Thursday, June 9, 2011

No food today

Last night I made a kind of asian duck salad thing with dirty rice (which is rice with onions and peas and bits and bobs in it) but I made the whole thing with brown rice so it was an entirely brown dinner so I didn't take a photo of it.

But the duck worked really well so I will write about it another time.

Meanwhile, I'd like to share with you today an email a reader sent me, which was so funny I just have to post it here for you.

NB the previous sentence was talking about tedious "lifestyle" food TV.

"...who watches that shit ? I know I do, I can’t help myself.

Funky lady bakery telly is ruining my lazy Saturday mornings in bed not to mention the paintwork as I hurl the nearest object at the gogglebox ( remote control, vibrator) I just don’t know any women who have lives like that !? Or the time or inclination to think of recipes to match your mood (Sophie Dahl) what does melancholy even mean ?

I have 3 moods:
I’m fine
I’m fucked off
I’m hungover Pizza and Pinot works for all three.

Maybe the truth is I’m just jealous of their lives. Maybe I want my heart to skip a beat when I walk past a flowering zuchinni plant. This Sunday for instance I spent 3 hours making meringues with gorgeous summer fruits and raspberry coulis. Then I sliced my hand open cutting the meringues …it’s officially the gayest injury ever.

Too scared to go hospital I went to the rough as balls pub across the road, but first with the use of one good hand finished the coulis, put on some lipstick and took the pavlova with me.

Imagine their faces at the tavern… “Hi neighbour! I made you all a delicious pavlova, and check out this flesh wound wrapped in bog roll ! I’ve lost half my hand and I’m going to pass out !”

As it turns out I had access to the best medical advice from the landlord, a builder, a Jamaican barber and a gal who works for the Red Cross ( admittedly in marketing but good enough for me) I don’t doubt that they’ve all seen worse, and the general consensus was I could get away with no stitches. 

My medical team fixed me right up with Germolene, plasters, cheap Red Wine and Johnny Cash on the jukebox. The local Alkies lapped up the Pavlova and told me their life stories…now that’s a cookery show!

Happy Days. Please excuse the punctuation and grammar I’m typing with one hand."

Isn't that tremendous? I feel like I ought to retire. Or she ought to take over Recipe Rifle, in a Dread Pirate Roberts-style reincarnation.


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