July 6, 2008
This ought to be the stupidest programme ever, and yet, and yet. One comedian (spindly Sue Perkins) and one journalist (Giles Coren, restaurant critic of the Times and one-time winner of the Bad Sex In Fiction award for a line in his 2005 novel about a penis which leapt around “like a shower dropped in an empty bath”) dress up in silly clothes and, for a week at a time, eat their way through a historical epoch. My favourite was the Supersizers Go… Regency. It featured bonnets, jugged hare and for Coren, eating the diet of the history’s greediest bastard, Prince Regent, later George IV, a breakfast of champagne and pigeon pie. Afterwards, he said he felt “like a python who has swallowed a shopping trolley.”
July 6, 2008
Sometimes known as a Turkish pizza, this flatbread-topped-with-tomato-and-minced-lamb is my favourite on-the-way-home treat. So cheap! So tasty! Almost healthy! Last night it was my friend Bex’s birthday, and after jumping around on a sofa in the Jazz Bar then wondering what all the fuss was really about at the too-cool-for-us-really Disco Bloodbath, we needed feeding. Thank goodness for the eternally open Turkish place just up Stoke Newington Road (it’s on the left, opposite Mangal 2). Two Lahmacun stuffed with salad, one can of Perrier, total bill: £3.10. I just realised that I never paid for mine. Er, thanks, Bex.
June 13, 2008
A cocktail containing clam broth and accessorised with a stick of celery ought to be gross, but I do love a Bloody Caesar. It’s a Canadian thing: vodka, clamato juice (a blend of tomato juice and the aforementioned clam juice), Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco sauce, served on the rocks in a glass rimmed with celery salt. Today we sat drinking them on a roof in Montreal, looking over the port, and it was very good indeed. Meant we didn’t need a starter when we went for our lunch too. Other memorable clamato moment: trying to drive from Montreal to Toronto in the century’s wildest snowstorm, getting marooned in Morrisburg, in the Macintosh Inn, a hotel with a luke warm tub and a waitress who declared everything “beautiful”. Bloody Caesars got us through the night.
June 13, 2008
Normally I am too impatient to bother drying my hands using a machine, preferring either the back of my jeans or, if available, a wad of paper towels. Then I went to Gatwick airport and discovered the Dyson Airblade. Finally, a hand dryer that works properly! You put your hands in the slot and BOOM! From wet-to-dry in under 12 seconds.
If you would like to know what is more ethical, using a paper towel or a dryer, Leo Hickman debates the answer here.
News just in! (4/7/08): They have an Airblade in the toilets of the Social on Little Portland Street! Another reason to love that venue.
May 20, 2008
So much more fun than a boring old bowl full. My favourite place to get a pint of prawns used to be the Holly Bush in Hampstead, but when I went there last we were served our prawns on a platter. A blatant breach of the Trade Descriptions Act 1968 I think you’ll agree - we complained to the barstaff, who blamed “health and safety”. Apparently they’re not allowed glass in the kitchen anymore. BOO!
Today I had a lovely afternoon with my friend by the seaside, at Leigh-on-Sea in Essex. We had a dozen oysters, a pint of guinness (him), a pint of ale (me) and a pint of prawns (shared). The prawns were measured out in a pint pot, then shoved in a plastic bag. It would have been disappointing, but they were well tasty and the sun was shining so I let it pass.
May 20, 2008
The other day, I found myself, for entirely innocent reasons, having a shower in a colleague’s flat. While doing so, I saw that he kept his toothbrush and toothpaste in the shower, alongside his shampoo and soap, rather than by the sink. When I had got dressed, I asked him whether he cleaned his teeth in the shower. “Doesn’t everybody?” he said. Er. No.
I once heard a radio show phone-in on this very topic, and people called in with some corkers. I particularly remember the man who thought it was normal to strip naked when he had a poo.
May 5, 2008
One of my favourite sights in the whole world is seeing people pose with Graham Ibbeson’s statue of Eric Morecambe on Morecambe promenade. No one gets away with visiting my home town without me making them have their picture taken with Eric, left leg bent, right arm waving (or in the case of one of my less well co-ordinated visitors, right leg bent and left arm waving). I’ve done it countless times and it has never become boring. Which is slightly odd as I don’t think I’ve ever watched even one episode of Morecambe and Wise. I just like his funny face and am proud that something good came out of the place - in addition to dear old Thora Hird of course.
Morecambe has been down in the doldrums for sometime, thanks in part to Noel Bloody Edmonds deciding to turn a beloved local park into Blobby Land and making us the laughing stock of the nation. But with the restoration of the stunning art deco hotel The Midland, things are looking up, as this Observer article testifies.
May 4, 2008
I was reminded of my love for this modern day bible while driving along Morecambe promenade today, and remembering how, when I was about 8, I played a tiny part in the town’s attempt to make the world’s biggest ever poster. During one particularly soggy summer in the late 80s, every school child in the area was tasked with painting one A1 sheet of paper to make a tiny piece of the hopefully record-breaking big picture. I considered myself a rather good draw-er and painter and so was rather disappointed to be assigned a piece that was just plain blue. But it couldn’t be helped and I did my very best, making sure no white bits were showing and hoping my sister hadn’t been given a more exciting segment to do. My effort joined thousands of others on Morecambe bay beach one rainy Saturday at low tide. It was quite an event: the local TV station even hired a helicopter to hover above and document proceedings as the poster took shape.
What a waste of time. It was a stupid idea for the poster to be a diagram of a CAT Scanner, even if we were raising money for the local hospital. No one could tell what it was, and anyway, it wasn’t big enough: if I remember rightly, the Japanese had trumped our effort before the next edition of the Guinness Book of Records was even out. It was certainly nowhere near as big as the current record holder.
Despite this failure, I remained a huge fan of the BBC spin-off series Record Breakers. One happy day in 1995, I, and my best friend Amanda (whose uncle once held a tiddly-wink-related record), met Norris McWhirter CBE. McWhirter, as you surely remember, was the mad eyebrowed co-founder of the Guinness Book of Records who was on-hand at every televised record breaking attempt, invariably in a double breasted blazer and holding a stopwatch.
He is the only man who I have ever asked for an autograph:
Check out how thrilled Amanda looks here:
Here’s another GBoR claim to fame: when I got my Silver Duke of Edinburgh award, it was presented to me by Kris Akabusi, the Olympic athlete who took over presenting Record Breakers when poor old Roy Castle died. When I went up to collect my award, Akabusi let out a huge “awooooooga!” and I got the giggles so badly I couldn’t breathe. I must dig out the picture.
April 30, 2008
Do you like cake? Do you like crumble? Do you like rhubarb? Then you’ll love my squishy rhubarb crumble cake - a cunning sponge/crumble hybrid adapted a bit from the cake lover’s oracle, Leith’s Baking Bible. I’ve just baked it while watching the Apprentice and mmmmm it tastes good, even though it’s probably a bit late for cake really.
Here’s the recipe I used today:
For the crumble topping
- 75g cold butter, chopped up small
- 125g plain flour
- 45g sugar (any will do but soft brown sugar is nicest, I think)
For the spongey bit
- 125g softened butter (i just whizz it in the microwave for 15 seconds or so - just don’t let it melt)
- 125g sugar (granulated, caster, soft light brown sugar.. they all work so just use what you have)
- 3 medium eggs, beaten, not straight out of the fridge if you can help it
- 125g self raising flour
- Pinch of salt
For the filling
- About 600g rhubarb, chopped into inch chunks (though I’ve also used less rhubarb, as little as 350g and it’s all worked fine, so don’t worry about being too exact. You just don’t want any chunks to be on top of each other when you layer it all really)
- 1 tablespoon sugar (demerera is good but granulated is also fine)
1. Heat the oven to 190c. Grease and line a 20cm square cake tin. Leith’s, who do everything properly, say you need a loose bottomed one, but I use an ordinary one and it’s fine, just a bit harder to turn out.
2. Make the crumble topping by rubbing in the butter and flour until it’s almost breadcrumby, then stir in the sugar. Set aside.
3. Make the spongey bit: cream the butter until pale and fluffy then add the sugar and cream until even paler and fluffier. Then gradually add the eggs. If it’s looking a bit curdled the eggs are too cold. Don’t worry, just add a bit of flour and it’ll all work out fine. Then, add in the flour and salt (sifted if you can be arsed, but my heroine Jane Asher thinks sieving is for losers and so do I - not least because washing up a sieve is a royal pain in the arse) and fold together.
4. Spoon the spongey mixture into the cake tin and spread out evenly. It will look a bit measly but don’t worry.
5. Add the rhubarb gently, forming a layer above the sponge, then sprinkle the crumble on top. Bake in the middle of the oven for about 45mins, until the top has set.
6. Don’t attempt to cut or move until it’s cooled down.
7. Cut into squishy squares and eat - tastes especially yummy with ice cream or creme fraiche. Nom nom nom.
April 28, 2008
My friends refer to my hair as “the mane” (and not in a good way). The mane is not thick - there is simply a lot of it, usually tangled as I hate brushing and swim quite a lot. It does my head in, and so is most certainly not anything I love. What I do love, however, especially on boys, is a great shock of hair. Like that belonging to the Guardian’s science correspondent Alok Jha, for example. Alok is the only member of the science desk without a PhD, but he has by far the best, and bounciest, hair. This picture doesn’t really convey the full glory, but you should get the idea.
