"All Finest sandwiches are made by hand"...which means that others are made how, exactly?
"A creamy chickpea & cannellini bean dip with coriander, chilli & cumin"It's a spicy bean dip. With apologies to everyone in my office, but it's delicious.
Grit can be a good thing.
Grittiness in particular can be a very good thing, particularly if the roads are icy. It's also good if it's related to a movie.
On the flip side, grittiness can be bad if it's found in food, like a flapjack or salad.
And in this case, on this particular occasion, it's in my flapjack.
Other than that, the flapjack would be very nice; nicely sticky and oaty.
Today's - ahem - secondary cake is a chocolate and cherry tiffin with lovely biscuit bits. Delicious!
This does mean, however, that there will be no Cake of the Day tomorrow.
Today's primary cake is a massive blueberry meringue, four by five inches oblong, and an inch high throughout: 20 cubic inches of eggy sugary fruity froth. Bliss!
We cover them in sugar, and fill them with jam to hide this fact. But the dough is stale, heavy, when cold.
File under "best served hot".
They say:
I say:"A luscious liquid caramel enhanced with a hint of sea salt encased
in 70% cocoa chocolate"
A real indulgence; expensive, but worth while. Delicious.
Okay, I just finished the rest of the Cadbury selection box (barring the Buttons Treatsize (75 calories), which I won't eat on ethical religious grounds - cruelty to buttons).
So add to the tally:
Cadbury's Dairy Milk: 110 calories
Cadbury Flake: 135 calories
Thank you, Secret Santa.
And good night all.
Cadbury's (Finger of) Fudge: 110 calories
Dairy Milk Caramel: 225 calories
Crunchie: 185 calories
Cycling into work: pointless
At the restaurant last night, the "mixed naan" was advertised as having "green chillies, minced lamb, cheese".
If the thought of cheese and lamb makes you a little queasy - and it should - then you may have assured yourself with the thought that this was an Indian restaurant, and would surely use paneer, that slightly sour cheese that works so well in Indian cooking.
You would probably not expect cheddar cheese melted on top of the bready-meaty-spicy platter.
Putting aside practical considerations - how did they manage to cook that on the inside of a tandoor oven?, for instance - this was, simply - obviously, a Bad Idea.
So bad, indeed, that my Naan Partner took one bite, and discarded her share. I managed to eat around that cheese that I couldn't scrape off.
As cooked by the Sparkly One this very evening.
To start:
Parmesan-and-roasted-parsnip soup, made from local organic veggies.
The main course:
Fillet of beef wrapped in porcini and prosciutto; pommes dauphinoise;
carrots & greens.
For dessert:
Pear and apple pie; custard
And to drink (the Sparkly One can take no credit for this one, alas):
Beyerskloof Reserve Pinotage 2007
I can take no credit for the wine, either, as it was brought by our dinner guests.
The difference between intellectual and visceral reactions is this:
My head knew that it was minced steak, seasoned and spiced.
My stomach reacted as if it was mashed cat sick.
T'other day, the Sparkly One and I happened to be staying in a hotel following a wedding. The next morning we trotted down to breakfast and, instead of the traditional Full English, I determined to ask for something a little lighter.
So I asked for a bacon sandwich.
In my mind, I could already taste the sandwich; salty tangy bacon on buttered brown bread - or even on buttered white bread, the butter melted from the warmth of the bacon.
When it arrived, it was on white bread, unbuttered.
I was disappointed. How could they not know how to make a bacon sandwich? I hadn't told them, of course; there was no way they could have known. So they had made the bacon sandwich they probably always make, unaware that I wanted something else. Or perhaps they deliberately made the lowest common denominator sandwich; experience in the catering trade leading them down the path of least offence.
It wasn't their fault, of course; it was mine, for not being precise about what I wanted. It's happened before. It may well happen again. But next time, I'll ask for it exactly as I want it. Then it's only myself I have to blame, and them to thank.
Disappointment averted.
There was considerable fanfare around the arrival of the Wispa Gold in the office; and what clever marketing accompanies it too. There's the "retro" aspect, harking back to the Gold Old Days when the WG was first on sale (1995, now more distant than my memory and hair colour would prefer). And the lovely shiny-shiny pick-me! packaging.
From the first bite, though, I found it disappointing, remembering (too late!) that I dislike the texture of Wispa bars. There's something about the size of the bubbles that makes the chocolate displeasingly smooth, or furry, it seems. If it must contain bubbles, I'm more of an Aero fan; being larger, the bubbles make the chocolate firmer, crisper, which is more to my taste.
After the chocolate disappointment, the caramel was an after-thought, lumped on top in a not-quite-thick-enough-to-notice layer that scarcely teased, or tempted, let alone satisfied.
Despite the cheerful woman at the counter, lunch is truly miserable.
My pizza baguette has been over-cooked from frozen; dry and homogenous. I can't distinguish between the peppers and the ham.
And Wifey's salad garnish surely contrevenes the Trade Descriptions Act; a handful of limp lettuce.
We won't be hurrying back.
Joy of joys! I had the fabulous "Bubble and Squeak Cake" for lunch at The Old Spotted Cow.
I watched the chef collecting eggs from the hens moments before my perfectly poached egg (and crispy bacon) arrived. Wonderful. And so simple.
Every all-day breakfast should be this good.
What joy! My third favourite seasonal food has arrived!
(Asparagus and Pumpkin, seeing as you asked so nicely)
The hotel is very pleased with its restaurant, which "retains the beauty of the gracious Victorian era". So pleased, in fact, that guests are asked to "compliment the setting by dressing appropriately for the evening". Meaning no jeans, track suit bottoms (as if!), trainers, T-shirts or polo shirts.
Which would be much easier to accept if the place wasn't painted like a (modern era) pub, complete with "witty aphorisms" all over the walls. The food, too, is the wrong side of self-satisfied; the dinner menu begins with a message from the chef, stating his position on the use of local seafood and seasonal vegetables.
None of which seems to bother the assembled diners - all dressed appropriately - and all at least 2 full decades older than us.
One piece of brie does not make a "selection of cheeses".
Well, I guess it does, kinda. But it's a limited sort of selection.
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