I LOVE when two of my favourite things come together, like my body and my bed or pizza and my mouth. But those aren't what this post is about. This post combines two of the things in this world I cannot live without - words on a page and words to music.
Franz Ferdinand are one of the first bands whose album I remember buying and thinking...woah and then playing it on repeat all summer while I danced around barefoot. I think I was 15 at the time so already had some semblance of my future musical taste but this band definitely made an impact on me. I even went to see them play an outdoor gig despite suffering bad glandular fever and nearly fainting in the crowd. You may be thinking that they've kind of disappeared, but actually they released a new album last year and I love it.
What brought me to reading this book is that a few weeks ago (maybe only one) Franz played a gig at Edinburgh's Usher Hall in support of Scottish Independance (let's not talk about that right now *simmer*) and my wee pub is just next door, so when I noticed them outside, I had to go get my photo taken like a proper wee fan girl. Actually, my friend took my phone and asked Alex for the photo because I was too shy to speak and I am not a shy person.
Anyway! Alex wrote this book while on tour with Franz and I guess it kind of brings three of my loves because it's all about food and restaurants Alex ate in while travelling. He's admitted in the book and interviews he is not a food critic and does not have the language and vocabulary to do this. That is what I love about this book. The man clearly has a way with words and he brings his lyrical turn of phrase to the descriptions in here.
If you read his columns in the Guardian at the time, then this is just a collection of those. Also if you're not really a Franz/Kapranos fan then you may not be interested. I think I mainly loved it because I have a total crush on him. Some of the articles are super short, some are longer. Some describe eating Asian street food or dinging in exclusive and costly restaurants, while he also describes coming home to his flat in Glasgow to find some old orange juice and having his first deep fried pizza as a kid (a Scottish rite of passage, don't you know? They're excellently greasy and disgusting on a particularly bad hangover). I love the mix of highs and lows. One I loved was when he describes eating at T in the Park and having the fear that he will be asked to leave the backstage area thanks to a previous experience where Franz weren't on "the list".
So enough gushing from me. I definitely recommend this book, but as you can tell, I'm incredibly biased.
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