Belfast City

Setting : Morning Star, Belfast City.
Timeline: Sat 23rd Oct 2010. Early evening.
Players : Me, Barman

(It's the night before the first Old Firm game of the season. Tensions are high. I'd ordered food which was steak and mussels. It was that kind of night.)

Me:
Tell me this and tell me no more. Are you showing the match tomorrow?
Barman:
No.

Fin.

Porridge Recipe

A real conversation from this morning offering both a recipe for porridge and a cultural insight into social mores in present day India.

[09:49:18] HIM: had breakfast?
[09:49:23] ME : yes, porridge and fruit
[09:50:10] HIM: what is dis porridge?
[09:50:21] ME : oatmeal
[09:50:35] HIM: did u prepared this porridge?
[09:50:43] ME : yes, i simply added water and microwaved for 3 mins
[09:52:12] ME : then added pears and blueberries
[09:54:06] ME : and a splash of milk and a little honey
[09:55:32] HIM: ok
[09:56:23] HIM: r u staying alone?

Beans on Toast

I was eating beans on toast this morning when the waiter came over and asked me if everything was ok. I told him that the toast was good and that, so far, all the beans had been ok. I assured him that I'd let him know if any of the beans went wrong.

Timotei Shampoo

I find myself more than usually troubled by the new Timotei adverts that seem never to be off the telly. Which, in turn, these days, never seems to be off Nick Jnr.

I'm guessing that these ads are aimed squarely at mothers who will well remember the original, inexplicably famous, campaign. This, coupled with the likelihood that a day's childminding is unlikely to have left Mum's hair at its most "volumised" or "voluptuous", will render the demographic as particularly "ripe for the picking" (to use a marketing term).

Talking of which, here's the thrust of the ad. The good people at Timotei care so much about your hair that they literally scour the world to steal nature's finest edible ingredients like:

Pink grapefruit from Spain
Acai berry from Brazil
Avocado Oil from South Africa
Pistachio Seed from Persia
Macadamia from Australia

Then, they take all these mouthwatering treats and they simply tip them into a big industrial vat full of the original Timotei they couldn't sell back in the seventies. In short the bastards make shampoo.

Shame on them!

The 33rd Flavour

In which Irish Stew becomes the 33rd flavour.

Arses Whilst Eating

It would be lovely to go out for something to eat without having to look at a fat arse all the time. It's a bit off-putting.

Simply Shit

The curry for people who like chips with their curry.

Weird Sausages

Some sausages. On a piece of parchment. Burnt out parchment paper with a door-handle at the base. What were they thinking!

Wholegrain Puffed Rice Cereal

Although here on the planet earth perhaps the perfect start to the day is a sleepy blow-job followed by a jumbo breakfast roll.

Of course, I am a mere child in these matters...

How to eat cheese

Serving Suggestion. Break into pieces in a rustic stylee and throw a few old grapes on the side.

Brilliant!

Sumptuous Suppers

I did something really bad last night and absolutely had to be punished. So instead of getting to take the kids swimming I stayed home and watched Nigel Slater's Sumptuous Suppers.

And frankly I feel that the punishment far exceeds the crime.

Now to start with, when Slater says supper he doesn't mean cheese on toast in your pyjamas and slippers. No he means to be a pompous git and, more specifically, he means dinner. But being an absolute dolt of the first water, Slater wouldn't dream of having his evening meal until at least midnight.

For every supper recipe he'll say something like:
Now at this point I could used normal tomatoes but (not being a complete prole like you lot) I'm going to use Guatemalan sun-blush tomatoes (which, presumably, are available at every good Waitrose).

When it's ready, he wouldn't dream of sitting down at the table and eating it. He insists on eating standing up like you'd expect from an insufferable old lush.

My crime was minor. Surely I didn't deserve this...

"I believe that what grows together, goes together. And my theory doesn't just apply to what I grow in my garden. I think it applies the world over".

Stunningly, our vainglorious hero has conceded that the international science of horticulture extends beyond his own precious back-yard.

Punishment over. Football Focus now.

The Spoon Situation

There were three bad things about my hotel in Boston.

1. The eggs - disgusting
2. The music - musak
3. The spoons - too small

I'd already told them about the musak. When I checked out I told the manager about the eggs.
"I know", he agreed, "they're disgusting all right". He shook his head as if the problem was utterly out of his purview.

"Ok what about the spoons? Can we have some big spoons", I asked. "I've been eating my cereal with a tea spoon and it's making me late for work".

"Why not start eating earlier?", he suggested.

I said I'd do that next time. Clearly he had no control over the spoon situation either.

Not Your Average Joes

The irony - the sweet profound, utterly unseen irony - of this place is that it is very much the absolute definition of Your Average Joes.

The Way Home

RE: The Way Home?
From: musters
Sent: 17 October 2009 03:33:07
To: george.pelecanos@orion.co.uk

Dear Mr Pelecanos,

I am in Boston tonight and am thoroughly enjoying "The Way Home". It reads like a modern day fable and is a very fine match indeed to chicken wings and Sam Adams.

I have one small question if you'll indulge me, Sir.

On page 215, of the Orion edition, you say (in relation to the young boys who find Ben's mutilated, rat-infested cadaver):

"What they saw would trouble them into adulthood and haunt the youngest for the rest of his life."

Poetic and haunting words, if I may say, but they beg one important question. Since the book is set in modern day Washington DC, how do you know?

Best Regards,

Musters

The Unborn Chicken

For lunch today I had chicken done two ways: hatched and unhatched. Or to put it another way, chicken and young chicken. To make it clearer still, I had chicken and egg.

I was trying out my young chicken line on the 'chef' and he found it hilarious. I told him he could use it. Me to him. No way, he said. I could never say that!

You see, in Ireland, whilst it is legal to eat eggs, the legality of referring to them as young chickens is untested. It opens up a BIG socio-ecumenical mine field and today, when Ireland votes YES to Lisbon, we'll find the rights of the unborn chicken firmly guaranteed, not only in Irish but, in European law.

May Contain Nuts

Yes, cute marketing. Nice gag. A packet of nuts warning MAY CONTAIN NUTS. Very good indeed.

Turns out it did contain nuts. But not very fucking many.

What the Lord giveth in marketing He taketh away in, er, nuts.

Decorative, not edible

This was at my place when I sat down for dinner. They explained to me that it was decorative.

Not edible.

It actually was edible. Insofar as I'd already eaten it by the time they'd told me it was decorative. So I had a five course meal. They only had four.

Sacred Cows

I found out last night that, in my local Indian restaurant at any rate, all cows aren't sacred.

We ordered beef jalfrezi. I asked the waiter how come they had beef on the menu. I'd had a couple of Duvels before and I was in a cheeky mood. Surely the cow is sacred, I teased.

These cows are Irish, he deadpanned before heading off to the fridge to get me more beer.

Multi-Tasking

Whilst this bottle of olive oil was being decanted into the nice olive oil dispenser I managed to complete the following chores:

1. Open a bottle of Bishop's Finger (first things first)
2. Bring in some towels off the line
3. Put the doctor's set back in it's box
4. Kiss two children (my own) on the top of the head.

I was immensely pleased with myself. Heretofore I've stood by the olive oil and supervised the project. After all these years of training it can now be trusted to pour itself.

Another small victory for the domesticated man.

Tabbouleh

Tabbouleh

From: musters

Sent: 09 August 2009 15:29:52

To: ledbury@ottolenghi.co.uk

Dear Yotam,

Today I tried your tabbouleh recipe as featured in last weekend's Guardian magazine.

Your point about there being a right way (and by extension a wrong one) was well made. You talk about a "million bastardised versions of this simple salad". That, under no circumstances, must couscous be used. No, it must be bulgar wheat but, in fact, parsley is the star of the show and that it must be chopped very fine and not bruised. Top-quality olive oil must also be used no matter how expensive top-quality olive oil is. Several hundred pounds a bottle you'll find.

Yotam Ottolenghi, you are clearly a tabbouleh purist and I'm aware that you chefs are well trained in offering verbal abuse the better to improve your employees. It is with that in mind that I must inform you that in your pedantic and pompous description of the "perfect" recipe you have forgotten one tiny detail, numbnuts.

It is this. Bulgar wheat must be cooked. Not merely sieved under cold water to remove starch. Otherwise it's hard and utterly inedible.

You towering idiot!

Best Regards,

Musters