BBQ

Last year I was devastated by the lack of Barbeques. I didn't go to a single one. This was both a mixture of lots of people not having outside space (and lets face it, an indoor bbq is just dangerous) and myself working a lot of weekends.

This year I am determined not to repeat this fiasco, and to set the ball rolling I hosted my first BBQ this weekend. The Boyfriend and I went to Tesco, and instead of buying a few disposable ones, we really pushed the boat out and got a real one, complete with brickets and lighter fluid.

Putting it together was a severe test on the relationship. But a few hours later, after an argument, some lost screws, some extra nuts, an attempt to bend/fuse/force metal and a humiliating call to Tesco customer services (it turned out that we had read the instructions wrong, and not that they had provided us with a substandard BBQ set) we had our very own (if really small) BBQ.

Then came the food prep. Marinating chicken (may I recommend teriyaki - yum and quick), chopping veg and bread, making salads and gin and tonic (no Pimms - too much hassle, and when made en masse it always seems to taste flat), and then people started to arrive.

Pearse brought homemade burgers (the boy is a culinary genius) and we also had more bread, more meat and a lot of juice.

When it came to lighting the BBQ it took a while. I think the flaw was not applying the lighter fluid liberally enough. But once we had reapplied (and moved the table - I was very close to some rather spectacular flames, and one guest was wearing a substantial amount of hairspray - we wanted no disasters) it really got going.

Weirdly, the Boyfriend could not have been more eager to help with the cooking. Considering his last foray into the world of cuisine resulted in fire alarms, a lot of smoke and some very burnt peas (yes it is possible to burn peas) I was impressed (though hardly surprised) at the interest. I think it was more interest in fire than in cooking.

Anyway, the evening was a success. The food was lovely (chicken cooked in oven to prevent any poisoning) the drink plentiful and the company many and varied. Plus one guest did all the washing up (what a treat!) and the Boyfriend cleared up outside (even better treat!).

And at the end of it all, we have our very own love child, in the form of a small Tesco's own brand BBQ. Roll on summer.

The Big Bad Budget part 2

So Boy George delivered his Big Bad Budget on Tuesday. It was anxiously anticipated, with many fearing a return of the Nasty Party Tories crushing the little man and saving the rich.

As a 20-something single (well single in the eyes of the law) with no dependents and working in the private sector it will not affect me that much. Fuel, fags and booze remain the same and cider duty has gone back down (the Boyfriend let out a cheer).

VAT will obviously make a difference, although it will be as little as the difference it made when they lowered it by 2.5% (depressingly many of the London public seemed incapable of grasping the new VAT rate - I had loads of people claiming that buying something that was previously £100 for £120 was outrageous. I did try to explain that it would now cost only £102.50, but in many cases it seemed to be to no avail...)

It is people that get pregnant, claim benefits or work within the public sector that will feel the effects the worse. Or the wealthier among us paying capital gains tax (I for one hold little sympathy for such characters).

Child benefit and public sector pay are to be frozen (some people claiming this is actually a pay cut as due to inflataion their money won't go as far). Housing allowance is to be capped (although not to a measly, unrealistic amount - £250 per week for a 1 bed flat seems fairly decent to me. Especially in Stockwell; moving down to Tooting and that will get you a palace, and going up to Wigan you could get an entire 4 bedroom family house with garden and no I kid you not).

Start-up costs for those that get pregnant will be cut, and anyone claiming disability allowance will need to reassessed.

Hopefully it will make a positive difference. We are all getting a little tired of this recession. And for all those worried about VAT going up listen closely. Chocolate covered biscuits (eg choc covered shortbread) - luxury item therefore pay VAT. Bakery items (such as cakes, flapjacks, etc) and choclate biccies with choc chips - not classed as luxury item, therefore no VAT.

So lesson learned - buy a Maryland not a penguin.

Oh, and just to settle the age-old debate, the Jaffa Cake is classed as a cake, thus proven because we do not pay VAT on said bakery item.

The Big Bad Budget

The budget has been looming over us for the last few weeks. Both Cameron and Osborne have been dropping us titbits of how bad it will be, warnings of the potential pain it will cause, and spreading a general dark cloud.

Perhaps optimistically, but I am of the feeling that so much doom-spreading is merely there to make us feel better when the real thing happens this afternoon. By expecting the worse, we can only be pleasantly surprised when things don't turn out as badly as anticipated.

Or perhaps I am too idealistic. I shall have to let you know whether the optimism is spot-on or severely misplaced.

Khamsa

One of the best things about the World Cup is the sudden awareness it gives us Brits of other countries. Algeria meant very little until Friday, and few people could even place Slovenia on a map, but come Wednesday it will be our arch nemesis.

The Boyfriend has had an entire week off to watch the World Cup. Most days he has not even managed to get dressed properly. On Thursday and Friday I joined him, but by Saturday I was going a little nuts and decided to look at the World Cup Jessica style.

Some friends invited us out for dinner. With new awareness of the African nation of Algeria, we settled on Khamsa, a restuarant on my beloved Acre Lane and Algerian to the max (the decor is mainly Algerian flags pinned to the walls, windows and doors).

It had rather excellent reviews, and although the (extremely short) menu was a photocopied booklet with each one having the pages in a different and varied order, we ordered a range of unpronouncible starters and main courses, and they were all delicious.

It is bring your own booze, and so the cost is kept to a minimum. We shared a vat of hummus and bread, and also a very nice chickpea, tomato and sausage salady thing (it was called chkcoka - and yes the waitress will make you have a go at pronouncing it). For mains I went for chicken skewers with couscous. The others went for rather spectacular smelling (and looking) tagines (order couscous separately though - they don't come with anything) which were also thoroughly delicious.

It is nothing too fancy or over the top. It will not overwhelm you with choice or grandeur. But it will fill you up, won't break the bank and provides you with a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Plus across the road is Brixton's finest bar - The Grand Union, complete with cocktails and treehouses. The perfect end to a tummyful of Algerian nosh.

World Cup Birthday

So the first England game of the World Cup gatecrashed my birthday. Obviously when the news was broken to me I was devastated, and briefly debated fighting the patriotic spirit. But as the Boyfriend pointed out, if I fought it I'd probably lose, and be sat alone at home wearing a party hat.


So I decided to embrace it fully, booking a massive table directly in front of the biggest TV in the pub beer garden. We got there at 5, ordered Pimms and Gin and Tonic, and got stuck into the barbeque (posh chicken kebab in a wrap - YUM).

By 7.10 I had managed to fill the two enormous tables I had booked and was deeply engrossed in a conversation (obviously non football related) with a friend I have not really seen in 10yrs. And suddenly there was singing and bright lights, and I realised there was a big cake with candles. And 200 England fans singing Happy Birthday.

And then the football began, and the same 200 fans that had sung me Happy Birthday were roaring "Roo-ney Roo-ney" and cheering and screaming, and when the goal was scored acting in a manner not unlike that of monkeys.

I feel that both my birthday and the England game managed to co-exist pretty well.

Britishness

A few years ago myself and a close friend dedicated a month of my life to making a short documentary about what it was to be British.



The majority of the content (aside from a few interviews) was made up of vox pops from people all over the UK about what Britishness meant to them. The answers ranged from the serious, to the hilarious to the extreme.



Rain, roasts, big red buses, the union jack, a curry, sense of humour, manners, tea, Buckingham Palace, Shakespeare, Tesco, fry ups, Richard Branson, the list was endless.



I hadn't really thought about that documentary for a while, but recently a close friend asked me for help. Her boyfriend is a New Yorker and they are going over there in June to visit his family. It is her first time meeting family and also in New York. While I am seething quietly with envy at the prospect of her spending a fortnight in the Mecca for all city girls, we are also working hard on thinking of good gifts for the parents.



They need to be typically British but without being naff (no tins of shortbread or stuffed Harrods bears). So far my contribution has been my personal list of the best of British:



Cath Kidston

Jo Malone

Lady and Earl grey tea

London

Teapots

Shakespeare

John Lewis

Decent Chocolate

Elderflower martinis



It is currently a work in progress. I shall let you know the verdict.

Alone in Berlin

I have just read a wonderful book. It has quite literally been lost in translation. Published in 1947 in German, it has only recently been translated and published into English.

Set during the Second World War it charts the actions of an elderly couple taking a stand against Hitler. They drop treasonous postcards around the city, slating the Fuhrer and his actions. They hope that their words will spur other people to take action against the Nazis. In reality Hitler has cultivated such a sophisticated culture of fear in Berlin, and the rest of Germany that the postcards are picked up and immediately handed in or destroyed.

The message of the book seems intially to be a dark one. The Nazis were brought down by foreign powers, not by a German resistance force, and this fact seems to make all resistance efforts even more futile. The Nazi regime was so thorough in its divisive nature that no opposition group came near to getting a firm hold (for more accounts of resistance one only has to watch the Hollywood Tom Cruise blockbuster Valkyrie).

Yet throughout the book there is a theme of good. There is a sense, and it is voiced a number of times towards the end that it is better to die with a good, honest mind and a sense of morality, than to live as a monster, or as someone that did not act against the monstrous.

Very little of our literature in England is translated. But in the last year two translations have come my way, and both had totally blown me away (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo being the other). It seems to me that foreign literature is incredibly rich, and that maybe with our British tradition of expecting everything in English we are possibly losing out.

Chipotle

Last year I lost my beloved sister to San Diego. It was sad. We are close in age and size and senses of humour and despite picking the furthest possible UK option for university (St Andrews) at least she was still at the end of a very long train journey (see previous blog) or at the very worst at the end of a phone.

So when she decided that teeny tiny St Andrews was really too teeny tiny, she went to somewhere less teeny tiny - America.

And so began the long and tedious negotiations for phonecalls. She was 8 hours behind, we had to use Skype - brilliant invention for any global relationship. Less great if you use my sister's laptop, which, among other things has a broken mircophone (so you can't really hear her) only one working headphone (so she can't really hear you) and a broken space bar (not so much of a problem for Skype, but made reading her emails a challenge to say the least).

The upside to having Miss Lucy in California was that I had a sister in California. Which, after London, is probably the best place in the world. It is hot. All the time. And so everyday you can plan what you want knowing that without fail it will be nice. You can surf in February and not get hypothermia. You can sunbathe all the time and everyone is happy because they are not constantly being rained on. And there is also the food.

San Diego is about 8 miles from Mexico. This means that the Mexican food really is Mexican, but without the potential risks of Mexican food. Plus, as California is the most Western part of the States, if you go more West (you need to go quite a lot more west) you get to Japan. Which means sushi. And then there is good old In and Out Burger - American fast food burgers. Yum.

But the best place (in a week I went twice, in the year Lucy was there she went approximately 70times) was Chipotle. You get a big juicy burrito stuffed with chicken (or beef, or even just veggies) rice, veg, salsa and the world famous chipotle sauce. They are amazing, and when Lucy listed all the people she would miss, Chipotle was near the top of that list.

Returning to cloudy, rainy UK Lucy mourned her San Diego life for a little while. But she saw her old friends and got to love her cashmere jumpers and Uggs again. She even appreciated the snow.

And then the other day, walking down Charing Cross road I walked past some building work. A new restaurant was being finished. And there was a symbol I recognised. It was a chilli pepper. And lo and behold it was a Chipotle. Opening in our very own London town.

Last week Lu and I went. It was a sunny day in May and the food was perfect - we could well have been in California.