Zing Tsjeng

“Ah carajo, mi laptop se va a morir. Espera deja voy por mi cargador”, grita Rina Sawayama un poco pixeleada desde su pantalla. Bienvenidos a las entrevistas de estrellas pop en tiempos de Covid, un proceso facilitado por Zoom, una herramienta tecnológica de la cual ninguno de nosotros había escuchado hace un año.Mientras Sawayama se pelea frenéticamente para conectar los cables, me regaló una vista de su nueva casa en el sureste de Londres o por lo menos el “cobertizo glorificado” que la cantante británica-japonesa de 30 años llama actualmente su sala de ensayo y gimnasio. Como muchos de nosotros, el encierro de marzo precipitó la comprensión de que una casa compartida no es el lugar óptimo para pasar una pandemia. Como pocos de nosotros, ella fue capaz de hacer algo al respecto. “Me sentí como: ya no puedo vivir más tiempo aquí”, dice abriendo sus ojos en un intento de simular angustia. “En cuanto se terminó el encierro, dije: Ok, me largo”, enfatizó.Puede que esté en modo hogareño —nuestro chat tuvo como prefacio una advertencia de que tenía pintores en su casa y de que tal vez cortarían el wifi por accidente—, pero ahorita Sawayama es una de las sensaciones más solicitadas surgidas en Reino Unido. Un día después de que hablamos, se anunció su debut mundial televisivo en The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. Pocos días después, llegó a 100 millones de reproducciones en Spotify.Todo es gracias a Sawayama, su abrumadoramente extravagante primer álbum. Es un disco que salta

‘Ah shit, my laptop’s about to die – hang on, let me get my charger,’ a slightly grainy Rina Sawayama shouts from her screen. Welcome to interviewing pop stars in the time of Covid – a process facilitated by Zoom, a piece of technology none of us had heard of a year ago. As Sawayama frantically scrambles to plug cables in, I’m treated to a view of her new place in south-east London – or at least, the ‘glorified shed’ that the 30-year-old Japanese-British musician is currently calling her rehearsal room and gym. Like many of us, March’s lockdown precipitated a realisation that a houseshare is not the optimal place to spend a pandemic. Like fewer of us, she was able to do something about it. ‘I was like, “I can’t live here any more,”’ she says, widening her eyes in mock distress, ‘and then as soon as [lockdown] lifted, I was like: Right, I’m out.’ She might be in nesting mode – our chat is prefaced by a warning that she’s got painters in and they might accidentally cut off the wifi – but right now Sawayama is one of the most hotly tipped acts to emerge out of the UK. A day after we speak, her worldwide TV debut on ‘The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon’ is announced. She hits 100 million streams on Spotify a few days later. It’s all because of ‘Sawayama’ – her dizzyingly extravagant debut album. It’s a record that leapfrogs genres with the dexterity of a mid-concert Gaga costume change, spanning glamorous house and anthemic queer balladry and sampling everything from a Beethov

London has many restaurants you nip in for a quick bite or ones you can dawdle in over dessert, but there are all too few eateries that confidently grab you by the shirt collar and say: 'This is a date night restaurant. This, my friend, is a sexy restaurant.' Well, put your best freakum dress on, because The Tent (at the End of the Universe) is that restaurant. Buzzy ex-Noma chef John Javier initially opened this Middle Eastern small plates joint in Fitzrovia as a no-fee, members-only club before throwing the doors open to all and sundry. So what can us plebs expect? Through the unmarked doors, you enter a small, dimly-lit space reminiscent of a Bedouin tent, complete with low seating, tiny constellation-like ceiling lights and some very dramatic draping. So: This is the tent, but what about the end of the universe bit? Well, it’s very dark in there, which would fit with the apocalypse theme, if the end of the world was soundtracked by an incongruously loud Brazilian bossa nova band. Thankfully, the food is good enough to drown out the noise – the warm, pillowy flatbread comes dusted with a sprinkle of zaatar, to be dunked in beetroot borani with a creamy kick of goats curd and a deliciously moreish hummus drenched in a spicy chilli oil. The lamb shish nails the smokiness of an ocakbasi grill but comes in at a disappointing sliver of a portion; the mushroom shish fares better with fat, juicy cuts grilled in umami-ish marinade. Then come the stars of the show: a wild tiger pra

This new Covent Garden joint is one of a handful of restaurants in the city specialising in the deep and complex flavours of Burmese food. Starting life as a Maltby Street food stall from part-Burmese founder Dan Anton and head chef Zaw Mahesh, it blossomed into a London Fields pop-up before quickly expanding into a permanent Shoreditch space in 2018 and now, finally, hitting jackpot with this gleaming new 100-seat spot in the The Yards. The interiors, with exposed brass fittings and blond-wood furniture, are reminiscent of a blandly upscale Scandi-inspired juice bar – more low-key hangout than romantic date-night spot – so thank God the food more than delivers.  Things kicked off with a trio of salads, including its now-famous lahpet thoke – pickled tea leaves shot through with shredded cabbage and the deeply aromatic notes of dried shrimp. It was followed up with grilled aubergine, cooked to silky, caramelised falling-apart heaven, with a smoky aroma that contrasted beautifully with a sprinkle of gently toasted peanuts. In fact, most of the food here has more funk than a Bruno Mars song – a masala hake featured a hefty chunk of fish perched prettily in a sea of glossy red curry, and tasted like a bright slingshot of unctuous spice. Most of the food here has more funk than a Bruno Mars song Rakhine mohinga, the restaurant’s star dish of fish noodle soup, is made from fermented fish paste and featured charred squid bouncier than a Tresemmé ad. I was also treated to a prospe

How much nature can you cram into 24 hours? A lot, as it turns out – as long as you’re willing to get up early. Photograph: Zing Tsjeng My wild adventure starts with a night at Tudor Farmhouse in the Forest of Dean. It ticks all my coddled millennial boxes. Locally sourced menu? Tick. Instagrammable roll-top bath? Tick. So why am I wide awake at 4.45am? I’ve left my duck-feather duvet to observe a ‘dawn chorus’ – not the symphony of groans as my hangover kicks in, but the birdsong that greets each morning. Most of us aren’t awake to hear it, but my guide Ed Drewitt knows exactly where to cop the best seats in the house. ‘It all comes down to sex,’ he enthuses as we walk among the trees to the coos of wood pigeons. ‘The females are most fertile in the morning. Her mate doesn’t want other males to come in. They’re singing, “I’m here, keep out!”’ As blackbirds and robins chime in, the trees throb with the sound of an orchestra in full swing. After a full English, I’m introduced to Raoul van den Broucke, a forager who used to supply Borough Market with wild delights and the sprightliest 77-year-old I’ve ever met. As we wander, Raoul points out wild garlic, sorrel and bittercress – all ready for harvesting. Then the mother lode: we spot morels (‘the most expensive mushroom in the world!’). We haul them back to the hotel kitchen to be sautéed in butter. They’re surprisingly substantial and utterly moreish – much like my 24-hour plunge into the Forest of Dean. Tudor Farmhouse,