Turner or Constable?

A proper good morning to you.
We are in for a heat wave here in London but nowhere near as awful as the Northeast United States. Over the weekend, and I am including Friday, we will have temperatures above eighty Fahrenheit and high humidity. I shall be taking it easy. And here is a good place to remind travelers to avoid dehydration and drink plenty of water as I do. I just don’t tell you about it because morning tea and afternoon water aren’t very exciting.
As it happens right now I am sipping at an aperitif called Kir Royale that I made in honor of the Tour de France. You can get these in Paris for about nine Euros a go. I prefer to make them. Here is the recipe. Take black current liquor obtained at Ham House a few days ago and put about a tablespoon of that in a small goblet with some Cava picked up at Sainsbury that does not violate the five-pound rule. Sip.
I went out early this morning. First I wanted to get to the tube station before the rush hour crowd because it was time to top off my Oyster Card. There are various cards that tourists can get in major European cities for museum entry or transportation, and I usually advise getting one even if it does not save money as the convenience and not having to stand in line for tickets makes the cards worth the money. In my case the Oyster does save bucks, but if you are going to be here a week or less, there are alternatives. So the wretched machine would NOT take my debit card, so I had to feed it some of my cash. It’s a good thing I topped off when I did though. I was down to one short trip’s worth of value.
I also went after groceries, and I include another big bottle of water in that.
While it was still cool I went out for a leg stretch. You can follow me down New Oxford Street to Oxford Street, past Charing Cross Road, even past Regents Street as I was just snooping around before the stores opened. Doubling back I hopped the tube at Oxford Circus—the Victoria Line for the Tate Britain. I emerged at Pimlico, but instead of following the signs to the museum, because I was way early, I walked along the river.
Milbank is part of the Thames Path but please do not imagine the idyllic stroll of yesterday. Milbank is a major London Thoroughfare. Nevertheless the river and its banks are always interesting, and it was still nice and cool. I walked down (going east) from Vauxhall to Lambeth Bridge and then back to the Tate where I hung out in the gardens until it opened, trying to convince the pigeons that, no, I did not have anything to eat.
The Tate Britain is another marvelous and engrossing collection. All the pantheon of British painters are there with some especially fine Reynolds and Gainsborough although I have more of a soft spot for Hogarth and Wright of Derby. The Pre Raphaelites are wonderfully represented as are Sargent and Whistler.
There is one Really Annoying one called The Awakening Conscience by Holman Hunt. Betcha you can find it on the internet. Feel free to tell me what you think.
Most people are there for the Turners. Yes, me, too. But as much as I revere Turner and as magnificent as his works are, it is still Constable who catches at my heart. A room catches exquisite evocations of the English countryside fading away even as Constable painted it.
Turner left his personal collection to the nation, which beautifully presented in the Clore Gallery. The best ones defy his contemporary taste for historical or moralizing work. Instead there are powerful seascapes where humans are puny in comparison with nature. In fact in most of his most moving works humanity is absent or minimized and what is important is atmosphere and light. The colors in some of them are brilliant, and in others form seems to be overwhelmed by light.
And yet it’s Constable that catches at my heart--with his green leafy trees, and meandering streams, and cloudy skies, and scenes of peace and quiet that must have been normal for him but seems so far away from us.

Gee, Pil, all that art has sure worked up an appetite.
Ok you can stop hinting. We are honoring the Spanish victory over Germany in World Cup. Usually I root for who has the cutest goalie—in this case Germany--but they were out played. So some meaty, salty green olives (from Greece but let’s not be picky, ok?) and some Spanish almonds (brought from home by me), some Spanish wine—the Cava, which isn’t bad considering the price, and some Tortilla Espanola.
For you North Americans—this is not the same as a tortilla—it’s an omelet with potatoes, onion and garlic, which is one of the national dishes of Spain.
Whoa, Pil, did you make that yourself?
Don’t make me laugh. One gets them as take out to serve at room temperature or microwave as fancy takes one. It’s a tapas. Tapas are big in London—not as big as sushi, but BIG.
Let’s have a bite. Num. Nummy. Spanish Tortilla. Maybe I should learn how to make them. Definitely eggy but the potato is also there. Onion and garlic are very subtle.
Cherrio!