Because I am a desiccated old prune in a young man’s body, pop-ups have always been businesses I don’t understand, run by people I don’t like. Harbingers of gentrification. Often, a way for big brands to show how spontaneous and funky they are, bro, while testing out a new revenue stream, and capitalising on cultural trends. Even the word is annoying. Pop-up. Like a book for people who don’t like books, or a freaky toy in a horror film. You know what else pops up? A rash.
Then I was invited to a supper club run by a refugee – Imad’s Choose Love Syrian Kitchen, which demonstrated the flexible, responsive advantages of pop-ups so convincingly, I changed my mind about everything I previously thought. It happens a lot. “I took a wrong turning on the way, because I was cold,” I say to Imad Alarnab, a man who escaped bombing, and made his way to this country through nine others, sometimes on foot. Luckily, he is a large, warm man who laughs a lot. Alarnab was a star chef in Damascus, owner of three restaurants, as well as juice bars and cafes. His “almost perfect” life was made less perfect by the arrival of civil war, but now that he is here, he wants to help those left behind. The proceeds from this weekly event, run with the charity Help Refugees, directly fund Hope Hospital, a paediatric facility and the only hospital in northern Aleppo. The hospital will close in one month without the support. Never has the phrase “Can we have the bill” seemed so fraught.
The food is wonderful, and I’m not just saying that. Three courses of Syrian cuisine, involving many starters, baba ghanoush, salads and flatbreads, served as a communal feast. Alarnab’s personal touches lighten the dishes and keep them accessible. His chicken and freekeh lamb are meltingly tender. One dip, made from roasted peppers and aubergine, is as astonishingly good as it is unimaginatively labelled. “The smoked dip! If someone can come up with a name for it, that would be great,” he laughs. (I suggested Red Sauce at Night, Diner’s Delight but never heard back. Rude.)
The scale of the humanitarian disaster in Syria often feels paralysing. Help Refugees saw a situation that needed help immediately. Within weeks, this kitchen was up and running, staffed by volunteers, with the money going straight to Hope. And of course, they lucked out with such a charismatic figure at the hob. Incidentally, the charity first became aware of Alarnab when he was living on the steps of a church near the Calais jungle, feeding a crowd of people every day. Draw your own parallels, yeah? Let’s keep this understated.
The point is, I am also doing my bit, by turning up and stuffing my face with potato salad. Not all heroes wear capes, although a bib would come in handy. I urge anyone who can make the journey to 134 Columbia Road in London to do so. Eat a falafel, save a life – if that isn’t the deal of the century, show me what is. Imad’s Choose Love Syrian Kitchen will run until the end of the month, but if successful, can stay open longer. Sometimes a pop-up deserves to stay popped up.
The Bollywood star and the killing of a couple of sacred deer
Last week, bodybuilding Bollywood superstar Salman Khan was sentenced to five years in jail for poaching, having been convicted of shooting two endangered blackbucks while out on a drive with other actors. It would have been funnier if he’d been sent down for fishing without a permit. You know, because of his name.
He may not be a household figure here, but that’s only because you’re racist. I’m kidding. But he is the ninth-highest paid actor in the world, according to Forbes’ 2017 figures. That’s only two places below Tom Cruise. Samuel L Jackson only made No 13. This is like Tom Hanks doing bird for ivory crime, or Vin Diesel smuggling endangered horn. It’s a huge scandal, particularly if you have Indian family. I text my mum, to get a grassroots response to the story. “Salman Khan prison five years for shooting a deer. What you think?” Within 30 seconds, the fastest she has ever replied, a response. “Fake news.”
It’s not so much fake, as old news. The case has lumbered along since 1998 and, over the years, a beleaguered Khan has submitted various accounts of the incident, including that the antelope died from stray dog bites, or “overeating and jumping”. That’s a weird combination of activities. Like snacking and ducking. Or swimming and rapping. Of course, the ungulate and its family have my sympathy, more than any celebrity. Justice would best be served by the case never being fully resolved, so that the actor’s roles become dominated by this one bizarre courtroom drama, which costs millions, and in which every year he’s forced to put forward a more detailed, hilarious account of what happened that night. Maybe he’ll resort to singing his defences, to make them more plausible. Shirtless. It wouldn’t be Bollywood otherwise.
The not so humble bumblebee
Scientists are supergluing trackable QR codes to the backs of common bumblebees, hoping to gain a better understanding of their complex social behaviour. The news has many obvious points of interest for fans of the humble bumble, none of which has delighted me as much as discovering the latin name of one variety. Bombus impatiens. “This is the third time you’re late this week, and I am growing very BOMBUS IMPATIENS.” The words sound like a Harry Potter spell, and it is scientifically impossible to remain in a bad mood when saying them aloud. Yet another reason to save the little guys.
