Month: May 2013

Are you excited by 3D printers? I used to be so-so about it; now they have me building one from kit. Why the change of heart? Simple. I was asked to speak at TED @ SXSW a year ago (where I spoke on Information is Food). While we waited for the event to start, there was an opportunity to speak to the other speakers. Which gave me the chance to spend some time with Ping Fu, who spoke about 3D printing and its effect on humanity.

I was blown away, especially by the example to do with children born with cleft palates. I will do everything in my power to drive the cost of 3D printers down; as Ping Fu reminds us, every child has the right to smile.

So since then I’ve been thinking about them, playing with them, researching them.

One of the use-cases I was keen on trying out was that of “faxing” an LP from a scanner in one place to a remote 3D printer somewhere else. I knew that it would be some time before it could be done to any worthwhile fidelity; but the idea that you could scan an LP in one place, send the STL file over to a remote printer, get it to print out the analog object. The principle was simple, just the same as you would send text via telegraph a hundred years ago, or image via fax thirty years ago. [A part of me was also intrigued by what would happen in the world of copyright when this became possible; after the general troglodyte mess created by that industry over digital music, I guess anything is possible].

Which is why, when friend Chris Heuer pointed me towards this article, I was delighted.\

A technique for converting digital audio files into 3D-printable, 33RPM records. Perfect. Go on, read the entire post. It’s worth it. And it’s the shape of things to come.

I love a good vindaloo. A proper vindaloo, as described here.

Not surprisingly, I’ve had years of disappointment in the UK, not being able to find a Goan restaurant that met my expectation. I wasn’t fool enough to try and look for one in the traditional Bangladeshi, often Sylheti, establishment that people call “Indian”. After all, none of them serves pork. And a vindaloo without pork is not a vindaloo. Pork. Garlic. Wine or wine vinegar. Onions. A little ginger. Chillies, cumin, turmeric. Marinated overnight. A Portuguese dish Indianised over centuries, owing much to Vasco da Gama.

So when I heard that there was a place in Putney that served “proper” vindaloo, I wanted to go there. But I needed an excuse.

That excuse came when a friend of mine, Joao Barros of Veniam, planned a trip to London and we were to have lunch; it turned out he had a Goan grandfather, and I needed no further prompting.

Off we went to Ma Goa. A tiny restaurant, nothing to look at, tucked away off the beaten track in Putney.

We weren’t disappointed. The vindaloo was magnificent.

 

I’ve been trying to find words to describe the taste and texture, and failing. But then serendipity struck. I was looking for a recipe to link to in this post, and in that recipe was the precise descriptor I was looking for.

A pickle. A familiar, much-loved, tangy pickle. That’s what a good vindaloo tastes like. Fiery without making your ears pop. A sauce with subtle bits and bumps and odds and sods, reminding you there’s vinegar, garlic and chillies there, but not making an announcement of the fact. Meat that is chewy yet soft enough to pull apart with your tongue, imbued with the taste of the sauce via the marinade.

A pickle.

Joao and I both loved it. The rest of the food was pretty good as well: fresh mango lassi that went down a treat; an unusual starter, a fusion of masala dosa and pappadom (the pappadom was moistened prior to frying, filled with masala potato, folded like a filo pastry and then quick-fried); a pista kulfi where you could feel the bits of pistachio on your teeth and on your tongue. All in all, a brilliant meal, ridiculously cheap for what it represented.

And then came another surprise. When the bill came, I wasn’t given the opportunity to leave a tip. So I asked.

His answer?

If you liked it, say so on TripAdvisor. That’s the best tip we can have.

It wasn’t the first time this happened to me; earlier this year, when vacationing in Eleuthera, I wanted to thank the staff for the service, which had been superb. And their unanimous answer was to direct me to TripAdvisor. And there’d been a few instances last year, but the feeling I get is that the momentum is growing. People don’t want to be thanked in cash, when you could recommend them to others. That’s what matters to them more than the cash. And the only way they can earn the recommendation is the hard way: by providing something exceptional. Which Ma Goa did.

Now that’s what I call a Tipping Point.

 

May 4th 1970. 43 years ago.Kent State University, Ohio.

 

Jeffrey Glenn Miller (March 28 1950-May 4 1970)

Allison Krause (April 4 1951- May 4 1970)

Sandra Lee Scheuer (August 11 1949-May 4 1970)

William Knox Schroeder (July 20 1950-May 4 1970)

Many of us know the words to the Neil Young song, immortalising the tragic events of May 4 1970. Four young students, killed in their prime. At least two of them apparently on their way to class and not actively involved in the antiwar protests taking place on campus.

Today.

43 years ago.

I was not yet 13 when it happened, but I still remember seeing the photographs in LIFE magazine a week later. Yes, in Calcutta. There was life before the internet. We had things called newspapers and magazines. They made it across prodigious distances at remarkable speeds.

I was nearly 16 when I first heard the song. And I remember it affected me, particularly because I could remember the incident but couldn’t recall even one of the names of the students whose lives had been lost. I felt grieved and aggrieved.

I’ve learnt a lot more about the incident since, and about the song as well. About how people were affected by both.

So take a minute today and dedicate that time to the memory of Jeff Miller, Allison Krause, Sandy Scheuer and William Schroeder. May their souls rest in peace.

And when you do, think about what they faced that summer.

And then think about what the youth of today face this summer.

The youth of today. Our children.

….this summer I hear the drumming….

What do our children hear? Who are their Nixons, their National Guards, their Kent State Universities?

….this summer I hear the drumming….

Coda: Reader David Eastman points out that some readers may not know anything about the event I refer to. So here’s a link to what happened, and also as seen through the eyes of a Guardian columnist forty years later.