Turkish Delight

Ever get a craving for something you haven’t had in ages, completely out of nowhere?

I’m in desperate need of a Fry’s Turkish Delight right now. Dunno why but I just really, really want one. Or two. I must confess that I’m a bit of a Turkish Delight fan. Obviously my favourite is the fake, unauthentic kind covered in chocolate but I do also like the official Turkish stuff too – especially the pistachio flavoured ones.

More food adventures coming up for me! I’m off to Ibiza on holiday at the weekend, which will mean a huge booze-bonanza but also the beginning of a Spanish food frenzy which will last two weeks. I’m very much looking forward to chorizo and albondingas. A special favourite is dates wrapped in bacon – something that I can make myself at home but never seems to taste anywhere near as amazing as it does when you’re plonked port-side in some glam and sunny holiday destination with a glass of chilly rose near at hand.

Now there’s a thought…. Does food automatically taste better if you are in pleasant surroundings? Would I find dates in bacon as tastey if I were sat on a plastic chair at the side of the M25? Obviously I’d be choking on the fumes and picking grit thrown by speeding lorries from every mouthful. It would therefore seem that location could be a factor in how good food tastes. These findings are not conclusive but I shall keep everyone informed of any further discoveries in this area.

After Ibiza we’re jetting straight to Malaga to begin our Andalucian Extravaganza. Yet more tapas!!!!! I may even get into sherry. Or maybe not. It’s a bit old lady. Although I’m sure Andalucians would argue it’s super-trendy and extremely cutting edge….

Warm Plum Tart

Warm plums….. hmmmm…

I’m a fan of a sticky tart too. In fact any bit of pastry is usually welcome.

Now then. Enough of all that. I have details of an event, the likes of which has ne’ery been seen before (well maybe, but it was pretty spectacular). Last weekend I attended the matrimonials of Todd & Fergal at Bovey Castle in Devon. What a shindig!

The whole thing was planned with immaculate precision, gliding along at a fair ol’ pace with bags of style, tons of fun and bucket loads of booze.
Being the paragon of virtue that I am, I only allowed a whisper of alcohol to touch my lips. Actually, none of it touched my lips - it bypassed all of my mouth and hit my throat at a gallop. Or it went down my front. As someone who is totally unable to say no to ‘another’, I should have suffered rather badly with dreadful hangovers but after the initial night’s revels I arose without a headache or nausea. I also arose without a toenail, my camera or my shirt. The camera I had left in the hotel bar, the shirt at the pool after an early morning dip with other drunken merry-makers and my toenail was embedded in the bottom of the bathroom door where I had, under the influence of course, trapped it.

Pain began soon after waking and shame shortly followed. Fortunately being in the pool in such a state meant that I had consumed rather more water than usual which held off any ill feeling. However, the fact that I made my way back to my room at 5am in wet boxer shorts brought on whole different feelings of agony… Fortunately the other half had organised the room for my arrival by removing any furniture from my route between bed and bathroom.

Further agony followed when later that day I had to don my lovely new Patrick Cox shoes for the wedding ceremony. I went thru the whole thing with a dignified limp, able to meet the eyes of only my five fellow fun seekers. A few glasses of champagne later and my limp was improving marvellously and the party spirit and returned. I even managed a dance or two.

Notable food over the weekend was a fantastic barbeque with amazing burgers and sausages. An amazing mountain of cupcakes (wish I’d taken a photo but my camera was strangely missing…) drew my attention shortly after demolishing a pile of yummy salads and grilled meat!
The wedding feast was sooooo good too. Fabulous wine accompanied the food, all selected by Todd & Fergal. Wow! You boys have such great taste.

I haven’t been to a wedding like that before and certainly not one that I’ve enjoyed so much.

Cinnamon Spiced Carrot Cake

I love cinnamon, as has already been discussed on a few previous blog entries. I’m not going to bang on a about it any more. Carrot cake tho... I quite like carrot cake but my favourite part is the squishy bit on the top. Once I've polished that off I soon lose interest.

I’m off to a wedding on Friday, which should present a whole cornucopia of food opportunities over the weekend. The wedding is taking place in a castle in Devon so I’ll snap a few shots and try and get them on for a future blog.

We’re going by train – a relief as driving would have been mayhem. An 11 o’clock start and we’re taking the whole thing very seriously with a plan and everything. One of my chums is charged with getting the bread, cheese, pate and other smashingly delicious comestibles whilst the rest of us are bringing the wine. By the time we roll of the train in deepest, darkest Devon we’ll be trashed! Hurrah!

Once arrived, we’ll check in to the castle (as one does) and then (hopefully) nip off for a refreshing snooze. After a nap we shall glam up for an evening’s entertainment of monster proportions before retiring (elegantly, of course) to our rooms to enjoy a night’s slumber before the big wedding day of Todd & Fergal.
Much excitement about what is planned but they’re keeping it all very close to their chests. Time will tell….

I’m a bit peckish. I might have a pasty….

Friday Night

Aah. I used to love going out straight from work on a Friday night and then discovering that it was Saturday afternoon all of a sudden. Associated side effects were usually some form of headache, vague memories of thinking how splendidly witty I thought I was at the time (usually bringing on waves of dire anxiety and embarrassment), the elusive feeling that I'd found someone frightfully attractive but not feeling entirely sure if I'd acted upon those urges (quick check under bedclothes to ascertain success or lack thereof) - all rolled up with a devilish hankering for bacon.

Nowadays, I still like to pop out for a frisky shandy or two but prefer to be home and in my jarmies by midnight. Of course, having the other half for the past 9 years has meant that the Saturday morning score chart has been neatly filed away for posterity but the rest has just faded away with age.

It's Friday night now and I've had some wine (a fair bit actually, but sipped slowly over a whole evening rather than binged in a couple of hours followed by spirits - both high and alcoholic - and some impressive cocktails which make better hats than drinks!). I'm feeling mellow and content.

Saturday nights however, still don't seem to have changed. I still love to go out on the lash! Tomorrow night we're off to a stag do. Entertainingly, there are two stags as there is to be a 'big gay wedding' next week. It's all very Madonna really - big castle, stacks of people - and I'm quite looking forward to it.
Back to the stag party tho - not sure how that's gonna pan out. Stag/hen parties usually, in the UK at least, involve going out with your mates for a final fling as a single, possibly also involve snogging as many people as you can and generally getting off your face without your intended being there to look on disapprovingly. Gay stag parties are only in their infancy, so this is all going to be a bit of an adventure.

I shall, of course, behave as a paragon of decorum, sampling only a small variety of alcoholic tipples, until I feel that it is time to withdraw politely to return home before the witching hour. Bollocks! I'll be trashed by 11pm, won't remember swinging my pants outrageously on the dancefloor of some club choc full with chunky chaps without shirts, before being thrown into the back of a taxi to arrive in a heap at my doorstep by the crack of noon the next day.

Dontcha just love the weekend?!

(pic is of me at my most virtuous....)

Super Hungry

Yowsers! I’m sooo hungry today. I’ve just spent a week working in Hong Kong and we were thoroughly spoiled by the staff at the hotel where we worked. Every day was a huge merry-go-round of cake, dim sum, pastries, sandwiches - with extra cake. All of these exciting treats were punctuated only by breakfast, lunch breaks, and snack times.

My system has now reconfigured itself to expect at least a biscuit every fifteen minutes. Now that I’m back in the UK, and in normal work mode, there’s been ne’ery a piece of fruit near my desk, let alone a strawberry shortcake. I’m in disarray. I’m craving a sugar fix of monster proportions and the sensible part of my brain is quietly informing me that if I continue at my current consumption I shall have a stomach like a barrel in a few short weeks. Conversely, the irrational foodie part of me is screaming inside my head that I need baked goods immediately, or my sanity could well be at stake and I could slip into a hunger-induced state of melancholic apathy.

Panic over! Just had lunch at Pizza Express. I was kinda good by having a salad but the salads at Pizza Express have just as much fat in them as a pizza. Still, I feel slightly virtuous by having eaten some lettuce and tuna, which is obviously health food…. Isn’t it?