Winter is dragging this year, January seems to have gone on and on for twice as long as usual. The short cold drab days and the exceedingly long dark freezing nights seem endless. I cannot stand dark mornings in the winter months. It just does not feel right getting up when it is dark. My body is telling me that it's dark, so go back to sleep, and my brain is nagging that I must wake up or I will be late. When it's dark and cold and the wind is howling it is just common sense to stay in my nice warm comfy and cozy bed, and so I do, for as long as is possible. In fact I stay there for every available second that I can.
Today when my alarm clock went off, I snoozed it in the vain hope that in 8 minutes time the sun would be shining and the sky would be blue. It dutifully buzzed 8 minutes later, and through one half opened eye I bashed at it until it was silenced. My half opened eye scanned the darkness in the room, and I once again had to give myself a pep talk to get out of bed. Now this pep talk is currently a daily ritual, and goes something like this......
" Ok you HAVE to get up, your hair needs washing, you take ages to have a clothes crisis, and you can have an extra two minutes in the shower, a cup of tea, and for a change, breakfast" . Then a funny little thing deep in my brain talks back to me and says, sod that! It's cold and dark and you can have an extra few minutes in your lovely soft warm cozy comfortable melt itself around you bed.
And I do. Except I can't remember the last time it was 10 minutes extra......oh no not me I milk it for all its worth and take full advantage of every single second of my naughty few minutes extra. And then of course the inevitable happens. I have way overslept. The 10 minutes somehow turned into an hour. I have woken up in a panic, jumped out of bed, dived in the shower, blasted my hair, dressed in the first thing that fits, slapped on the make-up, missed out on the tea, and the breakfast, run to the car, drive too fast and finally arrive at my destination with seconds to spare, in a panic having a hot flush and gagging for a cuppa!!!
Roll on summer!!
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Saturday, 10 January 2009
Sticky tables.
I love going out to eat. Well as long as where ever we are eating is up to my standards. And I have been told by several friends that I am fussy........ very fussy. But I'm not, I just like hot (and I really do mean piping hot) fresh (and yes I do mean fresh) food that has been prepared with passion (yes passion) to the highest standards.
What I don't like is food that you pay a lot of hard earned cash for that isn't up to scratch. I can't bear hot food on cold plates, or cold food on hot plates straight out of the dishwasher. I can throw a tantrum if my cutlery is dirty, my glass smeary, or the table sticky. In fact a sticky table is something that happens very fequently. Fewer restaurants use table cloths these days, but I don't mind that. But if you need to wipe tables, why oh why can't the person wiping the table use a clean cloth and then wash it through after they have cleaned the table. No they wipe and wipe with the same stinky cloth, just giving the table lots of circular smears and not a lot else. I have lost count of the times that my arms have stuck to sticky circular smeared tables.
And the waiting staff......oh damn don't get me started on that except to say why the hell work in a restaurant, with the general public if you hate people?!!
Restaurant menu's are something that I have to get to grips with as soon as I arrive. I ALWAYS read the desert section first. Choosing the desert is just so very easy, it's always my favourite part of the meal. But apart from that I can never choose. And if there is a specials board to add extra choices, that makes it even more difficult. Too much choice you see! When selecting my meal I like to ask everyone at the table what they are having, and choose something different. Don't know why, just do. And then when the food arrives, I look around the table and always without exception like the look of every other plate of food than mine!
My other half and I have eaten out very regularly in the 9 years we have been together, and now he can tell just by looking at me, what I think of the food before I have even tasted it. He always carefully chooses the best available table He is very good and always somehow manages to find the most fabulous places to eat in. I think that might be because he prefers a quiet life!
Recently we ate at 15 Cornwall. This is Jamie Olivers restaurant, in Watergate Bay in Cornwall.
My goodness me, it was fabulous. Amazing location. Beautiful restaurant. Clean tables. Impeccable service from everyone we met. Absolute attention to detail. Fantastic fresh menu, using locally sourced, seasonal organic ingredients. Very passionate chefs,who cared what they served. Beautiful well selected wines. Hand made chocolates. Do you know something, I felt so emotional by the whole experience that I cried. It was an evening with the other half that was perfect and I will never forget.
And that is what I expect, when I eat out. It's not much to ask for is it?
What I don't like is food that you pay a lot of hard earned cash for that isn't up to scratch. I can't bear hot food on cold plates, or cold food on hot plates straight out of the dishwasher. I can throw a tantrum if my cutlery is dirty, my glass smeary, or the table sticky. In fact a sticky table is something that happens very fequently. Fewer restaurants use table cloths these days, but I don't mind that. But if you need to wipe tables, why oh why can't the person wiping the table use a clean cloth and then wash it through after they have cleaned the table. No they wipe and wipe with the same stinky cloth, just giving the table lots of circular smears and not a lot else. I have lost count of the times that my arms have stuck to sticky circular smeared tables.
And the waiting staff......oh damn don't get me started on that except to say why the hell work in a restaurant, with the general public if you hate people?!!
Restaurant menu's are something that I have to get to grips with as soon as I arrive. I ALWAYS read the desert section first. Choosing the desert is just so very easy, it's always my favourite part of the meal. But apart from that I can never choose. And if there is a specials board to add extra choices, that makes it even more difficult. Too much choice you see! When selecting my meal I like to ask everyone at the table what they are having, and choose something different. Don't know why, just do. And then when the food arrives, I look around the table and always without exception like the look of every other plate of food than mine!
My other half and I have eaten out very regularly in the 9 years we have been together, and now he can tell just by looking at me, what I think of the food before I have even tasted it. He always carefully chooses the best available table He is very good and always somehow manages to find the most fabulous places to eat in. I think that might be because he prefers a quiet life!
Recently we ate at 15 Cornwall. This is Jamie Olivers restaurant, in Watergate Bay in Cornwall.
My goodness me, it was fabulous. Amazing location. Beautiful restaurant. Clean tables. Impeccable service from everyone we met. Absolute attention to detail. Fantastic fresh menu, using locally sourced, seasonal organic ingredients. Very passionate chefs,who cared what they served. Beautiful well selected wines. Hand made chocolates. Do you know something, I felt so emotional by the whole experience that I cried. It was an evening with the other half that was perfect and I will never forget.
And that is what I expect, when I eat out. It's not much to ask for is it?
Friday, 9 January 2009
I don't do soggy.
I don't do soggy wet food. I can't stand wet slimy textured food. I nearly have a heart attack if someone pours gravy over my food without me instructing them as to where exactly it should go. Gravy does not go on the top of any pastry product.....no no no....soggy pastry is very bad indeed. Gravy does not go on top of lovely crispy roast potatoes. Why spend ages par boiling, tossing in the pan and then throwing them into really hot fat which spits everywhere, to get roasties nice and crispy, just to smother them in gravy to make them all soggy. It's beyond me!
Yorkshire puddings definately do not need to be smothered. No please don't murder them with gravy. I was at a work Christmas do once, and my Crimbo dinner arrived smothered, sorry drowned in gravy. I was almost sick on the spot, but had the courage to send it back to the kitchen, despite feeling embarrassed when the waiter scowled at me!
I cannot stand custard poured over things either. You will be surprised at this given my love of the stuff. I like it poured round the edge, and if so much as a dollop slips out and falls onto the pie or crumble, I get very stressed. In several restaurants in the past, I have requested my custard to be bought to me in a seperate dish. Mostly they do this for me, but I always get the feeling that the kitchen staff are have a good giggle about the fussy old bird ordering it.
I can't stand vegetables or fruit with slimy wet textures either. You know the sort of thing, cucumber, marrow, aubergine, melon of any type. Not for me. Not for me ever, I would have to be desperate to eat them. And the smell of cucumber, oh dear it's as bad as it tastes.
The very weird thing about this dislike of all things soggy, is that I dunk my biscuits! Honest! I love a decent strong cup of PG, with a dash of skimmed milk, preferably in a big cup and saucer. Actually my other half makes me fabulous tea, and he usually gets up in the morning to make it for me. He's so great. Anyway as usual, I digress. Back to the dunking. Rich Tea, Digestive, Shortbread, Custard Creams, anything really. I don't discriminate between biscuits, I love 'em all and dunk the lot of them. And for some very weird unknown reason, I absolutely love the sogginess of them and can easily munch my way through half a dozen, no sweat!!
Yorkshire puddings definately do not need to be smothered. No please don't murder them with gravy. I was at a work Christmas do once, and my Crimbo dinner arrived smothered, sorry drowned in gravy. I was almost sick on the spot, but had the courage to send it back to the kitchen, despite feeling embarrassed when the waiter scowled at me!
I cannot stand custard poured over things either. You will be surprised at this given my love of the stuff. I like it poured round the edge, and if so much as a dollop slips out and falls onto the pie or crumble, I get very stressed. In several restaurants in the past, I have requested my custard to be bought to me in a seperate dish. Mostly they do this for me, but I always get the feeling that the kitchen staff are have a good giggle about the fussy old bird ordering it.
I can't stand vegetables or fruit with slimy wet textures either. You know the sort of thing, cucumber, marrow, aubergine, melon of any type. Not for me. Not for me ever, I would have to be desperate to eat them. And the smell of cucumber, oh dear it's as bad as it tastes.
The very weird thing about this dislike of all things soggy, is that I dunk my biscuits! Honest! I love a decent strong cup of PG, with a dash of skimmed milk, preferably in a big cup and saucer. Actually my other half makes me fabulous tea, and he usually gets up in the morning to make it for me. He's so great. Anyway as usual, I digress. Back to the dunking. Rich Tea, Digestive, Shortbread, Custard Creams, anything really. I don't discriminate between biscuits, I love 'em all and dunk the lot of them. And for some very weird unknown reason, I absolutely love the sogginess of them and can easily munch my way through half a dozen, no sweat!!
Scales
I never reveal my weight to anyone. I simply couldn't. It's just too awful. Too embarrasing. To shocking for anyone else to hear. It's bad enough that I have to know it. Actually mostly I don't know what it is exactly, but I can always tell practically exactly what I am, because whenever I start a diet I am usually around the same humungous size.
Recently I had to have an operation. I attended the pre-op clinic where you are checked over and deemed healthy and fit for the operation. Part of this is being weighed so that you are given the correct dose of knock you out juice. The hospital clinic I had to attend was in a hospital that is currently being demolished and re-built. Consequently the large set of scales were not in the room that you are seen in. Oh no matey, they are in a corridor, a waiting area, a public thoroughfare, a place full of people. Oh the indignity of it. When that lovely nurse saw my face as she announced my weight to everyone sitting waiting, she said "don't worry these scales always weigh you a bit heavier". Oh I guess that makes it alright then!!!
Ok, so I have made it to day 5 of the diet. And so far it really hasn't been too bad. But something rather odd happens to me when I am dieting. I become obsessed with the scales. And I mean obsessed. Usually I never ever weigh myself. This is because I know I am a whale disguised as a woman and I just don't want to know how much blubber there really is. But once I have decided that I must diet the scales take on a whole new meaning.
First of all there is the initial weigh-in. For me it takes a lot of courage to get on the scales, and confirm what a pig I actually am. Courage and psyching myself up over the course of a few days is always the drill. Then I fiddle about with the scales and make sure that they are very definately reading zero exactly, and boy do I mean exactly. Then I make sure that the surface that the scales are on is exactly flat, and I mean exactly flat! Then I check they are on zero again, then after a personal pep talk, I very gingerly stand on them. I forgot to mention that I only ever do the initial wiegh in, first thing in the morning, naked and after fully emptying my bladder A full bladder weighs heavy you know!
I wait a while before I open my eyes and read what they measure. Then I jiggle about a bit to see if the weight drops down a bit......then sadly I have to accept that I weigh the most I have ever weighed in my whole entire life. I usually have a little cry because I am so disgusted with myself and then shove them back in the wardrobe again.
Then what happens next is very odd indeed. The obsession with weighing myself kicks in immediately! I feel almost compelled to weigh myself, several times a day, every single day! So almost overnight I go from not wanting to know how heavy I am to being desperate to see the ounces drop off! I have no explanation for this, except maybe that it's a woman thing!
Now my lovely partner does not have this obsession with weight/food/dieting, of course not, he is a man. I remember when he joined the gym a couple of years ago, and he went for the health check and had to be weighed. He asked them not to tell him how much he weighed, and they didn't. So he didn't know how much he weighed then and he doesn't know now. He simply doesn't care. He likes to feel fit and healthy, and measures his weight by how his clothes fit. To him it's that simple.
When I moan and go on about resembling a heffalump, he simply tells me that he does not care how much I weigh, and that he loves me for me, and that the person that you are inside is what is important, and inside I am lovely and outside I am as pretty as freshly fallen snow. (He really did say that a few days ago). Can it be that simple? It must be a man thing.
Recently I had to have an operation. I attended the pre-op clinic where you are checked over and deemed healthy and fit for the operation. Part of this is being weighed so that you are given the correct dose of knock you out juice. The hospital clinic I had to attend was in a hospital that is currently being demolished and re-built. Consequently the large set of scales were not in the room that you are seen in. Oh no matey, they are in a corridor, a waiting area, a public thoroughfare, a place full of people. Oh the indignity of it. When that lovely nurse saw my face as she announced my weight to everyone sitting waiting, she said "don't worry these scales always weigh you a bit heavier". Oh I guess that makes it alright then!!!
Ok, so I have made it to day 5 of the diet. And so far it really hasn't been too bad. But something rather odd happens to me when I am dieting. I become obsessed with the scales. And I mean obsessed. Usually I never ever weigh myself. This is because I know I am a whale disguised as a woman and I just don't want to know how much blubber there really is. But once I have decided that I must diet the scales take on a whole new meaning.
First of all there is the initial weigh-in. For me it takes a lot of courage to get on the scales, and confirm what a pig I actually am. Courage and psyching myself up over the course of a few days is always the drill. Then I fiddle about with the scales and make sure that they are very definately reading zero exactly, and boy do I mean exactly. Then I make sure that the surface that the scales are on is exactly flat, and I mean exactly flat! Then I check they are on zero again, then after a personal pep talk, I very gingerly stand on them. I forgot to mention that I only ever do the initial wiegh in, first thing in the morning, naked and after fully emptying my bladder A full bladder weighs heavy you know!
I wait a while before I open my eyes and read what they measure. Then I jiggle about a bit to see if the weight drops down a bit......then sadly I have to accept that I weigh the most I have ever weighed in my whole entire life. I usually have a little cry because I am so disgusted with myself and then shove them back in the wardrobe again.
Then what happens next is very odd indeed. The obsession with weighing myself kicks in immediately! I feel almost compelled to weigh myself, several times a day, every single day! So almost overnight I go from not wanting to know how heavy I am to being desperate to see the ounces drop off! I have no explanation for this, except maybe that it's a woman thing!
Now my lovely partner does not have this obsession with weight/food/dieting, of course not, he is a man. I remember when he joined the gym a couple of years ago, and he went for the health check and had to be weighed. He asked them not to tell him how much he weighed, and they didn't. So he didn't know how much he weighed then and he doesn't know now. He simply doesn't care. He likes to feel fit and healthy, and measures his weight by how his clothes fit. To him it's that simple.
When I moan and go on about resembling a heffalump, he simply tells me that he does not care how much I weigh, and that he loves me for me, and that the person that you are inside is what is important, and inside I am lovely and outside I am as pretty as freshly fallen snow. (He really did say that a few days ago). Can it be that simple? It must be a man thing.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Custard, it's a joy.
A cheery hello to you all on this chilly winters evening. In my book chilly winters evenings are the green light to consume what I like to lovingly call comfort food. Comfort food in my book usually consists of creamy warm and delicious things along the lines of really great bangers and mash with onion gravy. Or a steamed sponge pudding with lashings of vanilla custard. Or tender tasty beef stew and light as a feather dumplings. Or Chicken Korma with peshwari naan bread and pilau rice. Or rhubarb crumble and custard. Or apple pie with cinnamon and sultanas and custard. Or spotted dick and custard. Or steamed chocolate pudding and chocolate custard. Or just good old plain old english custard.
I must have a thing about custard, but really it's not my fault. It's my dad's. He loves it, always has and always will. So it must be a genetic thing. Custard passed on through the genes, now that is mind boggling. Now I wonder if he likes the skin? I do, of course I bloody do.....it's a childhood thing. For me custard was a real treat, and I don't remember anyone else ever loving the skin. So I always opted for it. And as a consequence I think sweet toothed custard loving me executed a cunning plan that resulted in bigger portions every time! Clever eh?!!
Anyway, as usual I digress! Now that I am adjusting to my healthy eating plan for life, I am totally having to rethink comfort food. Boy am I thinking outside of the box. When you have read as many diet plans and magazines as I have, you will have realised that comfort food is a no no in a big way. Oh they will tell you that they can come up with low fat, low sugar, low flavour, low cream, low alcohol versions of favourite comfort food, but trust me they are just not worth bothering about. Trust me on this one, when you have eaten cheesecake made with quark and very low fat fromage frais, or very low fat fromage frais wih a low fat low sugar synthetic hot chocolate flavour drink powder stirred into it simulating chocolate mousse, you will understand exactly what I mean.
So now that I have conquered day three of the diet, oops healthy eating plan for life, I have discovered some new treats. Last night was a low fat toffee flavour yogurt poured over a sliced banana, and tonight was a version of Gordon Ramsey's tikka masala recipie, made with vegatables. Obviously I am going to be the queen of low fat/sugar comfort food, and as soon as I can get my mind off custard I will tell all.
I must have a thing about custard, but really it's not my fault. It's my dad's. He loves it, always has and always will. So it must be a genetic thing. Custard passed on through the genes, now that is mind boggling. Now I wonder if he likes the skin? I do, of course I bloody do.....it's a childhood thing. For me custard was a real treat, and I don't remember anyone else ever loving the skin. So I always opted for it. And as a consequence I think sweet toothed custard loving me executed a cunning plan that resulted in bigger portions every time! Clever eh?!!
Anyway, as usual I digress! Now that I am adjusting to my healthy eating plan for life, I am totally having to rethink comfort food. Boy am I thinking outside of the box. When you have read as many diet plans and magazines as I have, you will have realised that comfort food is a no no in a big way. Oh they will tell you that they can come up with low fat, low sugar, low flavour, low cream, low alcohol versions of favourite comfort food, but trust me they are just not worth bothering about. Trust me on this one, when you have eaten cheesecake made with quark and very low fat fromage frais, or very low fat fromage frais wih a low fat low sugar synthetic hot chocolate flavour drink powder stirred into it simulating chocolate mousse, you will understand exactly what I mean.
So now that I have conquered day three of the diet, oops healthy eating plan for life, I have discovered some new treats. Last night was a low fat toffee flavour yogurt poured over a sliced banana, and tonight was a version of Gordon Ramsey's tikka masala recipie, made with vegatables. Obviously I am going to be the queen of low fat/sugar comfort food, and as soon as I can get my mind off custard I will tell all.
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
New year- new me!
Ok as this is my first post I will try not to rant too much!! I just have to mention the fact that it is the New Year, and that means it is time for the annual diet. I say annual diet, coz psychologically speaking it feels like it always has been an annual event. However the truth of it is, it has been a bloody never ending life event. Yes dieting for me has been a roller coaster from hell. Up down, up down, up up up, down down down, up, down a bit and back bloody up a bit!!
Why oh why was I blessed with a love of food/cooking/eating. Why couldn't I have been an athlete and been a slave to the exercise? Answers on a postcard please..........
My love of all things edible started at a young age. I am now so bloomin old, that I am of the generation that enjoyed school dinners. Oh yes I loved 'em, honest sir, really!! My real favourites were things like meat pies which were cooked in long rectangular tins, with the most amazing crumbly pastry. Of course me being me enjoyed the pastry more than the meat and always used to ask for the corner piece of the pie, which had extra pastry. I still adore a decent pie......not I might add that pie and mash stuff that the other half loves.....no no no, they are quite simply tasteless.
Just after Christmas I made the most amazing pie. I cant make pastry myself anymore, coz the arthritis in my hands make it very painful when 'rubbing in' and kneading. I could of course use my newish food processor, but truth be known that I couldn't be bothered, when there is perfectly adequate ready rolled puff and shortcrust pastry available in the fridges at all good supermarkets! Oh and it is a Delia cheat so it must be ok.
Anyway, I digress. I got Gordon Ramsey Cooking for Friends book for crimbo from my lovely son. In it there is a recipie for Cornish Chicken Pie. Well I adapted it a bit, by sweating shredded leaks in butter until soft and sweet, and adding then to the chicken/mushrooms/onions/left over ham. I also tweaked the cream sauce by adding a rather large glug of chardonnay. Anyway the result was the most amazing chicken, ham, leek and mushroom pie. Honest it was comfort food big time! Even my son loved it and boy is he fussy. So this was definately one to cook again.
And I will........just as soon as this diet is over. Sorry what I actually mean, psychologically speaking, is just as soon as this healthy eating plan has become a natural way to live!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! for ever, and ever and ever and ever and ever!!!
Why oh why was I blessed with a love of food/cooking/eating. Why couldn't I have been an athlete and been a slave to the exercise? Answers on a postcard please..........
My love of all things edible started at a young age. I am now so bloomin old, that I am of the generation that enjoyed school dinners. Oh yes I loved 'em, honest sir, really!! My real favourites were things like meat pies which were cooked in long rectangular tins, with the most amazing crumbly pastry. Of course me being me enjoyed the pastry more than the meat and always used to ask for the corner piece of the pie, which had extra pastry. I still adore a decent pie......not I might add that pie and mash stuff that the other half loves.....no no no, they are quite simply tasteless.
Just after Christmas I made the most amazing pie. I cant make pastry myself anymore, coz the arthritis in my hands make it very painful when 'rubbing in' and kneading. I could of course use my newish food processor, but truth be known that I couldn't be bothered, when there is perfectly adequate ready rolled puff and shortcrust pastry available in the fridges at all good supermarkets! Oh and it is a Delia cheat so it must be ok.
Anyway, I digress. I got Gordon Ramsey Cooking for Friends book for crimbo from my lovely son. In it there is a recipie for Cornish Chicken Pie. Well I adapted it a bit, by sweating shredded leaks in butter until soft and sweet, and adding then to the chicken/mushrooms/onions/left over ham. I also tweaked the cream sauce by adding a rather large glug of chardonnay. Anyway the result was the most amazing chicken, ham, leek and mushroom pie. Honest it was comfort food big time! Even my son loved it and boy is he fussy. So this was definately one to cook again.
And I will........just as soon as this diet is over. Sorry what I actually mean, psychologically speaking, is just as soon as this healthy eating plan has become a natural way to live!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! for ever, and ever and ever and ever and ever!!!
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