Too busy even to do the blog just lately, which is a shame as the my meals have been interesting and varied in the last week or so.
Corduroy boy has set me a ready, steady cook challenge. It’ll be a while before I find time to do the necessary shopping / preparation for this, but since I’ve already told him what I’m making he’ll know I’m not cheating.
Given the backlog its probably best to run off some of the best and the worst of the last couple of weeks.
Starting with the worst (so as not to leave a bad taste in the mouth, so to speak), I was disappointed by a meal at the normally reliable ‘English Lounge’ in Manchester. My chicken sandwich with salad was pretty much up to scratch, but my friend’s chicken pasta was an experiment which the chef should have quietly put down to experience, not put on the menu.
It might have worked as a ‘taster’ or a small side relish, but as a main course it was hard work My friend - who normally cleans his plate (and has been known to lick the plate clean where spaghetti hoops are concerned) – bravely soldiered through about half the meal, before giving up and concentrating on a mellow pint of Deuchars IPA. I’m not sure what was in the pasta sauce. Pesto definitely, probably sweet chilli sauce, something brown – chocolate? I’m all for culinary adventures, but the chef would be well advised to taste his/her creations before revealing them to the paying public. If I had made this at home, I would have thrown it straight in the bin, and had some poached eggs on toast instead.
A buffet lunch later in the week put me in a filthy mood all afternoon. At work we enjoyed an interesting and gently delivered presentation from one of our Nigerian clients and as usual got stuck into the salty savouries and dry sandwiches the company lays out at these events.
I’m not sure why I haven’t learned my lesson about these bloody things. The appeal of the free buffet lunch is too strong because:
A, its free
B, it means I don’t have to bother making a packed lunch
The problem is I always eat too much, even when I’m trying not to, because the salty crap just gets you hooked. The office always stinks of farts by about three o’clock, and everyone is in a slump, pacing around looking for biscuits and drinking extra coffee. There has to be some alternative to the buffet lunch – sushi would be good, but probably too expensive, and philistine types would pull faces…
On a brighter note, I’ve had some lovely meals lately – starting with tapas prepared by by a Spanish friend of mine. Her Spanish cooking is always a pleasure, and an education for me in one of my favourite world cuisines, and this particular evening was no exception. The presence of a vegetarian among the guests meant a few interesting vegetable dishes, including some fried aubergines dressed with honey that reminded me of a starter I’ve enjoyed in the Ionian islands. I tried to commit the Spanish name of the dish to memory, but this was destroyed by the subsequent quantities of alcohol consumed in a sticky nightclub.
Dessert was kindly provided by the vegetarian guest, who modestly presented us with a smooth white-chocolate cheesecake. I think I described it in the pub later as ‘like being slapped across the face with a giant milky-bar’. Which - let me assure you - is a very good thing indeed.
Later in the week, down in London village, Mrs Jiffler and I can’t face the kitchen and so set off down Upper Street for a bite. Our original intention was to finally go and eat at Gallipoli, but instead we were attracted by the cheapo weekday menu at French bistro ‘Le Mercury’. Since both of us where starving, and Mrs Jiffler’s only condition was ‘I’ll eat anywhere where they give you bread’, we were pleased to be presented with a massive basket of assorted fresh breads at no extra charge.
Mrs Jiffer’s starter of moules mariniere was generous enough, and my ham hock terrine fresh enough to more than justify the £3.40 price tag, although I could have gone another mouthful of the terrine.
Seabass for Mrs Jiffler was another generous portion and the fish was well cooked. My shoulder of lamb was a bit odd, being of a slightly too-smooth texture, and served with a Gallic interpretation of mushy peas, or ‘smashed peas’ as I described them at the time. One can’t generally trust a French chef with something simple like this.
Corduroy boy has set me a ready, steady cook challenge. It’ll be a while before I find time to do the necessary shopping / preparation for this, but since I’ve already told him what I’m making he’ll know I’m not cheating.
Given the backlog its probably best to run off some of the best and the worst of the last couple of weeks.
Starting with the worst (so as not to leave a bad taste in the mouth, so to speak), I was disappointed by a meal at the normally reliable ‘English Lounge’ in Manchester. My chicken sandwich with salad was pretty much up to scratch, but my friend’s chicken pasta was an experiment which the chef should have quietly put down to experience, not put on the menu.
It might have worked as a ‘taster’ or a small side relish, but as a main course it was hard work My friend - who normally cleans his plate (and has been known to lick the plate clean where spaghetti hoops are concerned) – bravely soldiered through about half the meal, before giving up and concentrating on a mellow pint of Deuchars IPA. I’m not sure what was in the pasta sauce. Pesto definitely, probably sweet chilli sauce, something brown – chocolate? I’m all for culinary adventures, but the chef would be well advised to taste his/her creations before revealing them to the paying public. If I had made this at home, I would have thrown it straight in the bin, and had some poached eggs on toast instead.
A buffet lunch later in the week put me in a filthy mood all afternoon. At work we enjoyed an interesting and gently delivered presentation from one of our Nigerian clients and as usual got stuck into the salty savouries and dry sandwiches the company lays out at these events.
I’m not sure why I haven’t learned my lesson about these bloody things. The appeal of the free buffet lunch is too strong because:
A, its free
B, it means I don’t have to bother making a packed lunch
The problem is I always eat too much, even when I’m trying not to, because the salty crap just gets you hooked. The office always stinks of farts by about three o’clock, and everyone is in a slump, pacing around looking for biscuits and drinking extra coffee. There has to be some alternative to the buffet lunch – sushi would be good, but probably too expensive, and philistine types would pull faces…
On a brighter note, I’ve had some lovely meals lately – starting with tapas prepared by by a Spanish friend of mine. Her Spanish cooking is always a pleasure, and an education for me in one of my favourite world cuisines, and this particular evening was no exception. The presence of a vegetarian among the guests meant a few interesting vegetable dishes, including some fried aubergines dressed with honey that reminded me of a starter I’ve enjoyed in the Ionian islands. I tried to commit the Spanish name of the dish to memory, but this was destroyed by the subsequent quantities of alcohol consumed in a sticky nightclub.
Dessert was kindly provided by the vegetarian guest, who modestly presented us with a smooth white-chocolate cheesecake. I think I described it in the pub later as ‘like being slapped across the face with a giant milky-bar’. Which - let me assure you - is a very good thing indeed.
Later in the week, down in London village, Mrs Jiffler and I can’t face the kitchen and so set off down Upper Street for a bite. Our original intention was to finally go and eat at Gallipoli, but instead we were attracted by the cheapo weekday menu at French bistro ‘Le Mercury’. Since both of us where starving, and Mrs Jiffler’s only condition was ‘I’ll eat anywhere where they give you bread’, we were pleased to be presented with a massive basket of assorted fresh breads at no extra charge.
Mrs Jiffer’s starter of moules mariniere was generous enough, and my ham hock terrine fresh enough to more than justify the £3.40 price tag, although I could have gone another mouthful of the terrine.
Seabass for Mrs Jiffler was another generous portion and the fish was well cooked. My shoulder of lamb was a bit odd, being of a slightly too-smooth texture, and served with a Gallic interpretation of mushy peas, or ‘smashed peas’ as I described them at the time. One can’t generally trust a French chef with something simple like this.
Anyhow, the bottom line is – two courses, a large glass of red each, a massive basket of bread, and two large portions of great French fries, plus a good tip for the professional and unintrusive waitress… and we still had change left over from thirty quid. In Islington. No wonder its always busy.
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