psmv5: Rock Salt

[Salt domes (hills) and salt glaciers (dark areas) in the Zagros Mountains of southern Iran]

As advertised at the end of reference 1, we made it to Rock Salt just past the start of East Street at the end of last month.

I thought I had visited the previous Plough & Harrow occasionally in the past, but checking this morning, it seems that it was already shut in 2012, so it must have been empty for a while. I don't think there was another occupant between them and Rock Salt, which started up a little before the plague. Certainly, there does not seem to be anything in the archive before reference 3, by which time Rock Salt looks to be up and running.

I wonder this morning where the Turks who run the place got the name from. Perhaps they are more alive to the salt glaciers of Iran of reference 4 that I was until I turned them up this morning. Not completely convinced by the snap above, truncated top and left, but this modest digression has gone far enough.

Down Hook Road to find that the house containing the Atlas Cedar I keep an eye on has been sold. I suppose, sadly, that it is only a matter of time before the cedar is removed to make way for more cars.

I suppose the serious steel work supporting the gate is all part of the package which came with the interesting cars and the interesting plants.

A bit further down, we noticed that the fairly new flats which had been put up at the roundabout, opposite where Alio's Italian grocery had been, were looking a bit shabby. Maybe the developer chose the wrong sort of white paint. Maybe the flats needed a bit more frontal trim to liven them up. A little odd, as the developer in question, Zestan, now defunct, had rather fancied itself. See reference 7 for previous notice of same.

Rock Salt quiet when we turned up, with just one other customer. And no more appeared during our time there, leading one to wonder how they manage to stay open.

Liking to try the local wine (as it were) when available, we got going with a satisfactory red from Anatolia. 'Yakut, the legendary red wine of Turkey, is produced from Öküzgözü, Boğazkere, Alicante and Carignan grapes carefully selected from the best vineyards of Eastern Anatolia and Aegean Regions'. Oddly, a lot cheaper at reference 6 than from more well known outlets turned up by Bing.

Bread and humus for me, something more salad orientated for her.

Followed by something more meaty.

Winding up with a chunk of ice cream rolled in something nutty. All very good.

In the margins, we noticed the seventies style chairs and we wondered about this pillar. Unusual to get a naked H-beam, with columns being more the thing in old pubs. We did not find out about the pillar, but we did learn that our pleasant young waiter had a degree in physics from one of the provincial universities in Turkey, that is to say not Istanbul or Ankara, for which one needed money, and not finding more suitable work in Turkey, settled for hospitality over here. He knew all about the enormous street food markets of Istanbul, which I had learned about from a colleague while I was working on a project review in Belfast twenty years ago. I think the story was that she was married to a Turk; I forget what she was herself. But she was a smoker, as I was then, as least in a small way, with small cigars.

Our waiter also explained that unlike, for example, the Saudis, Turks might mostly be Muslims, but they were very relaxed about alcoholic drinks. While the Iranians don't seem to be able to make up their minds - for whom see reference 8.

A good meal, although the place could have done with livening up a bit, and it was a puzzle why the place was so quiet. I suppose being a little way out of town centre was not sufficiently compensated for by the office blocks around. And I don't suppose that either the creationists from the Art College or the dancers from the dancing school are much into eating out at lunch time. But that apart, the Turks do look to be moving into the slot occupied by subcontinental and Chinese restaurants when we were young. A story confirmed by at least two correspondents from the provinces.

From there to pay a visit to the refurbished library, busy with what look liked young people from lower sixths, where we found a good selection of Penguin Maigret in the crime section.

I treated myself to 'The dancer at the Gai-Moulin'. Apart from anything else, always interesting to compare and contrast the translation with the original and both with television adaptations.

Court Recreation Ground was quiet when we passed though, despite it being a warm afternoon.

But would Google Images crack this one?

Not just me that fusses about the ivy trying to choke trees in public spaces.

An exotic in West Hill Avenue. At the entrance to a small gated community, otherwise a bit of back land development. The sort of thing that people living on estates in Epsom get very aerated about - except when it is them who are cashing in.

And what will Google Images make of this one, a tree he had previously voted to be a Serbian spruce?

Answer, he focuses on the cones, turning up all kinds of images of cones, some of them spruce, but I did not notice a Serbian spruce among them.

I try prompting him, and he turns up this snap of cones on a Serbian spruce from a nursery. More or less consistent but not conclusive. Apart from anything else, my cones are more pointed - but that may just be that they are a bit younger.

Work still to do on this one.