhile, is largely about African-American music and culture. Big-name acts play at the Superdome in New Orleans, while several venues downtown open their doors for inspirational speakers. Holiday spirit In October, Houma in the bayous of southern Louisiana, holds Rougarou Fest, which gets its name from the mythical werewolf-like creature supposedly spotted amid the swamps. The festival leans into local folklore and general spookiness, but the activities and events are family-friendly. At the end of the year, however, the place to be is in Louisiana's oldest European settlement, Natchitoches. Here, the Natchitoches Christmas Festival has become a six-week affair. 300,000 lights and more than 100 set-piece artworks line the historic centre, while the biggest set-piece event is a lighted boat procession along the Cane River.
Voice of America
09-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Voice of America
Wild ancient version of football is still being played today
This ancient form of football has a rule forbidding players from murdering each other. Every year, thousands of people descend on a small town in the English countryside to watch a two-day game of mass street football that, to the casual observer, could easily be mistaken for a riot. This is Royal Shrovetide — a centuries-old ball game played in Ashbourne, Derbyshire, that, frankly, looks nothing like the world's most popular sport. Or any other game for that matter. "It's like tug of war without the rope," says Natalie Wakefield, 43, who lives locally and has marshaled the event in the past. "It's mad in the best possible way." Hundreds of players Played between two teams of hundreds of players, the aim is to "goal" at either end of a 5-kilometer sector that could take the match through rivers, hedgerows, high streets and just about anything or anywhere except for churchyards, cemeteries and places of worship. The ball is thrown into a crowd that moves like a giant herd, as each team tries to carry it toward their desired goal. Rules are limited but "no murder" was an early stipulation for the game that dates back to at least the 1600s. Good players need to be "hard, aggressive and authoritative," says Mark Harrison, who "goaled" in 1986 and is one of multiple generations of scorers in his family. "You can't practice," the 62-year-old Harrison adds. He stopped competing seven years ago and now serves up burgers to throngs of spectators from a street food truck. "You've just got to get in there and be rough. I am a rugby player ... I'm also an ex-boxer so that helps." Royal approval Harrison had the honor of carrying the then-Prince Charles on his shoulder when in 2003 the now-King of England opened that year's game. "He loved it!" Harrison says. Played over Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday each year, the event is a source of immense pride for the people of Ashbourne in Derbyshire's Peak District. Yet, such a unifying tradition is actually based upon splitting the town into two halves between the "Up'ards" and the "Down'ards," determined by whether players are born on the north or south of the River Henmore. Don't park there On any other days, Ashbourne, around a three-hour drive from London, is quiet and picturesque with a high street lined by antique shops, cafes and traditional pubs. Visitors include hikers, cyclists and campers. For two days that all changes. Large timber boardings are nailed up to protect shop fronts. Doorways are barricaded. "Play Zone" signs are strapped to lampposts, warning motorists not to park there for fear of damage to vehicles, which can be shoved out of the way by the force of the hoards of players trying to move the ball. In contrast, colorful bunting is strewn high above from building to building and revelers congregate, eating and drinking as if it is a street party. Parents with babies in strollers watch on from a safe distance. School holidays in the area have long since been moved to coincide with the festival. "There are people who come and they have a drink and they're just like, 'This is a bit of a crazy thing and it's a spectacle, and now I've seen it, box ticked off,'" says Wakefield, who also used to report on Royal Shrovetide for the local newspaper. "And there are people who are absolutely enthralled by it all, and they get the beauty and complexity of the game and those people follow it year on year." Where's the ball? Play begins with an opening ceremony in a car park, no less, in the center of town. The national anthem and Auld Lang Syne are sung. Competitors are reminded, "You play the game at your own risk." A leather ball, the size of a large pumpkin, filled with cork and ornately painted, is thrown into what is called a "hug" of players. And they're off. As a spectator sport, it can be confusing. There can be little to see for long periods during the eight hours of play each day from 2 p.m. local time. Players wear their own clothes — such as random football or rugby jerseys — rather than matching uniforms. On Tuesday, it took more than 45 minutes to move the ball out of the car park. Onlookers stand on bins, walls and park benches, craning their necks to look down alleyways to try to get a better view. "Can you see the ball?" someone will ask. The answer is often "No." One person thinks it might be in line with a tree over to the right of the car park, but can't be sure. Later that day there had been no sight of the ball for almost two hours until rumors started to circulate that the Down'ards scored what turned out to be the only goal over the two days of play for a 1-0 victory. Deception and cunning With so many players, the hug can be difficult to maneuver but gathers pace quickly, prompting crowds of spectators who'd previously been trying to get a closer look to suddenly run away from the action. The ball can be handled and kicked. Play can be frantic, with players racing after a loose ball wherever it may take them, diving into the river and up and out the other side. While strength is needed in the hug, speed is required from runners if the ball breaks free. Royal Shrovetide, however, can be as much about deception and cunning as speed and strength, it seems. "There's a bit of strategy involved in that somebody's pretending they've still got the ball in the middle of the hug," Wakefield says. "And they're quietly passing it back out to the edge to get it to a runner who has to sneak away in a kind of, I imagine, very nonchalant manner and then leg it down an alleyway." A famous goal in 2019 came as a result of the hug not realizing it didn't have the ball until it was too late. Hidden by two schoolboys standing meters away, the ball was passed to a player who ran, largely unimpeded, for 2 1/2 kilometers before scoring. A ball is goaled when it is hit three times against one of the millstones at either end of the town in Clifton or Sturston. The beautiful game Scorers have likened the achievement to winning Olympic gold. They are carried on shoulders, paraded through the town and celebrated like heroes. "If you can imagine playing for Manchester United in their heyday and they're at Wembley in a cup final. You score the winner. You're there," Harrison says. Scorers also get to keep the balls, which are repainted and become treasured family possessions. It is the game, however, that is treasured most of all. "I just live and breathe it," says Janet Richardson, 75, from Ashbourne, who has been going to Royal Shrovetide since she was a 1-year-old. "I can't sleep because I'm excited. It's so lovely to think that all these people still want to come here and watch this beautiful game that we've got in our town."
Local Sweden
08-03-2025
- Politics
- Local Sweden
INSIDE SWEDEN: Why foreigners in Sweden should get engaged in unions
Hej alla! Some time last year, I put myself forward as a delegate for the Congress of the Swedish Union of Journalists, which is held about every third year, and unexpectedly got selected (I have no idea who voted for me apart from my colleagues at The Local). So last week, I spent three days at a conference hotel in Saltsjöbaden, outside Stockholm, helping in my very small way to set a future course for the union. It could be agonising listening to the same speakers make submission after submission on the same question over and over again. It could be exhausting, returning at 8pm to grind through point after point until half past 10 at night. It was disappointing to watch as the other delegates voted down all three of the proposals I'd been most rooting for. But it was also inspiring and something I would highly recommend any foreigner living in Sweden to do if the opportunity comes up. Congresses like this, where the members of unions, sports federations or campaign organisations agree on future priorities and hold the boards to account, are the foundation of Sweden as a society. The meeting's chair kept a god stämning, or good atmosphere, despite two or three awkward characters who took up far more than their fair share of time. Engaged members who had fought for months to get proposals they really believed in onto the agenda showed extraordinary grace when they were then rejected by the other delegates. And it was wonderful to meet 91 journalists from across the country, all of them passionate about the profession and willing to put in the time to defend it and its practitioners. I thought of all the other congresses held across the country, going back for more than a hundred years, of the countless meetings of unions, sports federations, campaign groups, each of them making hundreds of decisions which together have led to so much of what is great about this country today. If you want to be part of Sweden, get involved. Fika calendar This was the peak week for Swedish fika, including both Fettisdagen (Shrove Tuesday, Mardi Gras) and fössta tossdan i mass, or "The first Thursday in March", when people in Småland traditionally eat marzipan cakes. So it was only natural to choose it for the launch of the Local's new Fika Calendar. We had a dive into the history behind Semlor, the creamy, marzipan bun that sends Swedes crazy and an explanation of the humour behind the marzipan cake tradition. Readers who share Becky's obsession with Swedish cakes and patisserie in all their forms, and want regular updates, can sign up for the new Fika Calendar here. What else has been in the news? The shockwaves from the bullying treatment of Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky in the Oval Office on February 28th were felt in Sweden, as elsewhere in Europe, throughout the week. After attending a summit in London on March 2nd, Prime Minister Ulf Kristersson said Sweden would be willing to send peacekeeping troops to Ukraine in the event of a peace deal. Sweden announced that it was sending Gripen jets to Poland to help patrol their airspace. We put together an explainer on how Sweden's defence industry is ramping up to help Europe's rearmament. It wasn't just US President Donald Trump increasing the sense of insecurity in Sweden. Police in Gotland launched a sabotage probe after the pumps suppling the island's water supply were damaged. There was bad news for inflation, with prices rising for the second month in a row, making further cuts to the interest rate in the near term unlikely. Mortgage providers aren't cutting their rates to fully reflect the lower interest rates set by Sweden's central bank, leading Sweden's Financial Supervisory Authority to advise borrowers to actively seek to renegotiate their mortgages. We explained how to move your mortgage to another bank if they don't cut your rate. We looked at what DIY work you are allowed to carry out yourself in Sweden and what requires a professional. The Confederation of Industry has carried out a new analysis, estimating that increasing the work permit salary threshold to 100 percent of the median salary in Sweden, would cost the economy 30 billion kronor. I spoke to parents of pupils at Internationella Engelska Gymnasiet Södermalm (IEGS), who expressed their anger at the way the IES school chain has handled the closure of the school, taking in pupils last autumn only to leave them stranded, without a school in which to finish their educations. There's sun and blue skies outside my window and I'm looking forward to getting outside into the weather, that down here in Skåne at least, is feeling increasingly spring-like. What do you love most about spring in Sweden? Tell us in our survey here. Thanks for reading, Richard Orange Nordic Editor, The Local
New York Times
07-03-2025
- Sport
- New York Times
First, They Drink. Then They Fight Over a Ball. An English Town's Tradition.
In England, the Tuesday before lent is traditionally celebrated by eating a stack of pancakes. But in Atherstone, a small town about 100 miles northwest of London, the locals gathered for a more bloody ritual: At 3 p.m. on the town's main street, a ball was thrown out of the second-story window of a mortgage broker's office, and dozens of men roared in unison as they piled on top of it. They punched and shoved each other as they scrambled for the ball, eventually emerging from the scrum with road rash and swollen faces. One young player smiled at onlookers, revealing a mouth of bloodied braces. This is the Atherstone Ball Game, an 826-year-old tradition in this Warwickshire town, and one of a dwindling number of ancient football games played across Britain on Shrove Tuesday, known as Fat Tuesday in the United States. King John is said to have initiated the town's first match, between Leicestershire and Warwickshire, in 1199. He offered a bag of gold for the winner, the story goes, creating a frenzied competition whose spirit lives on in today's game. Locals often say there are only two rules to the game: Keep the ball on the town's main street, and don't kill anyone. In reality, there's a bit more to it than that, organizers say (and the no-killing rule is hyperbole). But at its core, the game is simple. Participants kick and carry a leather ball up and down the city's main street for two hours. In the final minutes, they fight for possession of the ball until a klaxon sounds, ending the game. The winner: whoever is holding the ball at the end. To gain an advantage, many players organize teams out of local pubs, though in the end only one person can emerge victorious. Shoving, kicking, biting, punching — most uses of force, really — are fair game, particularly in the frantic final moments, said Noel Johnston, a 57-year-old retired factory worker who served as one of the game's chief marshals, a type of volunteer referee. 'This game is for men,' he said. (Though women are not barred from competing, they rarely do.) On game day, 'friendships can be tested,' Mr. Johnston added, and 'everyone wants to be the alpha male.' Kyle Crawford, a 28-year-old who boxes in his spare time, said participating felt like the 'closest thing to getting into the ring.' Ahead of the game, thousands squeezed along Long Street, the town's main thoroughfare, to watch the action unfold. Schoolchildren, who were given the day off for the occasion, clung to storefront windows that had been boarded up to prevent any damage. Police drones buzzed overhead. They, along with a few dozen officers, were there to monitor anyone who might use the game as 'an excuse for criminal violence,' the Warwickshire Police said. As the game began and the scrum thrashed on the street, Ryan James, who oversaw first aid for the event, didn't seem worried. His company, Choice Response, brought eight medics and an ambulance. 'It looks quite brutal,' he said, but the most serious wounds he had treated by the end of the day were a minor concussion and a head gash — which he said initially made it look as if the victim 'had half of his head decapitated,' but turned out to be a minor laceration. Throughout the afternoon, the onlookers played their own game of chicken with the action, gathering around the mass of competitors, only to run and scream when the ball got too close to them. Marshals paused the game every few minutes to let children kick the ball and pose for photos. 'The day itself is a family day,' said Rob Bernard, the chairman of the event's organizing committee. In the weeks leading up to the game, the ball is paraded around town to pubs, businesses and schools to drum up excitement and raise money for charity. Folk football, as this type of game is known, began as a pagan ritual and laid the foundations for soccer and rugby, as well as American, Australian and Gaelic football, the author Desmond Morris wrote in his book 'The Soccer Tribe.' While the tradition has died out in many places, it has remained a fixture in Atherstone, passed down through generations, said Pamela Colloff, who helps run the town's heritage center. Historically, the ballgames were a way for people to blow off steam, have fun and settle scores. 'For any sort of friction, it would be quite common to say, 'We'll sort that out on ballgame day,'' Ms. Colloff said. That was particularly true during the bitter miner's strike in the 1980s, she said, when workers on opposite sides of the strike found themselves facing off in the ballgame. Mr. Johnston, the marshal, said many outsiders misunderstood the game, seeing its violence but not its boost to civic pride. The game was particularly important now, he said, as working-class English towns like Atherstone had been hollowed out. When he was younger, Atherstone was a bustling little town, he said, with a strong pub culture. 'Now, you could fire an AK-47 straight down the town at 9 o'clock on a Saturday night and shoot no one,' he said, adding an expletive. But not on ballgame day, he said while holding a pint in a pub that soon had a line flowing out the door. 'We've got to cling on to our traditions,' he said. As the clock ran down on Tuesday, the game's chaotic roots surfaced. The ball was pinned under a group of players on a sidewalk, and the men began to swarm. Occasionally, someone would try to climb across the mob to get closer to the ball, crowd surfing on their competitors while also kicking and punching them. At one point, a young man climbed onto the awning of a Costa Coffee shop to line up his next attack, but the structure buckled under his weight and he tumbled, along with a sheet of metal, onto the men below. The crowd cheered its approval. Finally, the klaxon blew. Marcus Cooper, a 31-year-old construction worker who had spent 40 minutes at the bottom of the scrum, emerged as the winner. He was 'tired, but buzzing,' he said. His prize? The ball, and the adoration of the town for the next 12 months.
