Faggots

Firstly let me make it absolutely clear that this post has absolutely nothing to do with Elton John, gay marriage, the adoption of babies by same sex couples, the B&B in Cornwall nor the ridiculous furore which has erupted this week over the Belfast bakery which refused to put “I love gays” or some such on their cakes. No, it’s about my mate Pete. Continue reading “Faggots”

Westcentric grub

Eating out is not my natural environment. Ordering, lavish décor, waiting to be served, polite conversation, slow eating of ordered food, ambient atmosphere, the tip- it’s really not for me. I’m far happier in a rowdy public house. Nonetheless, it was a special occasion so Mrs W and me had a night out at a popular eating place in town.

After the pre-ordering ritual we waited for our starter for ten. It duly arrived and no complaints so far. Halfway through the first course is when I had an inkling this was going to be one of those nights. “Is everything OK?” asked the waiter. Oh yes, delicious, tasty etc. etc. Continue reading “Westcentric grub”

In memory of Joe Slavko

Two chicken breast and four hungry people to feed.

Luckily the chicken breasts were large ones, so I felt I could conjure up a meal for four without resorting to the supermarket dash after a day in the garden, hedge trimming and tidying up. My back is tired – I couldn’t face Sainsco’s or Tescrose or even Waitburys.

Continue reading “In memory of Joe Slavko”

Photo Competition # 24

“Food, glorious food!”

I know we have done ‘Eat drink and be merry’, but this time I want the emphasis on the food itself. Photographs of food in any shape or form. It must be edible by most sensible humans. Points will be awarded for the deliciousnessness of the subject. Hint, I am not a vegan. I appreciate that OZ, for example, would be turned on by a bouncy woolly lamb gamboling in the meadow, but he is more likely to succeed if that lamb is photographed on a spit, slowly roasting over a fire. Continue reading “Photo Competition # 24”

How to deal with a whole salmon

I have lost count of the number of meals I prepared over the Christmas and New Year period, but have now reached a point where we are simply using up the left overs. Tonight I will be making fish cakes with the salmon, left over from New Years Eve lunchtime. The salmon has already helped to provide for 14 and there’s a decent part left.

I was lucky, in that I was in the right place at the right time as the fishman in Sainsbury put out the new batch of whole salmon just before Christmas. It was marked at £8 and was suitable for home freezing, having not been previously frozen. I was unlucky, in that when I arrived home to put the salmon in the freezer I discovered that the small freezer which forms the bottom of my kitchen fridge was failing to keep the contents below -6c. Continue reading “How to deal with a whole salmon”

Just over a year ago.

I was sitting in the Cafe Caprice in Camps Bay Cape town sinking a few beers, watching the sun go down with Sipu, who, at the drop of a hat drove over the mountain to chat with someone whom he had only ever met on line. It was great fun and he was an interesting companion. Our time together was all too short. We should have more beers and more chat. He was driving though.

Continue reading “Just over a year ago.”

The goddess revealed

I could never watch Nigella Lawson’s cookery programmes.

I tried a few, but quite frankly all that sensous finger-licking and general lusciousness left me cold – and it was quite clear she was primarily selling the whole “domestic goddess/perfect family” lifestyle aspiration with tasty, reliable recipes only a kind of accessory. Continue reading “The goddess revealed”

Sunday Lunch

I wonder who came up with the idea that Sunday isn’t Sunday without a full roast for lunch.

It’s Sunday! Day of rest! So let’s spend half of it preparing a huge meal that we don’t really need, and the other half dealing with the unholy amount of washing up that such a meal generates.

Let’s. Not.

Spousal unit does the roast, and then floops about in ostentatious exhaustion. That effing roast would need way more trimmings to match up to the twenty other meals I cook during the week, mate.

/minirant