oysters, latkes, Stollen, Messiah

Went to see Messiah at the Coliseum yesterday. I'm such a baby about opera. I'm a baby anyway, but about opera I really am one. I have to force myself to enjoy it, tell myself to just keep watching. And stop fidgeting! At least for the first act or so I do. Apart from anything the theatre's all so plush and lulling the desire to sleep overwhelms me, however awake I make sure I am, with caffeine, before I go. After a couple of intervals and as many g&ts though, I feel perky, wide-eyed and mesmerised by the whole experience and come out thinking, It was wonderful really, wasn't it? (Okay, so I'm not cut out to be a critic.) It was just the same last night, and being Messiah it had the Christmassy feel you'd expect Messiah would have, so all in all I felt quite warmly about it, despite its whimsical staging, which, though appealing visually and sometimes conceptually, I couldn't quite buy into.

You have to force yourself to enjoy Covent Garden, too, sometimes, when it's shoved full to the brim with gimmicky stalls full of crap and swarming tourists with ample cash to buy (into) it. I say swarming tourists like I can say it, but I can't, only affect an urbanity over them I don't regrettably have. As I walked to the station from home, endured the train that trundles through Sussex and Surrey and scrapes noisily through South London, I thought how much I'd love to live in town, how tired I am of being outside, how symbolic this journey will be. I came up a bit early so I could wander round, do Covent Garden and the National Gallery for a little bit before heading to the theatre, be the tourist.

There's been a lot of t(w)alk flying round on Twitter about @youngandfoodish's latkes - the Jewish potato cakes somewhere between a rösti and a fritter - being sold on one of several market stalls the ROH/Ben's Cookies end of Covent Garden. Well, I had to have one, not having had one before, but an oyster stall got in my way and I had to have one of those too (or two, or three, or four).

The oysters, gnarly little rocks, were displayed in lovely abundance on a drift of crushed ice with pieces of lemon around, which I found very attractive. I asked for three and a glass of champagne. The lady serving me shucked them deftly; you felt awe and envy watching her do it. An effortless twist of the knife and off comes the top shell, then a swift dip and scrape under the meat to release it, a knowing prod and, with a light seashell clatter, onto the plate. They were really excellent, these oysters; plump meats with a good salty tang, ozoney fragrance and lots of juice to splash a little spoonful of shallot vinegar in.

Champagne came in one of those plastic flutes with the detachable bases we were using on the punts in Cambridge in the summer and I'm rather fond of them for that reason. The wine wasn't bad at all: good and dry. The day was cold, raw and steely, and the icy champagne felt congruous with it. You think you should have something warming when it's dreary, but there was a satisfaction, I suddenly felt, in drinking something that embodied, rather than countered, the feel of the day.

Next latkes: this one came with sour cream and salmon roe, like beautiful gems. Fish-eggs like pomegranate seeds. £3.50 rather than £1.50 for a plain latke or one with sour cream. The potato cake itself was delicious - well-textured but soft inside, crisp and browned outside; a story of potato and onion. They're traditional around Hanukkah, as far as I understand, and so distinctively Jewish. They feel quite eastern European (the sour cream combo); but also quite a lot like the rårakor I'm only familiar with because of the Swedes in my family. I loved it, I have to say, and the way that potato with its subtle edge of allium goes so well with the sour cream and the roe, which bursts its seasalt juice into the mix as you eat it. I mean: really lovely.

To finish, a piece of stollen. I'm annoyed I've forgotten the name this bakery stall was trading under but when I was there yesterday it was the one next to Young and Foodish and their latkes. Oh well. They were selling beautiful almond fruit tarts I was very tempted by, lovely loaves and pastries, but I went for stollen. Keep it Christmassy. No little round of marzipan in the middle, which I like to be there, really, but it had good chunks of mixed peel (why does everyone hate it?) and dried fruit, a buttery crumb and an oddly satisfying, slightly crisp icing, so I'm not complaining. I was going to have a glass of mulled wine with it but the men on the stall looked so dodgy I thought I'd just have coffee. It was probably a wise decision anyway; I'm sure the mulled wine would've been quite vile. It's nice, sometimes, mulled wine, if you're in the mood for something unnecessarily spiced and sweet, and sometimes I am, but really it's a whim of yuletide, when everything has to be spiced and sweet just because it does.

Another glass of champagne would do very well.