2012, the Year that was

It has been almost six months since I last put finger tips to keyboard and posted on my blog. I thought that I would review the year, well the year as I saw it anyway!

What a year we have had! Great Britain stood tall, sucked in its stomach, warmed up the voice and let rip! And boy, how the world listened.

This year we witnessed the triumphant re-birth of National Pride. I am not talking about the watered down version that gets wheeled out every time our "amazing" football team trips on its coiffured bootlaces halfway up the steps to the world stage. I am talking about the sort of pride that was last so widely seen when we plucky Brits waved swords and bibles around each of the four corners of the world, shouted "Huzzah!" and said "I may be some time!"

Firstly was the Queen's Jubilee. 4 days of street parties, pageantry, rock concerts, parades, flotillas and, of course, the obligatory rain! I have always been a proud fan of the Royal Family and what they stand for. They do wonders for these islands of ours, promoting us and our wares. Clearly, the addition of young Catherine last year and the hopeful appearance of the future monarch, be they male or female, next year has given the Firm a popularity boost not seen since current Queen's Coronation. I predict a bright future for the House of Windsor. This was the pride born from 1000 years of Royals. The Queen is ours and always will be. She has been ruling over us for 60 years and we celebrated as only we Brits can. Lots of flag waving, pomp and ceremony and braving of the elements. I hope she makes it to 70 years on the throne, what a party that will be!

The second type of pride we saw this year was for the Olympics. Seven years ago there was an engagement. The future Bride, Great Britain, blushing because this was her third go, aware that she needed many a nip and tuck and a lorry load of good humour before allowing the guests to see her. The groom, Lord Coe, eagerly anticipating the work he would need to put in and the number of people he would ask to help before his weary fiance could walk down the aisle. The best man, Boris, standing in the wings, ready to help in his own charismatic way, as diplomatic as Genghis Khan and as loyal and patriotic as St. George himself.

What happened over the next six and a half years is a matter of record. There were many highs and lows, moments that I am sure LOCOG would rather forget, the tickets and security to mention but two areas to be improved for the next time. The structure and fabric of the Games was put in place on time. We were ready in principle, however the one thing that cannot be made, bought, built or borrowed is atmosphere. There were many, many doubters of the Games, a large percentage of the population in fact, people who thought our little island could never pull it off, people who thought we should keep away from such a flashy and showy spectacle, people who thought the money would be wasted and that no one would come to the party. It was upon the shoulders of these people that the success of the games rested. If enough of them could be won over, the world would see that Great Britain was not a place divided, that we could come together behind one common objective and put on the best display of sportsmanship, in the best venues possible, helped by the best kind of person and give everyone a party to end all parties.

Six months before the games, a wave of Olympic spirit started to grow. This was Olympic Year. We all saw and finally realised that actually this could be done, we could and would, with the true spirit of grit and determination that the Empire was built on, conquer the world again and show the rest of them that this plucky little island can make the world sit up and take notice. From the moment Sir David Beckham (surely not long to wait now) took the Olympic flame and for the next 70 days that it was paraded around all four countries that make Great Britain and all points between, Olympic fever took hold, but in the end it was not the organisers or the athletes, the sponsors or the celebrities that made it work, it was the ordinary people, the Games Makers in their scarlet and purple and the blessed Armed Forces who really shone, it was their games. Admittedly the Games Makers had all volunteered and the Army was pulled in at the last minute, but how many grumpy servicemen and women did you see? None! They were proud to be there and to be a part of it as were we all. This is the pride that comes when everyone stands together in the face of international doubt and overcomes the odds to pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat! Huzzah I say, nay thrice huzzah I shout! Not since Rourke's Drift have so few defied the odds and show the many just how to do it properly!

I admit that I was behind the whole event pretty much from the start, hugely helped by the fact that we had tickets, so the four of us, painted to the n'th degree, waving our flags and with excitement glistening in our eyes, went to the Olympic Stadium and watched with the world as the Opening Ceremony unfolded. You can't quantify the pride. I couldn't sing the National Anthem as the best Bond girl ever made her appearance. Far too choked with emotion, but by gad, I gave it my best shot!

For once, bad weather on holiday was no issue. In fact, had the sun been shining I would have missed some amazing action and atmosphere in both the Olympic and Paralympic Games. The dedication and hard work had paid off for them all. I just don't know how anyone will be able to decide who will carry off the BBC Sports Personality trophy this year!

We all read the stories, stories about overcoming injury and desperation, hardship and personal loss, but what has stayed with me most are those amazing souls who until fairly recently would have been watching the action on television but through circumstance have been suddenly backed into a corner, found huge amounts of courage and become Paralympians and created the action. Why can't that spirit be in all sports, at all levels? I don't think breaking an eyelash on a football pitch really warrants all the tantrums and wailing that we see from some of the multi-million pound salaried sportsmen nowadays, but hey, what do I know?

2012 also saw my fortieth birthday. I had a very long weekend of celebrations, culminating in dinner with my very closest chums, being looked after by the best staff in one the best places in London. I wrote a post about my dream day and a friend translated it into a fantastic picture that now hangs in pride of place and reminds me every time I see it of a great day and celebration.

We also visited Italy, a place I have always wanted to see. We spent a fantastic week in Tuscany, eating and drinking far too much, seeing the sights and generally unwinding. My child like amusement at purile humour was satisfied as I watched my four year old son gasp in amazement and wonder at the number of willies and breasts on display in Florence!! I could giggle to my heart's content without a stern word or look from the more mature and sensible in our party! I also discovered what seriously good ice cream tastes like. It actually tastes so good that I almost boycotted the English stuff, almost, but not quite!! I have quite simply fallen in love all over again, not in a "this is a great film, I love it" kind of way, but more in a right up there with my wife and children kind of way. I would move there in a flash if the opputrtunity arose.

I have now nearly reached my goal of losing 6 stone. It has been an agonising time, nearly 16 months now. The first five stone went in as many months and the next stone has taken the rest of the time, but not long to go now. I have had to completely change the way I cook and what I eat. It was all been worth while, even if it means a wardrobe's worth of new clothes have made their way it to our home this year!

Even though I say so myself, I am a man of very few weaknesses or negative points, however I will admit to one; I am addicted to X-Factor! I know, I know, how can this be I hear you all scream. A man of my culture and learning, tuning in twice a week for months with an almost religous fervour! I think it is the wish to see how dire and hopeless some people are at the same time as believing in their own ability to sing like an angel. This year's batch of wannabes produced some wonderful moments and characters and, although he filled my nightmares with his out of tune crooning, Rylan Clarke was definately this year's high or low point, depending on your point of view! I spent may a happy hour ranting on Facebook to anyone who cared to listen! I will have to find something else to fill my weekend viewing schedule until next year's offering come round again. I find it rather like the dentist, no one likes it but you sit through the pain because you just have to. Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!

I usually like to end my posts with a recipe. As it is Christmas, I thought I would share a recipe that has become a staple in our house over recent years, mincemeat pinwheels. They are so easy to make, keep well in an airtight tin and taste great dunked in some brandy cream.

There are no hard and fast quantities. You will need some puff pastry, the shop bought, ready rolled stuff is best for ease, and a couple of jars of mincemeat.

Lay out the pastry sheet, spread with the mincemeat, roll in to a large sausage roll and seal the edge with some water.

Cut into half inch slices and arrange on a baking sheet with plenty of space around each one. With the heel of your hand, gently flatten each one.

Cook in the oven at 180 for 10 - 15 minutes until nice and crispy. Allow to cool a bit before getting stuck in.

These are such an easy alternative to mince pies and look great as the are a tad different to the norm.

I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas and New Year and that you get all that your heart desires this festive season.

See you all next year.

Another year passes!

I am confused! If you had asked me last year about my family situation, I would have replied that I have a three year old daughter, a baby on the way and a lovely, recently moved into house. Ask me the same question today and I have a seven and a half year old daughter, a four and a half year old wrecking crew, a house with peeling wall paper and a reality gap of nearly five years!

C'mon Big school!

Where does time go. Fenella and Freddie are about to break up. In September one moves into Year Three and the other starts Big School. He can't wait. Tors and I are in two minds. He needs a longer day, a more formal structure to it, with concentrated learning. That said, I did find it strange, almost emotional, when I was shopping for his new uniform. I only bought two pairs of grey shorts, but at that moment, they became a sign of childhood lost, of innocence passing. My little boy is growing up. Big school beckons and I know that he won't look back. He will grab every moment and get so much out of it. He probably won't even turn around as he walks in to his classroom for the first time. It will finish me off, but at least Tors will support me. Who will support her is another matter!

We now have the prospect of a long summer holiday, normally the last week of term would be a wonderful time, planning all the lovely things we would do in the glorious sunshine. I think I need to enlist the help of anyone from Cherrapunjee, India. On average they have 498 inches of rainfall a year! England suddenly doesn't feel quite so bad. But, leaving the poor Cherrapunjee's out of it, we are still in for a wet old summer. Maybe the seasons will reverse themselves and I can barbecue the turkey this year!

The family jewellery box!!

We have decided to stay in England this year. We are going to spend a few days in Cornwall and a few in London, I know, I know, mad with the Olympics going on, however I am hoping the fortnight between the two games will be just bonkers rather than insane in London. It is time to inject some culture into my children and show them museums, galleries and the sights. We may well even take in the Tower of London. Any suggestions would be welcomed.

You win, again.

No doubt during the prolonged periods of guessing which raindrop will get to the bottom of the window first, we will be doing lots and lots of cooking. I will let you all know how it goes once it has gone!

Have a great week, summer and break.

The Basics

I was recently reading the latest news and recipes from Hong Kong, courtesy of my good chum Lucy. She is in the process of preparing Number One Son for living out of Halls of Residence in September and, remembering my own days living with students, (I was working then, having failed to get the qualifications needed to go to uni and spend three years drinking!) thought I would give three basic recipes that should be easy enough to follow.

As a starter, have cheesy mushrooms. Buy a large box of value mushrooms, they may need the ends of the stalks trimming and a quick wipe to get rid of any earth. Cook in some butter with some garlic, salt and pepper. Once cooked, add a big spoonful of cream cheese. You could leave out the fresh garlic and get garlic and herb cheese. Stir it in until melted, serve in small bowls with hunks of crusty bread.

Everyone should know how to produce a pasta bake. They are so easy to make, can be done ahead of time, are filling and can be very cheap, depending on what you throw in. This recipe does not even have quantities, just rely on instinct young grasshopper!

This should produce enough for four very hungry rugger players lining their stomachs before a good night out or six people just wanting some supper.

Chop two onions, some garlic and a pack of bacon. Streaky works best. Put in a pan with a dollop of oil or butter, on a medium heat to stop it catching. If you have the budget pop in some diced chicken thigh, it is cheaper than breast and won't dry out in the same way. One thigh per person should be fine.

At this point you can also add peppers, frozen veg, courgettes etc to bulk it all up.

Add a splash of wine, don't tell me students don't have wine, and two tins of tomatoes. Check the seasoning and add any herbs and spices that take your fancy.

Cook until the veg is soft. Turn off the heat. Don't worry if there is a lot of liquid, the pasta will soak it up in the oven.

Add two to three double handfuls of what ever pasta you have to a pan of boiling, salted water. Once cooked, drain and throw into the pan with the sauce. Give it a really good stir and put the whole lot in an oven proof dish. Sprinkle with cheese and pop in the oven. If you are leaving it until later, leave off the cheese until you put it the oven. The bake will be ready when the cheese is golden and the sauce is bubbling.

Garlic bread will be great with this. Take a pack of butter out of the fridge in the morning. Finely chop 4 cloves of garlic and a handful of fresh parsley. Don't worry if you don't have the herbs, butter and garlic will be fine. Slice a baguette three quarters of the way through. Each slice should be about an inch and a half apart. Fill each cut with the butter, wrap in foil and pop in the oven for 20 minutes. A bowl full of salad would add some crispness and cut through the garlic and heavy pasta if needed.

An easy pud to follow is Eton Mess. Buy some ready made meringue shells and break into bitesize pieces. Stiffly whip half a pint of double cream and stir in the same amount of greek yoghurt. Chop loads of strawberries and add to the cream with the meringue pieces. Bung the whole lot in a bowl and serve. You could drizzle strawberry sauce over the whole thing for added colour! Tinned strawberries are not nearly as nice to look at as fresh, but as the are all mixed together and broken up, they will be fine in this.

There you go, a cheap, reasonably easy to produce, three course meal, suitable for people on a budget, those who are hesitant in the kitchen and those wishing to line their stomachs!!

Enjoy!

Choices

There was so much to watch and read about the Queen during the recent Jubilee celebrations that our DVD recorder was working overtime and I still have a pile of supplements to wade through. Last night we watched All the Queen's Horses, a fantastic show, combining music and dancing and horses and dancing horses from all over the world. Interspersed throughout each act was a huge amount of footage of the Queen in various countries throughout her reign. Seeing some of the footage of her in Australia and the subsequent display by the Queensland Mounted Police reminded me of my first ever career discussion. I was to be a mounted policeman when I grew up.

I was about six and living in Melbourne when this mammoth choice about my future was made. I would sit proudly atop my magnificent steed, meting out justice to the criminal types and protecting the honour of fair maidens, whether in distress or otherwise. The fact that asthma prevented me from going within half a mile of a horse conveniently did not feature in any conversations about my choice. Clearly I was being humoured, however I am thankful for that. I think that fantasies should be allowed and even indulged in the young. It encourages a certain imagination and freedom of spirit that can be so lacking nowadays. Both Freddie and Fenella have settled on being teachers. I think Freddie's sudden u-turn from piracy revolved around wanting to be like his older sister. Fortunately her days of being a ballerina were over long before this adoration started!*

I have told myself repeatedly that whatever they both end up doing will be fine with me, as long as they love what they do and it makes them happy. I only hope that I can keep my promise to myself when stuntman, shark wrestler or lap dancer appears on their business cards!

In the intervening years between law abiding superhero and puberty, I can only recall one other choice and that was being a duck billed platypus. The less said about that the better!! When the time came for serious career discussion, my school at the time had invested in rather a smart computer programme that, after inputting serious answers to serious questions, came out with very silly choices, well at least for me. My father was somewhat distressed that such an investment into my education could produce refuse collector as a career choice. I found it rather amusing at the time, however with the benefit of hindsight and the added responsibility of being a parent myself, I can now see the error of my way!

I had always been interested in cooking, did a bit at school and at home and enjoyed the appreciative murmurs from around the table when my food was had. I went to the local sixth form college to do cooking with the ambition of turning into the next Marco Pierre White. There was something about him in his youth, the wild hair, crazy hair and the cigarettes always on the go, that made him somehow god-like to a fresh faced wanna be chef. Two years later, I left college with a distinction (the only one of my career) and an unshakable desire to never set foot in an industrial kitchen again. I have the utmost respect for chefs, the hours, the heat, the pressure that they endure everyday can be hell. What I did leave college with was an understanding of ingredients and the work that goes in to turning them into a first class dish. I love working the front of house, I need the constantly changing faces and relish the challenges of finding solutions to the myriad of problems that can trip you up.

I have worked in a number of different places around the world and have loved pretty well all of them, my gap year did produce some shockers, and I continue to be amazed at what chefs can produce. It is a definite form of alchemy, a kind of wizardly ability to turn the mundane into the glorious. I recently went to Galvin at Windows on the 28th floor of the London Hilton to say good bye to a long term colleague and very close friend. The meal was out of this world and one of the highlights was a banana milkshake. I know, I know, it doesn't sound much, but the flavours and textures in one small glass were phenomenal. I don't know what, other than banana, had gone into it and I don't want to, as to analyse it too much would be to remove the shroud of mystery that surrounds this kind of thing. It needs to appreciated, not questioned.

I adore cooking and do as much as I can at home. I love just creating out of a cupboard and fridge full of bits. I tend to only use recipes for puddings, preferring to create from scratch suppers, lunches and snacks. Most of the time I am successful, however I have fallen down as well. Tors I don't think will ever forget my homemade pesto. I blended up pine nuts, basil, olive oil and garlic, added a load of grated Parmesan and mixed it into the cooked pasta. She was brilliant, pretended that it was wonderful and soldiered on through a couple of mouthfuls. I had never eaten pesto before and thought it was a might overpowering but stuck with it. After a couple of minutes Tors gave up. "Have you cooked this?" "No" "So, raw garlic." "Yes" "How much" "A whole head" "And how much of the pesto is left?" "None" I realised then that half a head of raw garlic on a handful of pasta might be overdoing it a tad! We still laugh about it, well I do, Tors usually just shudders! I now buy jars, it is safer that way. But making mistakes is what enables us to learn and grow. I am not saying that I encourage mistakes, more that they should not be punished, as long as they are learnt from and not repeated.

I shall leave recipes until my next blog, it has been one of those weeks and have lost the will to be creative, so I am sorry to say that it is just my musings this week. I hope they have not sent you all to sleep?

Have a great weekend.

*Freddie announced this morning that he now wants to be an ambulanceman, fireman and policeman all rolled into one. Teaching is apparently only for sisters. He has also told me that at weekends he will be a pirate called Blackbeard, but with a red beard! I am sure he will change his mind again before I actually press the submit button on this post! 

Ready, steady, rant!!!

I am not usually one to get wound up, however there are three things that are guaranteed to get me going. Just like a battery toy, push the button and let me go!! I shall take you through them one at a time and you can make your own mind up if I am being highly over dramatic or not.

I do get upset when basic manners go missing. I consider myself to be polite and even a little chivalrous. I will open doors for pretty much every one, stand aside for the elderly, pregnant ladies, prams and wheelchairs and even walk on the road side of the pavement in case a rogue car should jump the curb. For anyone taking notes, I should point out that in certain large cities you should actually walk on the inside of the pavement, it being thought more likely that you will be mugged from a doorway than run over by a car!

I am not perfect by any means and I certainly do not expect the rest of the country to open doors for each other (if they did, who would be left to actually walk through them?) but what I do expect is some common courtesy. If you walk through a door that I am holding open, say thank you. It is not my job, and even if it was, why should you not say thank you? Do we not say please and thank you when asking for something in a shop, when paying in or taking out money in the bank, when buying a ticket for the cinema, bus or train? I am encouraging my children to use the magic words at every opportunity and get cross when they don't. Tragically, I fear I may be in a minority.

The Jones's suddenly felt out of their depth in Oxford Street

I read a blog recently about most and least favourite words. It was a wonderful mixture of the weird and wonderful, offensive and cuddly, cringe making and soothing. I added my thoughts on the subject, was abused for my troubles, I mean honestly, what's wrong with rumpy-pumpy (sorry Amanda!) and I now find myself thinking that maybe I should have included please and thank you. Politeness and courtesy costs nothing, it is free so I implore all the Neanderthals out there, in this day and age of austerity and general gloom embrace that which costs nothing and be nice. You, after all, would be the first to plant a fist in my face if I let a door swing in to yours.

Fun, what do mean you're having fun!?

Another thing that does tend to get me going is other people's problems. I have a sympathetic ear and regularly have it open to listen to friends' woes and can often be found actually trying to offer help and support. However uninvited conversations are just wrong and often totally mis-judged by the narrator. We recently enjoyed a day out at Legoland. Being in the hospitality trade I can have the unfortunate habit of judging people and places with the same standards that I have used throughout my career, a tad unfair perhaps to judge Legoland by Michelin standards, however there are some basic rules that apply across the spectrum. Leave your troubles at home, don't bore the customers and most importantly, don't slag off your employer, however aggrieved or pissed off you may be! We were coming to the end of the day, waiting for one of the many attractions and happened to be at the front of the queue. The rather jolly girl asked if we had had a good day, a reasonable question to which the answer was most definitely yes. I then asked her if she too had had a good day. I was expecting a happy yes in reply. How abso-bloody-lutely stupid and naive of me! What followed was five minutes of her troubles, why Legoland wasn't all it was cracked up to be and, don't ask me how this one came in to the conversation, why she sometimes turned to her partner, whilst in bed, and told him to sit down and get in line!! Why, oh why, did I need to know that, more to the point, why did my children need to know that? Fortunately the children had switched off by this point. I have never wanted a ride to start so badly as I did then, however it wasn't going to because the man at the other end hadn't pushed the button and isn't it always the man's fault! If she hadn't told me she was leaving at the end of the season I might have seriously considered never returning to Legoland!



The last point I shall bang on about is a general state of happiness that seems to be devoid in a number of places. If you can't be arsed to smile at work, I can't be arsed to to be nice, polite, jolly or even, indeed, to return to your place of work and put more money in the tills, thus ensuring your continued employment. Smile or you could become redundant!! Now, there's a slogan for a tee-shirt if ever I saw one. I also get very wound up by cashiers who not only have been born without the happy gene, but the speech one seems to be absent as well. I tend to get very silly when a supermarket cashier expects me to hand over money without telling me how much I owe. I am expected to read the display, give my money and get change and a receipt all without a word passing between us. I will ask them how much I owe, some will tell me but some will either just point at the register display or, if I'm really lucky, grunt that the total is displayed for my viewing pleasure! When I ask what is meant by "every little helps" I only get a blank stare. Clearly sarcasm and irony is also missing from their lives!

All I ask is that people smile and remember (or maybe learn) to be polite. It's not rocket science!

Now that my rant is over, I shall concentrate on the true message of my blog. Food. In all the excitement of the Jubilee I failed to enjoy and appreciate our fleeting Summer properly. Now that Autumn has arrived I feel obliged to share one of my favourite sandwiches in the whole wide world. It warms and fills the tummy as well as being damn good comfort food.

Get the following ready.

Two slices of thick and crusty white bread.

Plenty of sliced cheddar. Don't use grated, it goes everywhere.

Sliced tomatoes.

Beaten eggs with a dash of water or milk, salt and pepper and finely chopped parsley. One egg per sandwich.

Butter and vegetable oil for frying.

Put the sandwich together, layered like this, bread, cheese, ham, tomato, cheese, bread. You don't need to butter the bread.

When the sandwich is assembled, pour the egg mixture into a flat dish or tray. Put the sandwich in and let the bottom slice of bread soak up a good amount. You can either flip the sandwich over or just spoon the rest of the egg mix on the top slice.

Whilst the bread is soaking up the egg, put a pan on a high heat, put some butter and a small amount of oil in to melt and heat up.

With a great deal of care, lift the sandwich from the tray and put in the pan. Let it get hot enough on each side to melt the cheese and go a nice golden brown. When cooked to your liking, pop on a plate, slice in two and serve with a salad for a great lunch or just have a bag of your favourite crisps instead!



I recently made rather a good smoothie which I think would make a healthy addition to the not so healthy (but very tasty) sandwich. The great thing about a smoothie is that there is not hard and fast recipe, just throw in what you have lying around. I used a banana, loads of strawberries and raspberries and a good glug of tropical juice, one with pineapple, mango, orange and passion fruit. The whole lot tasted wonderful and was not too thick, although with more or less banana, you can easily adjust the consistency to one the suits. My personal preference is to stay away from blueberries. I am not keen on them at the best of times, but when they are blended up they somehow manage to make the resulting drink look like one of those bug smoothies celebrities have to consume in the jungle! This also has no points value for Weight Watchers, but manages to fill you up, so the holy grail of diet foods!

I hope you all have a good week and manage to stay dry! 

Red, white and blue.

I am feeling very patriotic. I am sure I am not the only one. The mood across the country is encouraging 17th and 18th century feelings. If it wasn't already on Google Earth I would be sorely tempted to don a sola topee, pack a jar of Shipham's paste and a small, yet practical knife and go forth to claim vast swathes of undiscovered land in the name of Queen and country. Huzzah!

You could barely move in supermarkets without seeing a Union Jack. They were on everything from biscuits and bread to washing powder and a certain yeast product that shall remain nameless! I even saw Union Jack loo paper, although wiping ones backside on the national flag might not be quite the message that being conveyed last weekend!!

I went into the weekend feeling very prepared. Oodles of red, white and blue. Shoes are all three, I have shorts in each colour, shirts as well, a jolly three toned belt and a can of hairspray in each colour. I wore a different outfit every day of the long weekend and still stay true to Blighty's colours!

I love the fact that the country has reacted in this way. This sort of show of nationalism is usually reserved for large football tournaments and normally goes very quiet and disappears once we have been reminded (yet again) that we can't actually play the game very well on the world stage. Just wait until Euro 2012 and tell me that I am wrong! The Diamond Jubilee was a chance for all of us, not just the sporty ones, to get inflated with national pride and to get behind one person. One of the joys is that it is not a competition, at no stage was the Queen out done by anyone. It was her weekend, her year, her chance to get showered with adoration. God save The Queen! If I am doing anything other than sitting in a armchair, blanket over my knees and drooling at her age I shall declare the occurrence of a miracle!

On Saturday we did all the mis en place for the rest of the weekend.

Having spent the week looking at the weather forecast, I knew Sunday was not looking too promising, but we Brits are nothing if not resilient! The programme for the fun day advised that one could get wet on the obstacle course so my Union Jack shower hat will be very handy should the heavens open!! My heart went out to all the people taking part in the Thames pageant in open boats. The sheer scale, splendour and reason behind the weekend kept the spirits up even if the weather kept the brollies up!


This is soooo good and very easy to make!

We spent the day partaking of the local village fun day with my parents. I prepared a picnic, including a recipe from the wonderful ladies at Crumbs for a fantastic sounding picnic pie, slightly adapted to include quail's eggs. I also made a vat of Coronation chicken, I wonder how many tons of it were consumed over the weekend? There was also a very jolly cupcake competition that I, somewhat rashly, decided to enter. I was somewhat hesitant as I am no baker, however recently discovered a fantastic cake recipe that translates very well in to cupcakes and even I can manage. The cupcakes were to be judged on taste, texture and decoration. The first two were whatever they happened to be as my skills are no where near being able to alter those. The third, however is where I hoped to triumph. I produced Union Jack cases, silver balls to go on the top and crowns made from tuile paste in red, white and blue. Surely victory must be mine!! Oh, the enthusiasm of youth. I walked in the tent and before I had even set the plate down, I knew in my heart of pessimistic hearts that I was doomed! The results an hour later confirmed it. I shall not give up. I shall continue baking, continue to be laughed at and with luck, improve, well I cannot get any worse!

On Monday we went to Tors' parents and spent a most enjoyable day in the almost sun at a street party. I have never sat in the middle of a street eating and drinking, well maybe I have in my youth, but certainly not without car horns blaring. It was rather a nice change.

I hope that we will still see the odd Union Jack still flying now that the Jubilee celebrations are over. I fear that once the excitement of the weekend is over we will forget the National identity that we have become so proud of in recent weeks. I adore the Queen and the Royal Family, the monarchy in general, however I love England just as much and maybe we should celebrate our country as well as the Monarch.

Having eaten more than my fair share of not very diet friendly food, I have to get back on track. I recently discovered Philadelphia with Cadbury's Diary Milk. Lord have mercy, not since bread and butter have two things meant to be together more than these two. An inspired combination! And relatively low in naughtiness! So, being creative in the kitchen area I have thought up the following recipe.

Mix 150g Cadbury's Phily with 150g low fat fromage frais. This should do for four people.

Toast some nuts, any will do, in a dry frying pan and when browned add a couple of teaspoons of caster sugar, let it melt and pour out on to greaseproof paper and allow to cool. 

Pop a spoon of choc mix in the bottom of a glass, then a spoon of fromage frais and continue until you have a pretty layered pud.

Chuck some raspberries and toasted nuts on top and tuck in.

A nice glass of something sticky will match very splendidly indeed!

Have a great weekend!

Who says six inches can't bring a tear to the eye?!



Such a great feeling!!



I have just reached a milestone. I have been on a diet since September and have just hit the five stone mark. On average I have lost close to 2lbs a week since I started. Whilst I cannot boast to being half the man I used to be, I am three-quarters of that person! Even me, an expert in understatement, has to admit that yes, this is a huge deal. I am so now full of vigour that surely my inner Monsieur Creosote has been replaced by Louis Spence. Now there's an image to conjure with!

You may have gathered from my previous posts that food is the backbone of my life. I adore the stuff. I have been around food since I was old enough to hold a wooden spoon. My exam results were never going to lead me to a life of academia or high flying corporations, however my nose has taken me on a journey that hasn't slowed down yet! There was a sort of inevitability that at some stage I would need to lose a few pounds, however I always agreed that a skinny cook is not to be trusted, but you at least want the guy to be able to move around the kitchen with slightly more grace than a slug. There is an English proverb, don't dig your grave with your own knife and fork. It was time for me to stop digging!

Having finally decided to slim down, a slight understatement somewhat akin to Faberge saying he was merely going to decorate an Easter egg, I realised that I would need help. The chances of me losing weight on my own were slim at best. Excuse the pun! I had no real idea what was out there and I had no intention of spending weeks researching which diets would be best for my hair condition, which would make me in to a sex god overnight or which would be nothing more than last month's fad after a few weeks. All I knew is that I wanted to be able to eat solid foods and stay away from colonic irrigations! Not much to ask. I ended up going to Weightwatchers for no other reason than it works, Tors had success with it in the past. We joined this time together and she has helped me massively. Between us we have lost well over the combined weight of both our children!

My hope was that I could lose enough to fit into some of the clothes I have had lingering in the attic for years in the vague hope that one day I would fit them again before handing them down to my son. I know, I know, father's hand me downs are not very trendy, but I live in hope that Freddie will favour pink cords over baggy jeans with his arse hanging out! In January I did a small amount of shopping and bought three pairs of trousers, not your every day sort, the more dressy, only come out of the cupboard a few times a year type of trousers. Well, I took them out last week. They are too big! Not by much, granted, but certainly larger than when I bought them. Bloody hell!

Another shopping trip was needed. I have had to add three more holes to my belt during the last seven months and my every day stuff is looking baggy in all the wrong places! I had the forethought to try on last year's shorts and shirts before shopping. I very much subscribe to the school of "Buy now, check later if I really need it" and I realised that this gung ho attitude would be a mistake this time. I used to be a 44", but would, with the help of a shoe horn and a tub of Vaseline, be able to squeeze myself into 42". The walk was less graceful and I spoke as though someone had a firm grip down below, but by heck, I was in 42" trousers! After the slightly depressing realisation that none of my shorts and shirts, collected over the last decade and a half, fit me, I cheered myself up by estimating that I would be able to go to 38", something that I have not done for a very, very long time.

I got the 38"s off the shelf and went to try them on. I did them up and discovered I could take them off without un-doing the button. My lardy posterior has all but disappeared, I have trim thighs, snaky hips and can fit into 36" trousers. OMG cubed! I am a teenager again! My school uniform was this size, well maybe not quite, but let me run with this. I came away with three pairs of trousers, two shorts, three polo shirts and two shirts. I might not look as though I have just stepped out of the pages of the latest Ralph Lauren catalogue, but no longer am I modelling tents for a marquee company either! Imagine One Direction's Harry in 10 years time! Oh yes, my imagination has no limit! Ladies, you can stop laughing/swooning/imagining* now! (*delete as applicable)

I am still feeling quite dazed. The American civil rights activist and educator, Benjamin Mays, once said "The tragedy in life doesn't lie in not reaching your goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach." I have not yet reached my final goal weight of 13 stone. I do always have a much more manageable goal to strive towards. Baby steps is the name of the game and it changes every month as I keep on target. The current goal I have set myself is a strange one. I have been fortunate to get tickets to the Games in the summer and I recently read that Oga Korbut weighed 85lbs when she won gold in 1972. I thought to myself wouldn't it be fun to go having lost the equivalent of a gold medal gymnast? So I now have ten weeks to lose another stone and with that I will win my own gold, gold membership of Weight Watchers! 

I haven't yet decided what I will do with my old clothes. I have kept a great amount from my youth, always saying one day I will fit it all again. That day has come and I can honestly say that no one is more surprised than me. I am very happy to bring out my old clothes, bang off the dust and the cobwebs and start wearing some nice threads once again. I hesitate to say I will hang on to the 42" and 44"s in case I fit them again in the future. If I do ever fit them again, you have permission to take me outside for a damn good thrashing. I will hang onto the nicer stuff, if only to pull it out in times of crisis to remind myself just what 20 years of "one more pie won't make any difference" did to me!

You see, I told you, I have a very emotive six inches!

To celebrate this huge event, well huge minus 25%, I made my version of Clafoutis for pudding on Sunday. This is a very quick and easy thing to prepare and I haven't met anyone yet how doesn't like it. Who could possibly refuse Yorkshire pudding with fresh fruit cooked in it? You will note from the method that this is not a rocket science type of recipe, just chuck it all together and get on with the day.

The recipe I did was enough for four and filled an 8 x 6 inch dish.

125g plain flour
50g caster sugar
1 egg
200ml milk, full cream milk will add to the final richness
Fresh fruit - raspberries work so well, however the most traditional is cherries.
2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1.     Heat the oven to 200° or 180° if it has a fan.
2.     Put the oil in your chosen dish and put in the oven for at least ten minutes to get hot.
3.     Chuck everything else except the fruit in a bowl and beat together until smooth. An electric whisk is the best way.
4.     Take the dish out of the oven, pour in the batter and throw the fruit on the top, bung back in the oven for twenty minutes or so. Just keep checking it until the batter has risen and fairly firm......just like your yorkies with the roast beef!
5.     Spoon the clafoutis in to bowls and serve with ice cream or cream, clotted would be the best.

I hope you all have a great week. I am about to go on holiday to Italy, so my next post might be all about fitting my old clothes again!! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh, nooooooooooooooooooooooo!!

Role Reversal

Last Saturday saw a major role reversal at home! Once Freddie and I returned from doing the weekly shop, Tors and Fenella disappeared to school to help with some much needed gardening. Whilst they were doing very passable Percy Thrower impressions, Freddie and I cooked and baked (replacements for the Two Fat Ladies in the making!) This may seem odd to many of you, however I have always loved cooking and Tors enjoys the garden. Anyway, we're happy in our own, reversed way!

You may think me strange, and you would be right in many ways, however I shall to explain my aversion to all green fingered activity. When I was eight, we moved to the most fantastic house with a huge garden. The previous owners had left the garden alone for 20 years As a result the trees were huge and half fallen over, the bushes had become overgrown and were deliciously menacing for budding explorers. The potential for games and mischief and frolicy fun was immense. However, the reality was vastly different. My memory has it thus: the first weekend in the house I was fitted out with waterproof jacket and trousers, the second saw me being bought my own mattock, the third I was given lawn mower driving lessons. It went on like this for ten years, unwrapping larger waterproofs at Christmas as I grew like the weeds I was decimating every weekend! I am sure the reality was vastly different, however I have been scarred for life and as a result have a phobia of gardening. I cower behind the sofa during the Chelsea Flower Show!! Having said this Freddie and I very successfully grew half a dozen six foot sunflowers last year, nurturing them from seed to eventual harvesting of seeds for this year. I like to think that it was all our own work, however have a feeling Tors may have given them a helping hand whilst Freddie and I were fast asleep.

As a result, I have made sure that both Fenella and Freddie are happy in the kitchen whilst Tors spends many a day, happily planting, weeding, digging and potting with them in the garden. The rudiments of both are being drip fed and, hopefully, they will turn into useful people. I am currently teaching them to change a duvet cover!!

Freddie has a fetching array of aprons and donned his Kath Kidson cowboy one for our kitchen marathon. He takes his cooking very seriously, he has even learnt about mis-en-place and loves getting everything ready. Breaking eggs is his forte and after many accidents and spillages he has mastered the art of elegant egg cracking! Keeping his new skill at the front of my mind, I decided to bake. Baking is something I am hopeless at, however since I was planning cupcakes and not a croquembouche, I felt reasonably confident. Anyway, I could always blame the help if it all went wrong!!

I picked up a recipe card for Lemon and Almond Cake a few months ago in Tesco. It sounded too good not to have it in the recipe file. We decided to try making cupcakes from the recipe. Somewhat surprisingly it actually worked. We halved the quantities and got 12 little bundles of joy! I will give you the full recipe, so enough for a cake or 24 cupcakes.


The Cake
225g unsalted butter, softened plus extra for greasing
225g caster sugar
4 medium eggs, beaten
½ teaspoon almond essence
1½ lemons, finely zested
75g plain four
150g ground almonds
1½ teaspoons baking powder

The Icing
200g marscapone, light or heavy on the fat content, your choice!
100ml whipping cream
2 tablespoons icing sugar
4 tablespoons of lemon curd
15g toasted flaked almonds

1. Heat the oven to 190°, 170° if you have a fan oven. If you are making the cake, line two 20cm cake tins and line the bottom with baking parchment.

2. In a large bowl, beat the butter and sugar until smooth. Slowly add the egg, beating until it is all light and fluffy, like the underbelly of a baby yak! A useful tip, if it looks like it is about to split, add 1 teaspoon of flour.

3. Mix in the essence and zest. Sift the flour and baking powder and add the almonds. Give it all a great big mix. Divide the mix between your cupcake molds or tins. Pop in the oven for 20 - 25 minutes. Leave them to cool on a wire rack. If using the tins, leave them inside for 15 minutes before turning out.

4. To make the cream beat the marscapone, cream and sugar until smooth.

5. If you are making the cake spread half the lemon curd on the bottom cake, half the icing on the curd, put the second sponge on top, cover with the rest of the icing. Add a splash of water to the rest of the curd to loosen it and drizzle in an artistic way over the cake. Finish off with the almonds on top.

6. If you are making cupcakes, stir the lemon curd in to the marscapone mix and spread over all the cupcakes. Sprinkle with almonds and scoff.

We put a raspberry on each on. They work so well together.

Apparently double cream and a fragrant cup of Earl Grey would be the perfect complimentary partners for this. Personally, sod the tea and have another slice!! I have always agreed with Marie Antoinette and her "let them eat cake" sentiments!

I feel that a drop of vanilla would have really complimented the zestiness of the lemon!

An old friend whom I have recently got back in touch with after far too long has just started a foodie blog. I love other people's take on food. I can sometimes can get too carried away with flowery sentiments over politically incorrect foods and Lucy has a way with words that keeps it simple and highly entertaining. The only downside, due to her having been one since early teenage hood, I have to curb my rantings about vegetarians! However, despite that, she is a good egg and well worth following!!

I hope you all have a great rest of the week and enjoy the long weekend.

My top ten food memories.

Over recent months I have been spending a lot of my time fantasising and no, before you start thinking it, not naughty top shelf thoughts. My mind has been wandering to an entirely different kind of breast and thigh! Having been eating carefully on lean meat and vegetables for well over six months with barely a pudding in sight, I am missing some of the finer things in life, the sorts of thing that I used to have just for the sake of it. Without realising it, treats had become mundane and the exotic had become, well, common! Duck breast, with its crispy skin, stuffed chicken thighs, all plump and moist, lamb cutlets, eaten more for the fat than the lamb, steamed puddings, in fact any pudding full stop had all become standard, whereas now, now they are my top shelf and I am having a damn good read!!

I have started to dream in food, to cast my mind back to some of the great dishes I have experienced. I have been remembering some of the greats and I would like to share my memories with you. Now please do not read any food snobbery into this, great food does not by any means all have to be of Michelin quality, as my top ten food memories will prove. I am sure that if you do the same thing, your childhood favourites, that supper with friends round a table in student digs, a spontaneous picnic, a first date, in short, life, will be at the forefront of your list. Try it.

So, in no particular order, here goes.

1.     I grew up in Australia, only coming back to England very occasionally. When we did, we used to stay with my Grandparents and my abiding memory was gold top milk. I was taught to never shake the bottle, just push my thumb into the gold foil and poured this thick and creamy elixir straight on to my cornflakes. Australian milk must have been OK as I have fairly good teeth and was well over six foot before I became a teenager, but I can't actually remember it. All I know is that trips to England were made great by milk! And apparently, if I drank enough of it, I could play football for Accrington Stanley!

I recommend that you make rice pudding with gold top milk. Measure out the rice, sugar and the milk as per the recipe, add some vanilla, (essence, pod or flavouring) to the milk. Now comes the cunning part. Normally you would put it in an ovenproof dish with the lid on, pop it in the oven and return in an hour or so to find the liquid has gone and the rice has been welded to the bottom of the pan. Instead, put it all in a pan, put it on the hob, bring to the boil, turn down and stir occasionally until the rice is done. So much easier. The cream content of gold top makes this so thick and rich (a bit like a footballer) that you will never use anything else again!

The legend at work

2.     Twelve years ago, whilst working in the Caribbean, I had an epiphany. I have always known that pizza shouldn't have a two inch thick base and cheese in the crust, however what I hadn't realised is that proper pizza should be no thicker than a member of Mensa! You may say that Antigua is a strange place for such a moment and I would whole heartedly agree, however I was sitting in Famous Mauro's Pizza Restaurant with an Italian who told me I was about to experience the best pizza in the world. I assumed that the world in this context did not include Italy but he assured me it did. I was somewhat taken aback to hear him say that. Then I read the menu. Mauro is Italian, he bought his pizza oven in Italy, re-assembled it in Antigua and only uses Italian flour for the bases and Italian cheese on top. I don't know if it was the best pizza in the world, but it was certainly the best I have ever had. I am off to Tuscany in six weeks so will have something similar to compare it to and you know what, I think it will still be the best. Mind you, Mauro's is special to me for another reason, I took a friend there for dinner for the first time and now, as well as still being best of friends, she is also my wife!!

3.     There are few things in life that fundamentally change you as a person. When I was fifteen, I worked for a fortnight in one of England's finest Country House Hotels, Cliveden. I was peeling countless potatoes, staring into space, when I was assaulted by a smell so alien that I actually snapped out of my daydream and took notice. It was a sort of "you've been Tango'd" moment! I asked what was being cooked and, upon discovering that I had never tasted it before, the chef handed me a plate of rather strange looking stuff. Browned on the outside, very soft in the middle and oozing with a deep golden fat, I must admit that it didn't look hugely appetising, however, never one to turn my nose up at new tastes, I had a forkful. I was immediately transported to a far away place, lifted by angels and archangels, whilst at the same time being enveloped in a warm and fluffy duvet of culinary comfort. I knew then that my life would be spent around food. Cooking, serving, eating, it didn't really matter. Most people will tell you that the greatest influence on their life was a person. Maybe it says something about me that the greatest influence on my life was foie gras!!

4.     You may be forgiven for thinking that my top ten food memories would all be good. They certainly should be, I have enough to choose from. I have however decided to use one to warn you, the great public at large, about a grave danger that has crept into society. Shortly after returning from Australia I was given a sandwich, an innocent enough looking object so, being a permanently hungry youth, I took a huge bite. It was the culinary equivalent of finger nails down a chalkboard! Surely this was caustic, nothing that was sold for spreading on bread could ever taste this hideous!! It was mouldy, it had to be. I was going to lapse into a coma and rot from the inside out. My parents would never see me grow into the spaceman I was destined to become! And all because of Marmite!

5.     When I was still a young chap in short trousers I was often asked what I would like for lunch on the occasions that I used to come home at the weekends. My answer was always the same. My mother used to make the most amazing chicken and mushroom pie. It was so simple and yet ticked all the boxes, proper comfort food.

As far as I can remember it was made like this:-

Roast a chicken or two. Pull all the meat off and if necessary, cut into good sized chunks.

Quarter and cook some large flat mushrooms in butter. Keep any juices that might appear.

Put the chicken and mushrooms in a flat pie dish. Put enough decent chicken stock in to come halfway up the dish. Add the mushroom juice as well.

Cover with a pastry lid, either puff or shortcrust, your choice.

Cook in the oven until piping hot and golden brown.

We always had buckets of mashed potato and white cabbage with it.

6.     A few years ago my daughter was given a pack of recipe cards, full of the usual childhood favourites, great for holidays and rainy afternoons. I was flicking through them when I came across a recipe that has become my staple for a quick pudding when a yoghurt or satsuma just won't cut it! We always have ice cream in the freezer and usually have some chocolate in the cupboard. Being so close to Easter, we now have enough chocolate to sink the proverbial battleship!

Weigh out 100g of whatever chocolate you have to hand. Anything will do, flavoured, plain, white, milk or dark.

Put it in a pan and add 10g butter, a tablespoon of water and one of golden syrup.

Heat it up until melted and warm.

Pour it on ice cream, meringues, profiteroles, your significant other, whatever takes your fancy.

I assure you this will become a firm favourite with the whole family.

7.     Some years ago I had the obligatory coming of age travels around far flung parts of the globe. I spent all of my time in Australia, driving from Perth up the west coast, across to Cape Tribulation and down the east coast to Melbourne. During this time I became quite the expert on road house tucker. I always had the same thing, a ham, cheese and tomato toastie. You would be amazed at how many different experiences can be had with the same ingredients. Some were passable, some I wouldn't have fed to a rabid dingo and sometimes, just occasionally, I would come across a real gem. The best I had was in a small town in Queensland called Mount Surprise. We placed our order and were was given a number, despite being the only people in the place, and told to take a seat by the very friendly lady behind the counter. About ten minutes later I was given my order. Sitting on a chipped plate, on a table that had four different legs, was the finest looking sandwich I had ever seen. Two large doorsteps of homemade white bread, a whole tomato, what seems in my memory to have been at least half a pound of home cured ham and enough cheese for a fondue, all steaming hot and crunchy. It was the most amazing thing I had laid eyes on since first discovering the drive through off licence! I can still remember the smell and taste nearly 20 years later.

We never actually saw the mount, a fact that caused us much angst until we realised that maybe that was the surprise!!

Le Manoir - A living art gallery

8.     I have always rated food using the most base of methods. If a dish or experience gives me a culinary orgasm, then it stays in the memory. I am fortunate enough to have a few of these, however only once have I experienced the truly elusive culinary multiple orgasm!! As part of the training that every member of staff was given when working at Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons, I, along with 9 other newbies, was given the Menu Gourmand, a seven course tasting extravaganza, in the main restaurant. We all knew that we were about to experience food that was going to re-write all future expectations, however, what followed was a four hour masterclass in just how to do serious food, in a serious setting, seriously well. Maybe it is because it was my first, maybe it is because I worked there, or maybe it is just because it was so damn good, but nothing since has come close to that meal, and a little part of me hopes nothing will.

9.     When my wife and I first got married, we used some money that had been given by her beloved Grandmother to buy a Kenwood mixer. We didn't use it too much for the first couple of years, however when children come along, birthday cakes are needed and baking for fun becomes part of the holiday ritual, when family come round and cakes and biscuits are needed and when the long summer days demand lots of meringues and pavlovas, it comes to the fore. I have always wanted a kitchen large enough to be able to keep it out on the surface, a sort of kitchen status symbol, look what we have and just imagine the goodies we can create with it, however it currently lives in a cupboard and strangely, I am actually happy about that. Having to get something out and ready so that you can do something else is surely part of the build up, part of the fun and excitement. Imagine if all the camping gear was permanently in the car, if that bottle of fizz was always in the fridge or if Barry White was always playing in the background! Our Kenwood is not so much one memory as a never ending string of them, those gone and those yet to come, however the first one I always think of is Victoria's Granny and the memories that her present has allowed us to collect.

10.     I recently had a dinner party to celebrate my fortieth birthday. The whole night was one of great food, great wine, sublime company and wonderful memories. I shall remember it until the day comes that I can no longer remember things! It summed up what food is all about, it is about sharing, about friendship, about love, about experiences, it is about having a list just like this one, to remind us to remember why life is for living.

A few weeks ago I wrote about two other fantastic memories, pudding wine and truffles. You can have these as a bonus on top of the others!

I hope you have a great weekend remembering all your own top tens!