You bunch of cunts should probably read this for a round up of what's been going on in the food world.
The Guardian/ Observer's modern food lover's A-Z guide by Thomas Blythe.
Such a massive bag of dicks.
Sunday, 16 September 2012
Sunday, 5 August 2012
Baxter's Moveable Feast
Yesterday the Lady and I went to Jane Baxter's Moveable Feast. Jane Baxter left Riverford earlier this year and is now writing a book for the fast food restaurant Leon. So for the summer she has been doing these pop up restaurants in amazing locations.
The menu was similar to Riverford, although slightly higher-end ingredients and served in a slightly more homely fashion. Everything was just perfect and faultless on the flavour front and such a contrast to the lousy meal we had at The Jack in the Green earlier this week (5th best Gastro Pub in the UK and 60th best Restaurant, absolute joke, style over substance which seems to be a common occurrence nowadays).
Again this reinforces my argument about stupid fucking presentation. A friend brought this article to my attention recently, I know old Jay Rayner is a bit of a bell-end, but he has a good point. And I'm not gonna get started on Latte Art. I know it shows the milk has the right texture and a heart or rosetta/fern is cool, but the moment some cunt draws a teddybear in my coffee, my dick will kick their anus in the face.
Back to Baxter and her lovely feast, my foul language can now fuck off. The meal was set at Combe Farm Studios near Dittisham and we were supposed to eat outside, but the rain came down like piss from a giant pissy cock, so we ate in a barn conversion, which was fabulous and basically someone's dining room.
Oh, the puddings, oh the puddings, let me talk about the puddings. Basically I'm not much of a pudding person and would much rather shove something savoury in my gob over anything sweet. Did I mention the puddings? No. Well we had a choice of three, but we didn't have to choose cos there was enough to eat all three. But actually there was more like five different puddings. Here are three puddings pictured below. Look at the puddings.
Plum, Blueberry & Blackberry crumble,
Baked Custard
Poached nectarines
Did you see the puddings? So after three and a half hours of middle class mayhem we left in a comatose state with sedate smiles and bellies bulging. An unforgettable experience. Thanks again Jane.
Wednesday, 11 July 2012
Nairobi
I just spent two weeks in Nairobi and have been eating my way through a lot of burgers and hanging out with a couple of good friends (We are the Three Wzungu). We cooked food only two of the evenings, one just a simple pasta dish, although it's one of my favourite meals; garlic chilli linguine. The other night was a big ass BBQ.
The first evening, after a death defying taxi ride from the airport (everyone drives like a dick in Kenya and people crash for a laugh), we headed straight to a joint called Brew. This is a bar with an industrial brewery inside and the lager was rather good, nearly as good as Tusker. The food here was pretty good also, this is where I had my first Kenyan burger. We scoffed sitting at a bar which looked straight into the kitchen. This place took down my naive misconception of the Kenyan lifestyle. We smashed in a Negroni or two or three, then we became real Wzungu.
Most of the fruit and veg in Kenya is a bit dogshitpiss apart from the Avocados, so every morning we'd walk down the road to get some from this little community, who basically lived on this bit of grass by the roadside. The Avocados were always perfectly ripe and cost between 10 & 20p each, and that's Mzungu price (what white people pay). At first we served the Avocados on toast with poached eggs, but the eggs turned cold so we ditched them, also we weren't sure on the African policy towards eggy ethics or salmonella. So a smashed up Avo with a bit of lemon, finely sliced chilli, salt, pepper & a big glug of E.V. Olive Oil is all you need. Simply dolloped on a dry piece of toast and the textures & flavours work for me. It doesn't look like an oil painting, but how about I paint you a different picture? There are starving people in Africa! So eat what you're given you bunch of cunts. Ah, I'm just kidding.
Another highlight was an Indian restaurant, Open House, where we went three times. The curry was superb and avoided that greasiness which is so abundant in the UK, but it kept all the complex spice flavours. The last time we went the waiter assumed he could keep our change from the bill, which pissed us off. What a bell-end.
Artcaffe is good for burgers and fuck my baps sideways I noshed off a lot of burgers in my cunty face.
We also had Sushi from Onami and it was ok. It could have been better if we'd done the ordering as we had some pretty basic sashimi. We also had some Teppanyaki on another night which was splendid.
Maxland Grill was the star of the show for me as it was the only authentic Kenyan food I had - Kenyans call it a Nyama choma, basically a BBQ, but without all the marinades & guff. This fiery furnace of a restaurant was smokey and dirty, but the coals kissed the meat in the most wonderful flavour filled manner. Simply raw meat on a plate, but obviously cooked. I mean 'raw' in the naked sense. A sexy naked goat flirting on my plate. So sexy it was fucked to flaming hell and back. I was driven Kuku.
Anyhow I'm starting to bore myself with this post, so you must be Bored to Death (We watched a lot of this).
The first evening, after a death defying taxi ride from the airport (everyone drives like a dick in Kenya and people crash for a laugh), we headed straight to a joint called Brew. This is a bar with an industrial brewery inside and the lager was rather good, nearly as good as Tusker. The food here was pretty good also, this is where I had my first Kenyan burger. We scoffed sitting at a bar which looked straight into the kitchen. This place took down my naive misconception of the Kenyan lifestyle. We smashed in a Negroni or two or three, then we became real Wzungu.
Most of the fruit and veg in Kenya is a bit dogshitpiss apart from the Avocados, so every morning we'd walk down the road to get some from this little community, who basically lived on this bit of grass by the roadside. The Avocados were always perfectly ripe and cost between 10 & 20p each, and that's Mzungu price (what white people pay). At first we served the Avocados on toast with poached eggs, but the eggs turned cold so we ditched them, also we weren't sure on the African policy towards eggy ethics or salmonella. So a smashed up Avo with a bit of lemon, finely sliced chilli, salt, pepper & a big glug of E.V. Olive Oil is all you need. Simply dolloped on a dry piece of toast and the textures & flavours work for me. It doesn't look like an oil painting, but how about I paint you a different picture? There are starving people in Africa! So eat what you're given you bunch of cunts. Ah, I'm just kidding.
Another highlight was an Indian restaurant, Open House, where we went three times. The curry was superb and avoided that greasiness which is so abundant in the UK, but it kept all the complex spice flavours. The last time we went the waiter assumed he could keep our change from the bill, which pissed us off. What a bell-end.
Artcaffe is good for burgers and fuck my baps sideways I noshed off a lot of burgers in my cunty face.
We also had Sushi from Onami and it was ok. It could have been better if we'd done the ordering as we had some pretty basic sashimi. We also had some Teppanyaki on another night which was splendid.
Maxland Grill was the star of the show for me as it was the only authentic Kenyan food I had - Kenyans call it a Nyama choma, basically a BBQ, but without all the marinades & guff. This fiery furnace of a restaurant was smokey and dirty, but the coals kissed the meat in the most wonderful flavour filled manner. Simply raw meat on a plate, but obviously cooked. I mean 'raw' in the naked sense. A sexy naked goat flirting on my plate. So sexy it was fucked to flaming hell and back. I was driven Kuku.
Anyhow I'm starting to bore myself with this post, so you must be Bored to Death (We watched a lot of this).
Saturday, 9 June 2012
The Cricket Inn
The Cricket Inn is in the process of being ran out, as yet another of our great pubs gets knocked for six and castrated by it's idiot owners. This crippled eunuch of a pub appears to be a transvestite restaurant with a shit wig.
The table was booked for 8pm and we arrived 20 minutes late. We were told that we had to order straight away to compensate for our lateness. Ok, fair enough. But the cunts didn't take our order until 9pm and our food didn't come until 9:45pm. You get the picture! This isn't going to be a pleasant bit of blogging.
The best bit was when my friend was told he couldn't eat because there weren't any tables available. So my friend said it's fine, I can sit on one of those unreserved tables in the bar area. He was told by the stupid fucking cunt of a waitress, that those tables are only for people who are drinking. My friend replied "well of course we will be drinking, and we'll be eating as well". I do love a bit of rudeness from staff, I find it quite entertaining, but she was just a massive Belliendiot (Bell End Idiot which sounds like Billy Elliot).
The unpleasantness of this place has reached a hight which I have never swallowed in my entire dining experience. I love the fact that our group of friends have never encountered anything quite like this, considering we have eaten in such a wide range of restaurants throughout the world from El Buli to Mac Donald's. This schizophrenic dogshit dive is somewhere in-between, but it's head has gone inside-out through it's own anus whist shitting puke. It has a serious identity issue, which is a shame because it could be a great pub, like the Lamb Inn in Sandford, probably the best pub meal going (picture below).
To be completely fair the food was very good at the Cricket Inn and the manager did his best to accommodate a large group of people. They simply have a waitress with an attitude problem beyond her own vagina and she clearly hates her job and is not very good at it. The predominant clientel in this joint (Retired bankers and there wives, both aged about 65) have roughly 10 years left to live so perhaps the proprietors should start thinking more about the long game and be a little more accommodating.
The table was booked for 8pm and we arrived 20 minutes late. We were told that we had to order straight away to compensate for our lateness. Ok, fair enough. But the cunts didn't take our order until 9pm and our food didn't come until 9:45pm. You get the picture! This isn't going to be a pleasant bit of blogging.
The best bit was when my friend was told he couldn't eat because there weren't any tables available. So my friend said it's fine, I can sit on one of those unreserved tables in the bar area. He was told by the stupid fucking cunt of a waitress, that those tables are only for people who are drinking. My friend replied "well of course we will be drinking, and we'll be eating as well". I do love a bit of rudeness from staff, I find it quite entertaining, but she was just a massive Belliendiot (Bell End Idiot which sounds like Billy Elliot).
The unpleasantness of this place has reached a hight which I have never swallowed in my entire dining experience. I love the fact that our group of friends have never encountered anything quite like this, considering we have eaten in such a wide range of restaurants throughout the world from El Buli to Mac Donald's. This schizophrenic dogshit dive is somewhere in-between, but it's head has gone inside-out through it's own anus whist shitting puke. It has a serious identity issue, which is a shame because it could be a great pub, like the Lamb Inn in Sandford, probably the best pub meal going (picture below).
Shoulder and chump of lamb, fonadant new potatoes,
shallot puree, spiced lamb jus - £16 from the Lamb Inn
To be completely fair the food was very good at the Cricket Inn and the manager did his best to accommodate a large group of people. They simply have a waitress with an attitude problem beyond her own vagina and she clearly hates her job and is not very good at it. The predominant clientel in this joint (Retired bankers and there wives, both aged about 65) have roughly 10 years left to live so perhaps the proprietors should start thinking more about the long game and be a little more accommodating.
Sorry, no pictures. These words are all this fucking cunty place are worth and I think I've gone beyond my usual word count. Shit Twats.
Friday, 18 May 2012
I Have An Itch,....
... so I've gotta do some more scratchings. After my last post about snacks I have discovered something English which is actually heading in the right direction.
It's Friday and after a bloody hard week doing a trade show in London, I was pleased to receive a phone call from the lady saying she's cooking up a Bolo (Spag Bol (Spaghetti Bolognese)). I needed a wine from Piers to wash down the delights of our faux Italian meal. He recommended this -
It's Friday and after a bloody hard week doing a trade show in London, I was pleased to receive a phone call from the lady saying she's cooking up a Bolo (Spag Bol (Spaghetti Bolognese)). I needed a wine from Piers to wash down the delights of our faux Italian meal. He recommended this -
Bellamarsilia 2010
And like every time before, Piers' selection was perfect, a Bellamarsilia – Morellino di Scansano DOCG, this cherry red is made for rich gamey flavours and no reason why it wouldn't work with any beefy bolo.
But as I was leaving Whistle Wines, I noticed he had a porky snack. As I looked down my piggy nose at these bags in a basket I questioned my previous comments about the evil scratching which dominate the cardboard hanging behind many bars in this country.
It's time for Mr Porky to shit off and lets see some more of Lord Hamilton's Hogskin.
I'm not saying these snacks are great, although they are pretty good, but hopefully we're going to vote with our trotters and make a stance towards ousting pig shit piss from our pubs. Lord Hamilton's looks like a new company, and let's hope they get some serious product development and we'll be scoffing these piggy treats in many a pub. I'd like to see a smoked paprika or maybe a freeze dried apple dust amongst the bubbly pig skin. Piggy Scoff.
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
Americans Snacks.
I'm so proud of being English. But there has been a moment of clarity when it comes to snacks, and I've realised we're just not that great at manufacturing these. This moment came as I scoffed some pork scratching's in the pub the other night, weirdly it was in the Pigs Nose, anyway they were not only grotesquely fatty (nearly half the weight in fat), but lacked flavour. By the way, they were Mr Porky's and he sucks pig prick, but having said that, we're the ones more likely to be eating piggy penis.
There seems to be a trend with American food at the moment with Old Fashioned cocktails crashing into bars along with various American Bourbons, restaurants like Pitt Cue creating a buzz and big shit going down in the bagged snack department. I've heard legends of crisps cooked in lard, that are only sold within a 70 mile radius from where they are made in Pennsylvania. And I hear Grandma Utz are good. Last weekend I had some of these Pretzel Pieces (picture above) by Snyder's Of Hanover and they really blow any English snack out of the water with a bouncing flavour bomb on your tongue. Remember when Phileas Fogg Tortilla Chips were great? That day may return. I also remember when Burt's Crisps were far more interesting. Perhaps there is a gap in the market to create something special in England. When I say special I don't mean a £5 bag of potato crisps that are cooked in olive oil, because they already exist and are a total bag of shite.
I think someone needs to rip these bags of crappy English snacks a new ass hole, and shit in these newly torn ass holes like a mobile shitter. Then in synchronisation we all need to chuck our shit bags at the faces of Walkers and KP snacks and tell them to grow a pair of bollocks to shove in these shit ridden bags with assholes. Then, perhaps then, they will make a snack which is brave and actually has substance.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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