Exceeding good bullshit

I love a dirty Battenberg, another guilty pleasure of mine. But do you see that Mr Kipling is such a nice guy, that he only uses eggs from happy hens running around in fields? Well shove an egg up my cunt, they also have 100% natural flavours! See that?

As from 1st of Jan this year all UK eggs are free-range or from 'enriched' cages. And this is an EU law. I'm just annoyed that Kipling didn't commit to this decision years ago. Even fucking Wetherspoons and Mac Donald's had the sense to switch to free range eggs well before the ban on 'bad eggs'. But now this fucking twat (Kipling) wants to advertise on his packaging that he uses free-range eggs. What a prick. It's like advertising that his employees don't use drugs. No, its worse than that. If all his employees where drug uses and had now stopped, it would be similar.

Kipling uses 60 Million eggs a year, thats a lot. So the company was commended for the achievement of switching to free-range.

What about all the companies that had the ethics to never to use eggs from battery hens? Where's their fucking award? What about the 50 years of animal cruelty caused by Kipling not using free-range eggs? He deserves punishment.

This reminds me of when Nescafe released a 'Fair-trade' instant coffee alongside its unfair-trade coffee. Just to test the market. Why doesn't a corporation like Nestle have the bollocks to commit to an ethos. Another example is when one of those horrible coffee chains (Costa or Nero I can't remember, they're all the same consistent crap) decided to give the customer the option to make their coffee fair-trade by charging an extra 10p. Just commit you bunch of cunts. 

Oh and I'd say that his cakes are 'exceedingly average' not good. What a dickhead statement anyway. Kipling you prick.


The company says, "Mr. Kipling exists in the hearts and minds of Manor Bakeries' employees and all cake lovers, but not in fact as a real person. He was created over 30 years ago to represent the exceedingly good cakes the company was producing and now encapsulates everything the brand stands for, and personifies what is good about the company - its vision, its values and insistence on quality."


If he was a real person I'd like to punch him in the face and kick Mrs Kipling right in the cunt. 






















And beat up their fucking cunt kids.

Work Beer

Merry Christmas.

I love having a beer as I finish the working day, particularly on an empty stomach.  It helps me wind down and helps build an appetite.

Tonight I had this amazing white ale from Iceland (not the CHD supermarket). It apparently has tasting notes of coriander and orange peel.

If you see it, try it - http://www.einstokbeer.com/

People in Exeter can get it here - http://www.whistlewines.com/

Pasta

I made one of my favourite meals last night, which is fresh pasta with Garlic & Chilli Olive Oil. You basically slowly cook a bulb of finely grated garlic and a couple of thinly sliced chilies in lots of extra virgin Olive Oil. Leave it in a pan for about half an hour and on a very very low heat. Boil your pasta in heavily salted water, you don't have to use fresh stuff, any kind of pasta will do, although these guys would disagree - The Geometry of Pasta. They also suggest 12g of salt to 1L of water. I'm not really into the idea of weighing things, but it's a good book and worth buying for the stunning graphic design.

When the pasta is cooked, drain it, but keep some of the starchy pasta water, this is to be mixed with the oil and will become your sauce. So yeah, mix it all up, the oil, pasta and a cup of starchy water. Zest a bit of lemon over it and a big squeeze of the juice. Serve with thinly sliced fresh basil and tons of Parmesan or Pecorino or Grana Padano. This will give you lovely breath, but kick your mouth in the cunt with flavour.


I ended up drinking a lot of wine and getting rather stoned, so the washing up was left til this morning. As I entered the the kitchen in search of breakfast, I discovered an oily pan full of sticky garlic and chilli, so I fried a couple of scoffy eggs in this dirty pan and toasted some giant sourdough soldiers to dip in the golden yolks. Oh, what's that? A little bit of left over Pecorino in a bowl? Why not?

Poor Old Quiche

I've always hated what I thought was Quiche, but actually it can be pretty good. The supermarkets sell what look like yummy asparagus & salmon frisbees, which have been festering in a cardboard box for days. These things are always a disapointment. But as I'm writting this I'm eating a quiche so fucking tasty I have to constantly take a break from typing to shove some in my mouth. Here comes another mouthful! Scoff!

I'm sure this has been done before, but to me it started more as a joke, but then I really liked the idea, cooked it and then I started eating the thing and then loved it.


Basically it's a squash (you can use any type) with the seeds removed and a load of quiche mixture shoved in there. Because it takes such a long time to cook the squash make the mixture a little more liquidy than usual. Good times.




onion
eggs
splash of milk
nutmeg
salt
chili powder
cheddar
1/2 a lemon (juice and a little zest)
thyme




Use these ingredients and you will have a very tasty quiche. You are not a moron, so add your own stuff, mix and match ingredients. Your kitchen, your rules. Here are some variations I just made up, they may be dogshitpiss, but cooking is all about experimentation and fun.

onion

eggs

dash of cream

nutmeg

salt

pepper

goats cheese

1/2 a lemon (juice and a little zest)

rosemary

or if you want to be really fucking crazy

red onion

eggs

coconut milk

ginger

salt

fresh red chilli

bacon lardons

1/2 a lime (juice and a little zest)

fresh coriander

I think the reason I like this idea so much is because pastry is a bit of a bore, I can never be bothered to make it, cook with it or eat it.

Town Mill

On Sunday we went for lunch at the new River Cottage Canteen in Plymouth, well I should call it a restaurant, not a canteen. It's based in the Royal William Yard which was the main naval victualling depot or in common tongue;  storage house for food and booze. The Royal William Yard should be the perfect setting for restaurants and boozers due to it's history, but it does have a bleak atmosphere, a little like a prison.

Anyway, we had a poor lunch which was mainly ruined by an aggressive tattooed American waitress who was basically a bit of a prick. But the food was just a bit lame. We also felt ripped off (£3 for a pathetic pot of cabbage, seriously, fuck off!). The look of the restaurant is rather good and it has a wood fired oven for all to see and get aroused. It's still not worth a visit and the Canteen in Axminster is better.

The head baker at Town Mill scoffing a scone

(always a good sign to see staff eating their own food)

So we made a swift exit without pudding or coffee because  we knew there was a Town Mill Bakery around the corner and we'd heard good things. At first this cafe/bakery was a little confusing as everything is so relaxed. Just find a seat. Grab a chopping board and help your self to the selection of baked goods which are on a stretched table top. Walk over to the barista and order your coffee (this is the only service you will receive). Sit. Scoff and reach for a mug hanging from above your head and help yourself to bottled tap water in the fridge or you can get a pressed Somerset apple juice.  Watch the head baker work away as you are surrounded by sacks of Shipton Mill flour on palettes (a fork lift probably drives straight in and dumps them there). When you've finished wolfing down your chosen delights, walk up to till and list what you had to some guy on an iPad and he'll calculate your bill. This form of honesty will obviously be exploited at some point, but I'm sure this will be a rare occasion. This honesty does feel great. Nothing is hidden from the customers, so when you pay for the food you should hide nothing from them.


Oh and I tried a seriously good Eccles cake and the best scone in the world, perfect texture and served with the most delicious jam & butter. Cakes and coffee are around £2 and everything else is under £5, which is amazing as the ingredients are of such high quality, the flavour is there (although the coffee wasn't very good), you get the theatre of the food being made in front of you and the place has a buzzy atmos, which is great to pick you up after a less than average lunch at River Cuntage.


Check out there blog, it has some great writing - http://townmillbakery.wordpress.com/


I like the one about Porn & Food.


If you want to visit a land of giant focaccia pizzas, enormous victoria sponges and scones the size of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's ego, then you must go. 


(Sorry Hugh, I'm just kidding, nothing personal, I know your a nice guy, but your such an easy target).

Cornered

I've just had a sexy romantic meal with my Müller Corner (Blueberry). I remember when these beasts were let loose in our supermarkets in the late 80s and people went wild for the pointess act of adding your own fruit compote, so much fun, like those crisps with a packet of salt. You were a cool kid if you had either of these in your lunch box. But if Müller really want to cash in, all they need to do is make a mini version. Sorry the cynic in me is taking over. But people really are stupid cunts. Mini Cheddars, mini Mars bars, mini Jaffa cakes = massive cunts.


Anyway I was one of those stupid cunts who lapped up the USP of the yogurt's quirkily designed pot. I fucking loved them. But it's been a while, am I still a fan?

So a I lit a glade scented candle and made this a real CHD, as those people* thought Corner yogurts were a little on the posh side. I was actually a little nervous as I was reunited with this old friend, like meeting up with an old girlfriend, if one can imagine that situation. As expected we were both a little shy to begin with, so I gently peeled back the foil and slowly licked the yogurt off her lid, a friendly greeting to break the ice. It tasted good. So straight to foreplay I went, and began spooning the Blueberry compote into the yogurt and created some flirtatious marbling. So sexy. Then we just went for it. You can imagine the rest.




* We all know who those people are!

The Buffet

For anyone who has stayed in a Hotel, they will have encountered the delights of a Hotel Buffet. The buffet is an ingenious system used for catering on a mass scale, it causes a social awkwardness and requires a type of international etiquette, although nobody knows the actual rules. I think it's a game and the British would certainly loose at this sport, falling at the first hurdle. They go straight for the lovely looking bread and load up on the carbs, they then proceed to overload their plates with everything, I mean everything, mixing all food items and piling it as high as possible. So wrong. But the Germans are far more cunning, they select the prime cuts of cold meats and cheeses (the expensive ingredients) as all the dishes on the hot plates are normally made from leftovers. This is where you find the Brits, scoffing away like pigs at a troth with the great British mentality of 'eat as much as you can'.

But despite your nationality, the Buffet is defiantly a spectator sport, so you must get a good table with a clear enough view to see the players. Sit back and enjoy, not the food, the fun and frolics!

Obviously to watch the game of the buffet, you must get involved and actually eat something, but first you must do the walk of shame with an empty plate and begin the loading of unidentified matter. Breakfast is always easier that dinner, but on both occasions may I suggest at least one lap of the circuit. This warm up lap will enable you to suss everything out, a second lap will enable you to plan a menu in your head and then with a rolling start you can hit the floor running. If you are staying at a hotel for a few nights then you will easily sniff out the truffles when foraging the buffet forest.

Good luck.