Issue 551 PDF - Varsity

26outlook interview18 January 2002focusfashion sciencewww.varsity.cam.ac.ukSEX IN THE CITYVarsity Reward Cardmaking life feel betterGuys, you’ve all been at home over theholidays, eating turkey with your parentsand brothers and sisters and aunts andgrandmas, so we thought we’d bring aray of sacreligious sunlight into yourlives ... the Varsity Top Ten Places to havesex in your fair and beloved studenttown. And for your further entertainmentand amusement we have providedyou with your very own cut out and keepcard: just cross the boxes when you qualify.First to complete their card gets aprize, that is if you promise to streakdown King’s Parade shouting “I’m aslag!” at the top of your voice. So foryour delectation, here you are ...Top of the rank comes King’s CollegeChapel, certainly the most tasteless ofour selection. Despite being sacredground, or perhaps because for that reason,many have claimed to have beenthere and done it. So for bonus points,we challenge you to blow the roof in theorgan loft.Secondly, and a must for sadomasochists,try our favourite tower oftorture, a.k.a. the University Library.Most of you would probably creep into aquiet corner of the North Front, but forthose of you with a voyeristic streak see ifyou can get away with it in the rare manuscriptsroom.This can be followed up by a powertrip or two, either on the lawn of theSenate House (excellent stress relief followinga bad exam result, or alternativelya fantastic and original way of celebrating)or in the Union Chamber, onthe President’s Chair of course. Weadvise you start social climbing in theUnion bar now!The Bridge of Sighs would leave youexhilerated in the open air, though to getaway with it on Cambridge’s favouritetourist bridge we’d suggest you hang offit/under it, anything to avoid the camerasunless that’s your thing of course.Even tourists, capable of believing mostthings, may find it difficult to acceptthat shagging on walkways is within thebounds of extra-curricular achievement.Weighing in at number six, the pinnacleof class, featuring some ofCambridge’s most scary porters, whodares wins if you’re brave enough to blowbubbles in Trinity’s Great CourtFountain. After bouncing around onyour Chariot of Fire, streak round thecourt at midnight wearing only a ‘beenthere-done-that’T-shirt for real kudos.Leave in a hurry.Decide who’s on top when you ridethrough Jesus’s Front Lawn mounted onyour stallion. Like a game of BuckingBroncho, the aim is to stay on for as longas you can until someone chucks you offit.For the serene and rhythmic swaying ofthe trees head to Grantchester Meadowsto feel the earth beneath your feet. Betterstill, the location comes with munchies,a romantic bottle of wine, oh... and severalpunt loads of tourists.Finally, for utter tackiness, the worstlocations central Cambridge has tooffer.. Cindy’s toilets (and its got to bethe girls’ toilets to be worth it), perhapswith a later stop to finish off the night inLion Yard Car Park. Our editor, Adam,recommends the exit barrier for thatextra lift.So there you have it, Cambridge’sgreatest and grimiest brought together inone determined cause.King’s College ChapelUniversity LibrarySenate HouseUnion ChamberBridge of SighsTrinity Great Court FountainJesus College horseGrantchester MeadowsCindy’s toiletsLion Yard car parkVarsity does not accept responsibility for loss of limbs, degree or dignity in theundertaking of the above.Brasserie Michel, c’est chouetteJamie Douglass and Thomas Farnsworth sample the culinary delights of Cambridge French cuisineVisiting France, something I am partialto doing from time to time, is a lottery.You take your life in your hands everytime you attempt to cross the road, riskyour taste buds every time you order abeer, and your wallet every time you doanything at all in Paris. When notindulging in drinking or automotiveGallic Roulette, one can marvel at theway that, despite constantly bitchingabout how the rest of Europe hasadopted English as its language ofintercourse, the French positivelydespise anyone experimenting withphrases in the local lingo. The beachesaround Calais are crowded with beersoakedoverweight Englishmen, andsurly garlic infused waiters who justcannot wait to demonstrate that theirgrasp of English far outweighs yourown pathetic schoolboy knowledge ofirregular verbs. As you can tell, I don’tcross he channel for the atmosphere. Ina recent survey in the City, the topthree loathings of English businessmenwere listed as Recession, BoiledCabbage, and The French, never mindGenocide, Racism, or Poverty. Apartfrom regarding onions as an item ofdaywear, our beret-covered cousins alsohold world records in racism, jingoism,and lorry-striking, at almost Olympianlevel. The Gallic press managed tomake the BSE story last for six monthsafter the epidemic was brought undercontrol, whilst happily feeding theirown cattle a tasty blend of brain matterand shit. In fact, I sometimes wonderwhy the rest of Europe tolerates themat all. But then I go over there andremember.Cuisine is a French word. ‘Saute’ is aFrench word. ‘Chef’ is a French word,for goodness sake. They invented it.We copied. And that is why, in MerrieEngland, I’m always a bit wary ofFrench restaurants. My views on CaféRouge, Dome, et al are well known,but Brasserie Michel starts to impressbefore you get near the food.Our table being booked for a goodhalf hour after we arrived, we weretaken upstairs to a snug bar, comfysofas, roaring log fire, and menus toselect from in advance. I like this idea.I really like reclining and drinking, andbeing called to your table when youfood is ready, because it circumventsThe Pause. You know what I mean,you’ve ordered your food, selected awine, and then you have to find somethingto fill the next ten minutes. If,like me, you are a smoker, you have thetricky “To light or not to light” decisionto face, since nothing hastens thearrival of food, taxis or buses fasterthan sparking up one of Rothmans’finest.We went for the Wild Mushroom onMadeira-soaked brioche, and the TigerPrawn and Noodle salad. Now, if I wereto draw a list of rules for dining out,one of the first would be ‘Never order aChinese dish in a French restaurant’,and unfortunately, this was justified.No chef in his right mind is going to usethe best quality cuts of meet for someidiot who wants the damn thing reducedto boot-leather consistency.The noodles were flaccid at best, theprawns few and far between, and thesauce slightly less piquant that Bostick.There are two schools of though operatinghere. One dictates that, in aFrench restaurant, on should notattempt to sample fusion dishes. Theother says that if the damn thing is onthe menu, then it should be as good asthe alternatives. This was not.However, the Mushroom dish wassomething else. I failed to note whetherthey serve this in main course size aswell, but I hope so, because it was simplygorgeous. The brioche was firm,crispy, and succulent, the fungi tasty,the sauce rich, the salad perfectlydressed. All in all, a dish to be proud of.I would recommend this to anyone, Ireally would. For the main course, wechose the Veal Escalopes, and the Steakwith Blue Cheese Sauce. The veal wastender, a beautifully creamy meat, andthe vegetables a good accompaniment– not roasted or boiled to oblivion as sooften seems to happen. The jus wassour to the point of providing a contrast,though not an Esther Rantzenjob, and went very well with the overallconcept. As for the steak, well, a wordabout steak. I suggest, and pleaseremember this, that you never, ever,order your steak well done unless youhate yourself. To request your beef isincinerated will not only destroy thetaste of the meal, it will also mark youout as somebody who enjoys Bad Food.Think of it this way. To overcook beefdestroys flavour. No chef in his rightmind is going to use the best qualitycuts of meet for some idiot who wantsthe damn thing reduced to boot-leatherconsistency. It is right and proper thatthe philistines who request such thingsget inferior meat because that is preciselywhat they deserve. Now, I may bewronging Brasserie Michel here. It maybe (though I sincerely hope that itisn’t), that they are happy to waste goodcuts of meat on the ‘well done’ brigade.I couldn’t say. What I could say is thatmy steak was fantastic. I like my beefcooked so that a good vet could get itup and walking, and they obliged.Proper melt-in-the-mouth flesh. Thesort of thing that sends vegetarians intoapoplexy and me into rapture. In fact, Iforgot about the fries that came with it– right up until I noticed that half ofthem had mysteriously disappeared,and with good reason. If we are to goby the ‘Delia’ test of Crispy-outsidefluffy-inside,then these passed withhonours. The Blue Cheese sauce,though almost unnecessary, was rich,thick, and creamy. A very good accompanimentto an already great dish. Asfor desert, the cheese plate wasextremely well stocked, and the Whiteanddark-chocolate-parfait was simplydelicious. Small, certainly, but after themain dish, all that was within ourcapacity. To be honest, it is difficult tocritique the parfait. It tasted as it wasdescribed, and that is enough of a recommendationfor any desert.The menu at Brasserie Michel iswidely ranging, and to my great delighthas a number of liqueurs and cognacson offer for after dinner. I cannotpraise the place highly enough for anoverall dining experience – the décor isrelaxing and convivial, the staff bothattentive and efficient, and the range offood excellent. My one gripe is with theTiger Prawn Noodles. They weren’tbad, just mediocre; and frankly out ofplace.Brasserie Michel does French cuisineto a standard of excellence that surpassesany contender in Cambridge, and Ipersonally do not see a need to plungeinto the fusion market, much less whenthis compromises the quality of themenu. But to complain would bechurlish. The food was more thanenjoyable, and the atmosphere, uponwhich the place clearly prides itself,spot on. And there wasn’t an onionwearingbuffoon or a lorry driver insight.5/5