A few picks of my fav places to eat where I have lived around the world


Greek Islands: I’m still discovering, even after twenty years, that there is such a choice. If I had to put a name to it, it would be Argo Restaurant in Fira. Santorini, the menu, the view right over the caldera, and it’s on three levels as well. Plus, it’s owned by a friend of mine who is also a chef and a sailor. The best breakfast has to be at the Aressana Hotel.  

British Virgin Islands: Hands down, got to be the Soggy Dollar Bar on White Bay, Jost Van Dyke. Sipping a Painkiller while lazing in a hammock; it has a great laid back vibe, and perfect shallow water swimming. There is no dock, so you swim ashore with your dollars and they peg them up behind the bar. Hence the simple name. Great gourmet meals at night and a small little hotel, too.

The Balearic Islands: Although I mostly lived in Palma, Mallorca, the most memorable meals and times were definitely had at the lamb restaurant Es Verger in Alaro. It’s a long winding road up to this family run restaurant; the menu is so fresh that the lambs walk past you as you enter the door. With the rustic communal tables and massive stone wood-fired ovens, the lamb melts off the bone. Wash it down with what we affectionally call ‘Electric Blue Soup’ – It’s a local spirit that is ignited to warm it in a big copper pot, you ladle it slowly until it is ready and let it warm you. Expect to stay for a few hours.  

South of France: Le Brulot in Old Town Antibes. More wood-fired ovens with fantastic meats, but my favourite is the Magret de Canard –i n my opinion, so far the best duck in the world.

Croatia: The Ancora Tapas and Wine Bar in Cavat, which is just south of Dubrovnik. It is a lovely little port. The Ancora has over a hundred Croatian wines by the glass; I think after four months there I had imbibed a considerable number.  

South Florida: Someone once asked me to sum-up living in South Florida, I only half-jokingly said “Budweiser and chicken wings”. For a slice of old town Florida we used to go to Lauderdale-by-Sea. It’s a great mix of restaurants, bars, art shops and (generally) live music, plus a super beach. I used to live in Dania Beach, they say Al Capone used to hang out at the end of my road. It’s also home to Jaxson’s Ice Cream Parlour and Restaurant, which has been run by the same family since 1956. It’s been featured on Food Network and Good Morning America. Besides the incredibly massive variety of flavours and portion sizes of ice creams, we are talking BIG knickers on their glories. They do huge burgers and diggity dogs. I would also recommend taking a trip to Calle Ocho in  Little Havana – the other side of ‘CSI Miami Land’. The name really does speak for itself, and you will be eating Cuban food, drinking some Cuban rum, and you can pick up some hand-rolled cigars.

Tai Chi Goatsmilk Quest and Boom, That’s What I Do


pocketchef:

Yes Kris you must come to Greece, I have the perfect house for a retreat we will organise it when you have time. xxx with love and blessing and sunshine from me and the cosmic family

Originally posted on Kris Deva North:

What do I do for a living, they asked. Well, I just got back from drinking milk squeezed fresh out of the goat before my very eyes in the breakfast break at Tai Chi Retreat in the wilds of Wales. That was after a gig talking about Taoist Secrets of Love and Life Mastery to a full house at the Quest Festival in Devon. Now I’m taking a breath of fresh London air – so much sweeter now we have a garden – before flying out to Portugal to teach those same secrets at the Boom Festival: already sold out! And going back there again for our first Tai Chi Certified Instructor Training in September: also sold out! Anamarta even managed to fit in Jade Circles in Wales and London in between times. And we came home to find invitations to teach in Cape Town and Greece, yay.
Yes, this…

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It’s Not You, It’s Me


pocketchef:

Dont ruin Koh Pha Ngan

Originally posted on Kris Deva North:

Reading, Seeing and Hearing the outrage from all directions I can understand why we were told never to discuss politics, sex or religion. Then they told us of our government’s holdings of Krupp shares in WW1, and Imperial Japanese War Bonds in WW2.  Then came my own experience of facing an ‘enemy’ in Southeast Asia armed with the same weapons as ours: Sam Colt’s AR15, and some of whose officers had trained with me in England.   (Btw the late Col Gaddafi was in the same group, then a lime-juice-drinking young Lieutenant showing no sign of subsequent extremism except when the choice of dinner was pork or bacon.)

I am reminded of the admonition of the first Zen Patriarch ‘Seek not the Truth nor Cherish Opinions.’  Is anyone right?  Is everyone wrong?  Is there any solution to anything, except exiling their leaders to Koh Pha Ngan, confiscating their clothing, and feeding them mushrooms?

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Dancing In The Fight


pocketchef:

Always wonderful uplifting messages from Kris Deva North… my dear friend and teacher. Thank you.

Originally posted on Kris Deva North:

Shadowy movements at dawn in the park, neither dancing nor fighting though to me it looked like both. My mother danced with Fonteyn and enrolled me in my aunt’s ballet school but I retired at five, so no competition for Billy.

The fighting came later, first at school whacking Fatty Barnard across the ring under the smiling Irish eyes of Father Paddy Noonan, then my chum James to win the Army Garrison title in Malta before being KO’d by a Marine in Hong Kong. Karate in my forties to get fit after a hernia op but longer recovery times sparring with teens and twenties retired me after four stubborn years.

The sun rose on a grace, a flow, on faces as serene as at prayer as they stepped and spun, spiraled and thrust: shamanic theatre enacted under the trees, celestial combat, rooted in Earth and played in the human dimension…

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The Look


pocketchef:

Words of wisdom indeed.

Originally posted on Kris Deva North:

kris deva north ws04 Sitting quietly in the Tao Garden some years ago in the days when I wore the ‘guru look’ I noticed a young man giving me the keen interested glances of someone seeing someone he thought might be a kind of highly evolved spiritual being. I was cultivating the long hair and dreamy countenance of one with his mind on higher things and accordingly bedecked with bracelets and bangles, ear-ring and beads, clothed in kind of ethnic trousers and one of those side-tied shirts that lend an aura of peace and serenity, not to mention the sandals. I’d recently attended a Vipassana retreat too, so obviously was looking pretty holy perhaps even fully halogenically enlightened.

The bow, or was it even a half-crouch, with which the young man approached showed the immense measure of respect with which he had decided to endow me, or at least the presentation of me that…

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