Tuesday 30 November 2010

Festive preparations....

Obviously, any of you that actually know me either in person or via this blog will be aware of my potentially unhealthy obsession with all things festive.

Being ill has meant that my unwillingly forced pre-crimbo detox has only heightened this excitement to new levels. I have two advent calendars. One choccie courtesy of the Boyfriend who pitied my father's choice of a picture only calendar (which I secretly LOVE - a remnant of our mother's incredibly strict views on confectionary). The Boyfriend and I have bought a lovely selection of Christmas decorations (thanks to his sister's generous housewarming vouchers) and even looked at Christmas trees this week.

I'm currently putting the finishing touches to the preparations for the annual Christmas dinner with us and our friends (secret santa organisation takes time!) and have just invited some friends round to ours for an evening of festive songs, mince pies, mulled wine and (a newly discovered favourite last year) Winter Pimms (normal Pimms but with wintery clove flavours and a lot of brandy served warm with apple juice - AMAZING).

I shall be making my own mince pies, and found a lovely Delia recipe using filo pastry and making the mince pies into mince crackers! For me this sounds very exciting and shall be debuted next week. I shall let you know the results.

I am also going to attempt my own Yule Log (basically a swiss roll surely?) and although I have missed stir up Sunday, I may even attempt a Christmas cake.....

Oh the possibilities are endless!

Cake Boutique

Sundays should be exactly as mine was this weekend. The Boyfriend and I got up (hangover free! as we had gone straight to bed after dinner - me recovering and him jetlagged) and got all wrapped up in coats and jumpers and hats and scarves, and even dug out some (rather grotty looking) gloves and then we went out.

We wandered down to Battersea Park and went for a big walk round the whole thing. It is a gorgeous park - big, wide, tree-lined avenues, bits of landscaped garden, a boating lake, another lake, a sub-tropical garden, outdoor gym and even a zoo (didn't go in as it was closed). There were also of lovely dogs (one of which we tried to adopt as it did seem to prefer us to its acutal owner).

The park is the perfect size to walk around in the cold - by the time we were starting to get seriously chilled we had done a full circuit and headed back homewards (via a newsagent - the Boyfriend got a paper and also some pic and mix).

We bypassed the flat and carried on up to Lavender Hill and went into the Cake Boutique.

I've walked past numerous times, and even popped in but never actually had anything. It is a lovely little cafe that sells cakes, both homemade and ready to eat, or you can commission them to make personalised baked goods from cupcakes to muffins to gateaus and birthday masterpieces. They also, a little oddly though lovely nonetheless, have a beautiful selection of rather grand mirrors for sale.

The Boyfriend and I spent a good 10minutes surveying the gorgeous range of homebaked cakes. I opted for the carrot cake (moist, sweet and very big slice - cream cheese frosting was a little cheesy and at first it put me off, but acutally was quite nice as the cake was really sweet) although deliberated for ages between that and a lovely looking apple crumble slice. The Boyfriend went for a full english, but swapped the egg and mushrooms for extra bacon and sausage (which they took very well - often places seem a little peeved at all the swapping that inevitably happens when people personalise their great english fry up). He also had a coconut macaroon on the side (his sweet tooth never ceases to amaze me - nor his ability to consume so much and yet never gain weight).

My earl grey came in a teapot with a tea strainer as the tea was real loose leaves - for me a real treat and something so hard to find! The English Breakfast was really good - proper sausages, good quality bacon and some proper farmhouse toast, served with butter NOT marge.

The prices were reasonable for somewhere so nice, and so close to the catastrophically expensive (and rather pretentious) Northcote Road. The service was quick, but not too quick to make you suspect microwaves instead of proper cooking, and the atmosphere was calm but not dull. All in all if you are in the Clapham vicinity check out this South London gem.

Monday 29 November 2010

Tom Illic

Tom Illic is a restaurant literally around the corner from the flat. It is at the end of our road, and since we have lived in the flat for a month now we felt that it was definitely time to try it.

It seems to have won every award going, from Square Meal to Toptable, to a Michelin recommendation. It was a surprise dinner from the Boyfriend as part of my weekend of spoiling. We got there at 8pm on Saturday and it was packed. With a lively but not obnoxious crowd of all ages - there were elderly couples, big families celebrating birthdays, several tables of young couples and even a family of four with two kids under 10.

The atmosphere was fun. The service was swift, polite but unobtrusive. The menu looked a little pricey, but there was also a very reasonable set menu that looked just as good.

I started with chicken livers pan fried with caramalised red onion and artichoke. It was delicious. Flavoursome without being overpowering and the chicken livers were tender and rich and perfectly paired with caramalised red onion. The bread which came to the table meant that I could spread some of the chicken as a pate - and it went wonderfully with the nutty walnut brown bread.

We both had the sea bass with crushed new potatoes and broccoli. On the face of it this sounded a little dull (fish, mash and greens). But it was far from that in reality. Covered in a well seasoned and mildly spicy dressing the whole dish worked brilliantly. The broccoli was firm and not over cooked, the sea bass steamed to perfection, and the crushed new potatoes were well seasoned and a little crispy on the outside - just perfect.

The Boyfriend had pudding - pineapple tarte tatin with coconut ice cream. He loved it, though it was a little tangy for me (I don't really like pineapple so it was never going to a winner). Being nosy however, I had a good gander at the puddings around and would definitely have gone for the assiette of derserts - a mini portion of each.

Being full of antibiotics meant that alcohol was off the agenda, but the wine list was a good'un. I would have pushed either for a bottle of the Chablis, or, as we were celebrating a nice bottle of prosecco.

Being spoilt

One of the other upsides to being ill is being spoilt. For the first few days I was not really with it (mixture of a lot of painkillers and a general aneasthetic meant that poor sister had a lot of the same conversations, mainly focussing on Christmas. She was extremely good humoured and didn't seem to mind answering the same question umpteen times).

But after the first few days, when my brain started to function a bit more normally I fully managed to enjoy the spoiling.

I missed seeing Harry Potter due to surgery. And so was taken to the poshy cinema near Queen's Park with the uber comfy premier seats to watch it one afternoon.

My dearest Deeks popped over to see me and brought me some lovely jammies (M&S - must be sensible when you're ill) which were exactly what was needed (big tum meant expandable waistbands were a must).

My aunty brought me cake and yummy edible treats.

Pearse bought me good books and flowers and a lovely card.

Lovely step-mum Jennie took me to Bicester shopping village, and while shopping was slow, we did have lots of yummy coffee/cake/soup stops.

And the Boyfriend planned a low key but fun packed weekend of activities all designed with me at the centre. We went to Battersea dogs and cats home to look at potential kittens. And pottered round a little farmer's market. And got me a treat in Topshop. And watched X Factor. And went out for a lovely dinner. And had a yummy Sunday brunch with papers. Almost worth him being away for the illness for the pure pleasure and cosiness of the past weekend. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

Sunday 28 November 2010

A small pause

I have been ill. And not the sniffly, feeling chilly, want to snuggle up in duvet and a bit sorry for myself ill, but going into hospital ill. And on top of it all the Boyfriend was in Mozambique until two days ago. Poor him - he nearly flew home and had a thoroughly miserable and stressful business trip. Poor me - he wasn't there.

I've never really been ill before, and the whole experience has been a bit alien.

Poor Pearse (extremely good red headed friend) had popped round for a glass of wine and found me curled on the floor calling a cab to take me to A&E. Without hestitation he packed me an overnight bag, jumped in the cab with me and sat with me in St Thomas' A&E for over 3 hours.

I discovered that the best way to be rushed through A&E is to faint in the middle of the floor and that dry shampoo is the best invention EVER for a hospital stay.

After suspected appendicitis and a laparoscopy (camera in tummy) I was diagnosed with PID (Pelvic Inflammatory Disease - extremely broad umbrella term that seems to cover A LOT) and after 3 days was sent home.

I also learnt how much I use my tummy. Having any sort of surgery in the abdominal area is horrible. Coughing, laughing, sneezing, breathing, sitting, moving, EVERYTHING seems to use those muscles. And causes pain.

3 days on and I managed to dress myself (it did take the best part of an hour but I DID IT!). 5 days on and I managed a shower without my sister hovering nearby, and 6 days on I managed to wash my hair unaided. The dependency issues made me appreciate having a sister practically my own age, as any remnants of dignity disappeared the first time she had to help me put on clean knickers.

It was a fast forward to what old age must feel like - feeling tired and fragile, being a little slow and being unable to have proper independence.

I lost my appetite. They pump your stomach full of air so that the camera can see your insides - and it takes a while for the air to come back out ( "oh, you'll be windy" my dear Wiganer informed me) and it also gives the appearance of being in my thrid trimester of pregnancy. On top of it all, your stomach feels full all the time, and squeezing meals in is a struggle. I have however, lost an impressive amount of weight.

I'm still rattling with various pills, and will be until the end of the week. And they all have big scary warnings about mixing with alcohol. And so by the end of this week I will have been sober for the best part of 3 weeks.

So all in all, illness has got its positives - I've had an enforced detox in the run up to the festive period, and an enforced temporary gastric band, and so feel fully able to overindulge as of the end of this week. One must appreciate the small things in life!

Wednesday 17 November 2010

Italian eating

San Gennaro. Another near-flat eatery, recommended by fellow foodie and highly esteemed friend Irish redhead Pearse (whom incidentally we bumped into as we left).

It is a little Italian place on Battersea Park Road. They do a half price offer for those early enough to make it (not us) and the staff are all Italian (very authentic, although some confusion over ordering).

We started with bread (big chunks of warm ciabatta with oil and balsamic - YUM). The Peroni comes in the authentic Italian brown bottle, and the wine menu has some of my faves on there (Gavi de Gavi - delish). I had the seafood linguine, and it most certainly did not disappoint. A big steaming portion of tender linguine in a tomatoey herby sauce absolutely choc-a-bloc with seafood. Mussels, clams, prawns, squid, a giant prawn like thing (head, claws and all).

The Boyfriend had the Diavolo pizza (minus mushrooms to the confusion of the waiter - hence having to send it back). Once it arrived as he requested it was lovely. Properly Italian - thin crispy base, fresh tomato topping, flavoursome without being greasy.

Being the nosey so and so that I am, I couldn't help having a good look at the other dishes surrounding our table (and for a Thursday, the place was packed, and had a steady stream of takeaway customers). All the pasta dishes looked lovely - fresh and decent portion sizes. The risottos looked equally good, and the calzone was nothing short of impressive (nb. you need to be HUNGRY to go for that bad boy - it was enormous).

Too stuffed for a desert (the tiramasu on the other table did almost tempt me) we got the bill (again, very reasonable) and toddled the short distance home (bumping into aforementioned redhead).

Italian number 2.

For our dearest father's birthday (actual day, not weekend prior to) we found ourselves in the strange position of being a three (me, my sister, and the Birthday Boy). The Boyfriend has abandoned me for Mozambique (a work trip, and possibly abandoned is a little unfair) and my stepmother is off in France.

So Lucy and I were meeting our dearest Pa at 6pm sharp to try, once again to get into Jamie's Italian in Covent Garden. Now, I have tried and failed a number of times to eat there previously, always giving up on the queue (you can't book unless there are more than 6 of you) and so was rather excited when we got ushered to our table.

We started off with two antipasti boards (one meat, one veggie). They were delicious, but not big. Better value at Browns round the corner. But the bread was really lovely (unstable container though - managed to knock it on the floor at one point) and it meant we still had space for the mains.

Sister and Pa both had the Pasta of the Day (spaghetti with roasted veggies) which was lovely. Not too greasy, the spaghetti was nicely aldente and the veggies cooked but not soggy. I had scallops (one of my FAVOURITE foods). I got four, and they were delicious, but at nearly £16 it would have been nice if they came with a bit more (accompanied by a tiny side salad, and some tasty, but not liberally added tomato salsa - a bigger salad wouldn't have gone amiss). But yes, all in all the food was very good.

Perhaps the best part were the puddings. We had two with three spoons. Awesome chocolate and Espresso Tart with glazed figs and orange creme fraiche (totally wonderful, coffee prevented it from being too sickly, figs were ripe to perfection and the tangy orange again cut through the richness of the choc) and baked walnut tart with espresso creme fraiche and hazelnuts (possibly the best pudding I've ever had. It was slightly chewy, but crunchy with the hazelnuts, crumbly with the pastry and the cool creme fraiche was tangy and a great accompaniment.

I dashed off to the "loo" and paid the bill behind the Birthday boy's back. I think that was the best part of the entire evening - he was so touched, I felt like we were in a mastercard advert - look on Daddy's face: priceless.

Sunday 14 November 2010

Le Pot Lyonnaise

My Daddy is turning 54 on Tuesday. To mark this grand occasion the boyfriend and I were due to go to Rye for the Rye Fawkes Bonfire Night. However, both being struck down by a dreaded winter lurgi, we had to bypass the trip and spent the weekend lying pathetically on the sofa, downing lemsip and watching a bizarre selection of films (culminating in Bedknobs and Broomsticks - the Boyfriend really surprising me by singing along, word perfect to "Bobbing along, singing a song").

Instead of a yummy Italian lunch as the Tuscan Kitchen in Rye, it was decided that en route back to Queen's Park, my parents and sister would stop off at the flat, and we would go for birthday lunch at the Parisienne style bistro across the road.

Le Pot Lyonnaise. DO NOT GO.

We turned up for our booking at 12.45. And were seated in the emptiest, gloomiest and coldest part of the restaurant (we didn't realise this until we went to the toilet, and wandered through into a far livlier area). We specified that we were in a bit of a hurry (haircut for the Birthday boy back at Queen's Park at 3.30) and so promptly gave our drinks/food order.

Our waitress was new and had not the foggiest about the menu. After looking blank at the third question she disappeared off to "ask the chef" never to return. In her place we got a surly looking, yet far more capable waitress.

So we ordered at approx 12.55. By 1.30 there was no sign of our food. By 1.45, having mentioned the considerable chill, and being met with the response of "Oh, yeah, it is cold in here - the radiator is a bit old" a glass of ice, ordered with our drinks an HOUR before turned up.

An hour after ordering, and we were starving, cold, and getting grumpier by the second. Birthday boy went to investigate. Surly waitress came to tell us, not how sorry she was for the wait, but that it was our fault for ordering the duck - it takes the longest (yet there is NO mention of this on the menu).

Finally, in dribs and drabs, the food started to arrive. The corn fed chicken was delicious, as were my Moules Mariniere (though the side order of crushed new potatoes with aioli was most definitely a form of instant mash potato). The duck was fine, if a little greasy. Sadly, Birthday boy's steak had a similar texture to old leather. It was cold, dry, and so tough that even the steak knife was making little headway.

He went to take it back, and the previously full restuarant appeared devoid of any staff. So he went into the kitchen to be met by a torrent of abuse from the authentic French chef.

By this point we had been there over an hour and a half, and my father had no food. Dreading another hour wait, he just picked off our plates, paid the bill (minus the discretionary service charge, and the fee for the untouched steak and chips) and we left.

The apology from Miss Surly was pathetic to say the least.

On return to the flat, we had lots of cups of tea, and a slice of delicious homemade coffee and walnut cake, and this seemed to successfully salvage any overhanging ill feeling.

My only advice is to avoid Le Pot Lyonnaise, unless you have buckets of time to spend in a freezing resutarant eating tough, dry and tasteless food. And if you do risk it, make sure you have a good homemade cake back at home.

Thursday 11 November 2010

The Book Club

My lovely Deeks has upped sticks and moved from ultra poshy Vogue House, to working in an artist's old workshop in Shoreditch. She is doing a dream job, and I couldn't be happier, not only for her own well being, but for the new opportunities that have opened up for lunch.

Finishing work at 12.30pm yesterday, I was one of the lucky (well, if it's considered lucky to get up at 3.15am!) people to have finished work and still have at least 4hours of sunlight left. And due to Miss Deeks' new location, coffee at our favourite Starbucks followed by a mosey round Topshop was out, and so I walked to Holborn, and hopped on a bus to Old Street.

Now east London is not somewhere I pretend to know. I have been a number of times, but to specific locations which I have got to by following strict directions. Yesterday was the first time I've wandered through some of the little streets in order to find a friend.

I met my Deeks outside an Eat. There was also a Pret at the other end of the street. And in between were a medley of wonders.

We settled on The Book Club. It was warm (delicious compared to the practically sub-zero temperatures outside), looked fun inside (randomly collected tables, chairs, stools and sofas) and the menu was perfect for a cold November day.

I had a jacket potato with chicken fajita pieces and a lovely green salad. Deeks had brocolli and cauliflower cheese with maple glazed ham. Both were big and hot and delicious.

After nattering/gossiping like old ladies, we soon had to part ways. As Deeks wandered back to her office, I decided to walk towards the city as it was a lovely day (sunny, but chilly) and I could have done with walking off some of my enormous lunch.

Wandering the streets of Shoreditch I cannot claim to now know the area, but I definitely feel less of an alien there. Give it a few more Book Club lunches (or after work drinks - a very impressive cocktail list including one Garden named one with elderflower and prosecco YUM!) and I will definitely be feeling more at home.

Wednesday 10 November 2010

Books

I have always loved books. My family are readers. So much so that every holiday there is one case purely dedicated to literature. Even if it takes us over the baggage allowance, as a family, the Howes will not back down.



I have always loved stories. One of the first things I learnt to say was "tell me a story". My poor father has told me more or less every single significant (and many many more insignificant) details from his childhood, adolescence, university life, even life as a parent to my sister and I. And despite having heard them umpteen times (indeed, despite living through a lot of them) they never get old.



The first book I ever read by myself were the Milly Molly Mandy stories by Joyce Lancaster Brisley. Absolutely nothing happens in these stories - the stories are entitled things like "Milly Molly Mandy goes for a walk" or "Milly Molly Mandy earns a penny" but I LOVED them. So much so that when told I could name our cat, I chose (you guessed it) Milly Molly Mandy.



I read everything as a child - the Narnia books, everything by Enid Blyton (the Magic Faraway Tree - oh the joy!) Jacqueline Wilson, Joan Aitken, Roald Dahl, Lynne Reid Banks, anything illustrated by Quentin Blake or Shirley Hughes, Peter Pan, Swallows and Amazons, Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass, any stories by Louise M Alcott, Mark Twain, E. Nesbit, I could literally go on for pages. Even now, if I'm ill or homesick the only things that can really make a difference is a Harry Potter or One Hundred and One Dalmations.

Since going to university (to read English) I not only accumulated a LOT more books, but I also became much more restricted on space. Student houses are not renowned for their size or grandeur, and nor are books known for their mobility - in fact they are the most difficult things to move due to their volume and weight.

So over the last few years more and more crates have appeared at my parent's house, and I have managed to keep the amount of literature in each of my various flats to an almost well-controlled minimum.

But now I have a flat with the boyfriend. A whole flat, not just a room in a flat which is our home. And (after many an evening of swearing and sweating) he has lovingly put up shelves, and driven crate after crate of books from Queen's Park to Battersea and finally, after nearly 6 years I have been able to unpack my little library.

It filled an evening (I don't have THAT many - I just kept getting distracted by things I hadn't seen or forgotten about) unpacking them, and ordering them to my satisfaction. The Boyfriend did try to help with this bit, but seeing as my sorting process follows no traditional method (alphabetical, chronological, etc) and is all down to personal preference, the poor boy was on a losing side.

The shelves are now done, and filled. And the living room, my living room finally, finally feels like home.

Monday 8 November 2010

The flat

So we have been living in the flat for just over a week. And it acutally looks like a home. Even the second bedroom (previously not dissimilar to a scene from Baghdad) looks like a normal (if rather messy) bedroom.

We are still missing a lot of stuff (wardrobe, curtains, bin and bathmat for bathroom - you know the things) but perhaps the main thing we (well, I) am desperate for are shelves. I come from a family of readers (and 4 literature degrees, including my own) and accumulate approximately 4-8books a month. I literally have crates of books (21 to be exact) and at the moment they are the main culprit for the state of the second bedroom.

My father's DIY skills rival those of a meerkat. They are non-existant. And should he ever attempt anything, the mess and destruction and temper that follows really do not make it worth it.

On the other hand, the Boyfriend's father is some sort of DIY diva. He can do anything, has a shed of power tools, and the patience of a saint (this is clearly the main component lacking in my own father).

So on Sunday the Boyfriend's dad popped over with several crates of scary looking tools, and settled down to teach the Boyfriend the ins and outs of shelf building.

It took a LONG time. After half an hour, with still absolutely no prospect of getting out the big drill (they were still measuring and drawing piddly lines with a special pencil and holding a spirit level (?) - sounded like something out of cheerleader film Bring It On) I got bored and started to watch X factor on catch-up.

Another hour later, and STILL no drilling. Patience is definitely a virtue in DIY.

By about 7pm the Boyfriend's dad went home, leaving the Boyfriend alone with the power tools. By 8pm we had no shelves, a lot of holes in the wall, and just three out of a potential 12 brackets hanging precariously out of the wall. The aura of calm had disappeared.

We have done nothing since. So the visually pleasing aspect of living room is no more. Although the Boyfriend does have today off, so they might be up and finished when I get home. Or I shall return to further destruction and a boyfriend with a temperament similar to mine with PMT. Wish me luck.

Presents

Since moving in with the Boyfriend people have been incredibly generous. It is totally and utterly not expected, but absolutely lovely, and greatly appreciated.

We have had gifts ranging from a hoover, iron, ironing board and various cleaning products/potions (the Boyfriend's mother), to a bed, wine rack and chest of drawers (my parents - although a lot of that has been inadvertantly stolen from various unused bedrooms) to rice bowls (lovely girl at work) and champagne flutes (old housemate). We've had flowers and plants and vouchers and cards galore, and the Boyfriend's sister (same age as my own) gave us a significant sum to spend in a well known home store, which really was incredibly touching.

On the other hand, my sister gave us..... the Harry Potter boxset. The Boyfriend has never even seen a trailer, let alone one of the films all the way through. So really it was just a big juicy present for myself. And I am faintly ashamed to say that I think it is my favourite.

Sunday 7 November 2010

Queenstown Road eateries

Since moving to a new place (albeit, less than 20minutes from my former location) the Boyfriend and I have decided that we must try out as many of the new establishments near us as possible.

On night one, we went to Bangkok Boulevard - a delicious Thai place on Lavender Hill. Despite not getting there until half 10pm, it was still lively. They brought over some really yummy prawn crackers (Thai style, so drier and less greasy than Chinese ones). We shared a starter of steamed pork and prawn dumplings, which were YUM (especially when washed down with Champagne - we had to have something to celebrate with). Then I had a chilli and garlic prawn stirfry with Jasmine rice. The Boyfriend had sticky rice and a spicy beef stirfry. The food was quick, piping hot and full of flavour - totally delicious and exactly what we needed.

We then tested a roast at The Victoria on Queenstown Road. Tender beef, crispy yorkshires, amazing homemade stuffing... the perfect hangover cure.

This week we went to Sultan's Kitchen - a curry house, again on Queenstown Road. Now, in the past we have had a few issues with curry houses, so much so we had given up, and only ever had curry when in Croydon, and could get a takeaway. Well, we have now found one that is not only tasty, but also remarkably cheap (poppadums, curry, rice, drinks = £25. Bargain).

Elephant on The Hill for a roast. Very tasty (but maybe not quite as good as the Victoria) but the staff were HOPELESS. Our food took over an hour, we were asked just once if we wanted more drinks, and it took half an hour to get the dessert menus, let alone the desserts themselves.

I have constructed a comprehensive list of other places to visit, including the Cake Boutique (you can design your own cakes! and they also sell a remarkable array of yummy teatime treats), San Gennaro (a highly recommended Italian) Le Pot Lyonniase (fun looking French Bistro) and the Boyfrind is DESPERATE to go to Santa Maria del Sur (apparently the best steak house in London) although that one may have to wait as sadly, I don't really like steak....

Fireworks. Part 1

Friday was Bonfire Night. Which, despite being in my mid-20s, still fills me with an inordinate amount of excitement. We got all wrapped up (a little unnecessarily as it was acutally incredibly warm) and wandered up to Clapham Common. It was a free fireworks display, and really rather good. It was over 20minutes and there were so seriously big bangs.

Next weekend the Boyfriend and I are going to stay in Rye with my parents. And we are attending Rye Fawkes - their equivalent Bonfire Night. Apparently it is a little overwhelming as people march through the streets carrying flaming torches. I'm bringing some sparklers so I'll let you know how I fit in...

Friday 5 November 2010

Domestic Goddess

Since living with the Boyfriend (ok, ok, I know it's only been 6 days, and this may be very short-lived) but I have really embraced my inner domestic goddess.

I am still messy, but seem to take great pride in cleaning, dusting, wiping down my kitchen surfaces. I nagged the Boyfriend to put together the hoover, even before I had unpacked all of my shoes. I have never before even owned a hoover, and yet for some reason it suddenly appeared to be a vital piece of household equipment.

The other thing I have embraced is cooking. Now, my cooking skills have always been somewhat sporadic. I will happily survive, sometimes for over a fortnight on toast and fish finger sandwiches, and then suddenly get the urge to bake a four tier devils foodcake, with homemade truffles to decorate (needless to say, it never turns out as beautiful as it sounds - but it is always tasty). Alternatively I can swing the other way and turn my hand to a range of complicated and challenging dishes, using exotic ingredients following time consuming receipes, only to have spent hours in the kitchen and then go off the idea and have a yogurt.

At the moment I am in full chef mode. And as it is winter I am embracing the winter warmers. Jacket potatoes with mushrooms, spring onions, bacon and cream cheese, sausage, mash and onion gravy, and the piece de resistance, my absolutely wonderful cottage pie.

The Boyfriend insisted on buying a vat of mince, adament that he would eat the best part of half a kilo of meat in one go (yeah right). He wanted to "cook" his bolognese, which bascially equates to him cooking mince, emptying in a jar of sauce and poking it with a spatula for about half an hour. He then cooks spaghetti (normally 6 times the amount actually needed) forgets about it so it is overcooked and fused together, and then either mixes in the bolognese pan and eats out of that, or piles it onto the smallest plate he can find, therefore dropping bits of mince all over the floor.

But not this time. Oh no. I was going to make a proper cottage pie. So, in the haphazard style favoured by myself in the kitchen, here goes:

400g mince
2 onions
Lots of mushrooms (I LOVE mushrooms, he does not, but if you keep them big they are easy to spot and pick out)
3 small carrots
Half swede
Half a butternut squash
1 1/2 pints beef stock
1 tbsp gravy granules
Some garlic

Fry off the mince for about 5-6mins. Set aside and fry off the garlic, onions. Add a little of the beef stock, and then add the carrots and mushrooms. Once all the veggies are looking softer, add to the mince, and pour in the rest of the stock. Add gravy granules. Cover and simmer for 40mins with the lid on. Remove lid and simmer for a further 15mins. The sauce should be rich and not too liquidy, but with enough gravy not to be dry.
Peel and cube the swede and butternut squash (be warned - this is an almost impossible task and a large cleaver/axe may be the only implement able to assist with this task - at one point a piece of chopped swede leapt from the chopping board, and lodged itself behind the fridge, never to be seen again). Pop into some boiling water and cook until soft.

Pour the mince mixture into a large ovenproof dish. Drain the swede/squash, add seasoning and a little milk and butter, and mash. Spread over mince and brush the top with some melted butter. Pop under the grill for about 7mins until top is a little crispy. Serve with brocolli (possibly the healthiest piece of veg in the world - or at least so my aunty would have me believe).

Eat in front of The Apprentice snuggled with the Boyfriend on the sofa. I couldn't be happier.

Thursday 4 November 2010

Soup

Last year I realised I was becoming old before my time, having developed a love for soup.

Well, as the winter months come rolling in (and we all know how much I LOVE this time of year - walking through Battersea Park last weekend through the leaves I could BARELY contain my excitement!!) it has become soup season once again.

And this year I have taken my love of soup to a new level. This year I have been making it myself!

It is a great way to use up all the rather mushy looking veg in the bottom of the fridge, it is a great snack, and can literally be made en masse.

My favourite (it took a few attempts, including one batch that was so spicy even the Boyfriend turned an interesting shade of purple on trying a spoonful - but have now got it down to a total tasty art) is red pepper and butternut squash.

My rather haphazard recipe is as follows:

1 butternut squash, cubed and peeled.
2 red peppers
1 1/2 pints of veggie stock
1 large onion
Paprika
Chilli flakes (but be careful - overly liberal use resulted in the purple faced and choking boyfriend)

Put it all in the biggest saucepan you can find and boil it all together for about 40mins. Then grab yourself a handy hand-held blender (got one from ASDA for a grand total of £4.87 - works fine thus far) and blitz it until it is smooth (although if your attention span is similar to my own you may lose interest after a bit, and therefore every serving you have is a bit of an adventure - lumps of butternut squash, large chunk of onion, etc).

It is easy to vary this recipe. I have added tomatoes, parsnips, swede, carrots, even mushrooms, all to a rather similar, but equally tasty end.

Serve with a yummy toasted sandwich (might I recommend a homemade egg mayonaise one - another of my newly discovered culinary delights). Either that or a part-baked baguette with sausage and tomato chutney. The perfect winter warmer.

Work Experience

At my work we weekly, and at times daily have work experience people come in.

I got my job as the result of a work placement. I cannot praise the value of work experience enough in many circumstances. When I came in I was keen and eager, and offered to do anything, from hourly tea runs to sorting out cupboards or photocopying. I was interested in everything, and asked questions but not too many. And it paid off.

2 years on and it is my turn to look after work experience people. And gosh, haven't they gone downhill.

Just to give an indication of the current calibre....

I go down to reception to meet the newest workie

Me: Hello!
WE: uh... hi.
Me: So are you interested in radio?
WE: Yeah, yeah, I'm really into my music
Me: Oh. Well we are a speech radio station. It's only talking. We don't actually play any music.
WE: What? Are you serious? That's so weird. I've never even heard of a station doing that. You must be the only one?
Me: Well.... there's a few others, like Radio 4, 5 Live, Talksport, most regional BBC stations are predominantly speech.

Work experience the next week....
Me: Hello!
WE: uh... hi.
Me: So do you listen to our station much?
WE: Yeah, all the time.
Me: Oh great! What do you like about it?
WE: I love how new it is - so original and fresh. Have you been here since it started?
Me: Errr... no. The station started in 1973.
WE: Oh. Are you sure?

In the studio, the presenter wants a cup of tea in the middle of live breaking news and it is MANIC....

Me: Do you mind popping to the kitchen and getting a cup of tea?
WE: Actually, do you mind if I don't? I am here to learn

In the studio the presenter wants a cup of tea....

Me: Do you know where the tea and coffee making facilities are?
WE: Oh, I only drink water, so no thanks - I don't need a tea.
Me: Oh. I meant could you get one for the presenter?
WE: You want me to go?

During a show taking live feeds from Westminster. We have various TV screens showing live news so we can time when to cross to, for example the Prime Minister's speech.

WE: Wow! Look at the size of that TV! Can we put the cricket on?
Me: Well, um, not really - we need that TV for the breaking news.
WE: OOohhh. Spoilsport.
And then promptly got out his i-phone and put in the headphones.

This is just a snapshot of the wide ranging and varied levels of ineptitude. I'm hoping that this is just a dip in the quality, and in all fairness, some of the kids that come through the door are great - informed, intelligent and eager to learn/help out. But those ones are getting less and less. And instead seem to be replaced more and more often with total drongos.

If you are going on work experience it is not hard to get on well. You just need to do some simple things....
1. Listen/watch the output, even if it's only for half an hour a day the week before you go
2. Google the company - it literally takes seconds
3. Be eager and friendly and polite.
4. Always offer to do things, regardless of how menial.
5. If it really is that bad, it is only for a finite amount of time, and a bad impression is remembered much more than a good one - so it's just not worth leaving that behind.

Wednesday 3 November 2010

Warren Evans

As mentioned in previous blog, we got our bed from Warren Evans. It is the only bespoke bed shop in the UK and there are a variety of branches across London.

Originally we went to Dreams. Do NOT, under any circumstances even set foot in any of these establishments unless you are desperate for a pee (very nice customer facilities in at least 3 of the branches we went to). On first impressions it seems fine. We even found a bed we rather liked, and was affordable. But then it came to buying it. We were told we could upgrade the slats for £40 to their "Luxury" bedbase. Good idea we thought. Until we saw this "Luxury" base.

Now, a little back story. When I first moved into my flat in Stockwell one girl had a brand new leather bed. We were all a little jealous as it was lovely, and had a memory foam mattress, and was really comfy. Yet on the first night, my housemate woke in the night with a thud. Half the slats had fallen through. So at 3am she slotted all but one back in (that one didn't seem to fit at all). And then was awoken an hour later with a similar problem. As the weeks progressed you stopped being able to sleep, sit, even place light objects on the bed without the customary "thud" following. She tried everything - gluing them in, placing things under them, but nothing made a scrap of difference. In the end the landlord provided an enormous piece of MDF to put over the bed base. It worked, but my god is it uncomfortable.

The "Luxury" base at Dreams was this exact base. You can see why we walked out.

On the tube I noticed an advert for Warren Evans, mentioned it to my Dad, who confirmed that he and my step mother got their bed there. Fearing the expense the Boyfriend and I popped into the one in Clapham Junction (looks terrible from outside but is cosy and inviting inside). We spent over an hour bouncing, napping, and spooning on the vast range of beds.

The prices are as varied as the frames. There are basic platform bases from about £150 or you can get full super kingsizes for about £1000. They also sell mattresses, again across a similar price range.

You can pick the bed frame, and also the wood you want it made in (we went for a double Cottage in Elm - it is gorgeous). We didn't need a mattress, but we did look at some of the other things we could get. Underbed storage made to fit/match your bed looked good, although at the rate we are haemorrhaging money, they can wait. You could also get bedroom furniture.


Please note, this is not our bedroom, but it is the bed/wood we have chosen. It looks even lovelier in our room.


You order the bed and it takes a week to make, and then they will deliver it and put it up. They recommend that everytime you move house you contact them to help dissemble/reassemble the bed as apparently everytime an amateur does it, the bed ages by several years (which probably explains the state of my bed, now relegated to the second bedroom as it is so shakey and unstable the Boyfriend refused to move in with me unless it was replaced).

When delivering they were prompt, expert and polite. And the bed gives us a wonderful night's sleep, with none of the lurking potential nightmares of Dreams.

Moving 3.....

By Sunday, the flat actually resembled somewhere to live (except the second bedroom, which even now still resembles a war zone). We had an enormous sofa and footstool (courtesy of Ebay - £89. Total bargain as from Ikea more like £550) and a TV that rivals a cinema screen (first thing the Boyfriend bought - even before a bed).

The kitchen looks lovely. Our bedroom is beautiful (bed is AMAZING - Warren Evans bespoke made. Inexpensive, incredibly comfortable and the staff were truly wonderful) chest of drawers and wardrobe courtesy of my parents.

The garden is in a similar state to the second bedroom. But it's November and therefore dark early (can't see the mess) and cold (don't want to be outside).

Pictures following (once we have found the camera, and also the computer).

We rewarded ourselves with a yummy roast with good friends in our (new!) local. Roast beef with all the trimmings, some good wine, and a lunch that turned into an afternoon, turned into an evening with takeaway pizza, and suddenly it was 11pm and our friends had to leave, and we went to bed. In our amazing bed.

Moving 2....

So I went into work. And obviously could not concentrate. And also had an incredibly busy day. It was not good, and by midday I could barely contain myself, and practically ran to Waterloo to get on the train to MY NEW HOME!!!

Seven minutes later and I was at Queenstown Road. 6minutes later I was outside the new flat. The Boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and for some reason there was an Estonian lady industrially cleaning the kitchen. I then realised the the whole flat was distinctly dusty, grubby, and definitely in need of a good clean.

I rang the boy, and waited outside. I then heard what sounded like an army truck, turned, and saw the Boyfriend driving something enormous. Apparently the van he hired looked a little small, so he had upgraded. To something not dissimilar to a small lorry. It turned out to be a good decision as all my stuff filled it to bursting. And he had left some bits behind.

We unloaded, but had to leave everything in the second bedroom as nothing had been cleaned. And then jumped back in the van and went to my parents. And then to the Boyfriend's to get the rest of his stuff.

By the evening we were exhausted. And hungry. And grubby. And tired. The Boyfriend was determined to bring his hideous leather armchair (think Chandler and Joey's from Friends) into the house before we went out for dinner. Sadly the damn thing was too wide to get through the gate. So we lifted it (all billion kilos of it). And then it was too wide to get through the front door. Did this put him off? No.

After nearly an hour (yes an HOUR) I suggested it might have to go back. The response was a little frosty. So on we went.

We eventually got it in by putting it in the recline position and literally dragging it through the house. It is a little dusty, has a little gloss paint on it and several small rips, but the monstrosity is now happily planted in the second bedroom. Oh joy.

Moving 1.....

Packing up my stuff and leaving the girls was sad. And also rather impressive. I seemed to have accumulated so much extra stuff in the few years since uni that I not only filled every single box/suitcase/bag for life in the house, but when piled up, my belongings took over my room, the kitchen, and the living room (including under and on the table - also mine, and on all the sofas).

I made little fairy cakes, spelling out "I'll miss you" in tiny smarties. Sadly the Boyfriend ate three not realising they actually spelt anything, so it then read 'll iss yu. Not quite the same.

I finished packing at approximately 11.20pm. I then had to be up for work at 3.20am. And realised I had packed my bedding, pillows and pyjamas. So slept in my clothes with a towel for a pillow and a throw that could definitely have done with a wash.

Oh the excitement for tomorrow!