I think it takes at least 3 repeats for something to become tradition. And the Christmas dinner for all our uni friends is now firmly cemented as such. And everytime a new mini tradition is added - secret santa presents, certain drinking games, brownies for pudding, etc.
We never manage to get everyone every year, but there is always a good number and every year there will be someone new (new boyfriends or girlfriend, new housemates, or colleagues) but it never matters - the philosophy has always been the more the merrier.
This year, in true festive spirit the snow came down thick and fast the morning of the dinner. It looked wonderful. But it did make the walk to ASDA a little more problematic. Though not as bad as the day before. When I fell over. Carrying 8 (yes EIGHT) carrier bags of food for the dinner (I had decided to do the booze and mixers on the day, so there were no bottles, however I was carrying all the potatoes, carrots, parsnips, etc - basically everything bulky and heavy) I had carefully balanced myself with four bags of equal weight in each hand. Clearly the planning was not so great as I really did fall totally flat on my back. Carrots went rolling off, broccoli florets were bouncing across the frozen tarmac. And a line of traffic had to stop while I picked myself up. In fact three people FROM SEPARATE CARS (two were the actual drivers) had to get out of their vehicles to pick me and the shopping up. One even got some spare bags for life out of his boot. And to top it all off I still had over half the walk home, and am now sporting a rather impressive bruise on my bum. Great.
The walk on Saturday was slightly less eventful (I only fell down once, and the Wiganer was on hand to pick me up, also a hedge was blocking the view from the road so the humiliation was lessened). And luckily the Boyfriend picked us up in his brand new car (RIP the micra...).
But we were running really late - it was 3pm and the turkey was not even in the oven, and we were apparently eating at 6.30. No chance I hear you snort, but actually we were not far off that. Because we have an ingenious, foolproof, and most importantly, a lazy way of cooking the turkey.
Ingredients:
Turkey
4 Carrots
2 sticks of celery
2 Leeks
3 Onions
4 cloves of garlic
Seasoning
White wine (about half a bottle)
1 1/2 pints of chicken stock
Stuffing
First stuff and season your bird. Then roughly chop all the veg into fairly large chunks. Place in a large disposable aluminium roasting tray and put the turkey on top. Place on the hob and pour in the liquids. Bring to the boil on top of the hob and then cover with two layers of bacofoil and pop in a pre-heated oven (200 degrees) for 2 hours.
That is it. No basting, no need to check it. After two hours take it out, have a look and pierce it with a knife - juices run clear and no one should die. If there don't pop it back in for 20 minutes.
Once it is cooked take it out. Mix together some honey, a little butter/marg and some lemon juice. Using a pastry brush paint it all over the top of the turkey and then sprinkle with thyme. Into a hot oven for 20mins until crispy and brown. Take out and rest for 20mins until ready to carve (or be hacked apart by inexperienced Boyfriend).
We did the usual veggies and trimmings (homemade sausage meat stuffing was my piece de resistance). And rounded it all off with brownies and choc sauce, mince pies and creme fraiche, crackers and secret santa presents. And then we played games and danced and drank and eventually went out (but would not get into the cabs until some people had started a snowball fight).
We went to a club and danced. And got in at 3am to turkey and stuffing sandwiches and leftover brownies. Another tradition. Yum.
Showing posts with label the boyfriend. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the boyfriend. Show all posts
Monday, 20 December 2010
NYC....
....is my new favourite place in the world (apart perhaps from my sofa with the Boyfriend and Elf on TV).
We were there for 5 days. In that time we did as much as is humanly possible.
It was -8 and really cold. Bone chillingly cold. But the good thing about New York is that there are coffee shops and cafes on every corner, between every street, in fact every other place sells some sort of caffinated beverage.
We went to the Top of the Rock (amazing, much smaller queue than the Empire State Building and you can look at the Empire State Building - you can't see it if you climb it!) and Grand Central Station, New York Library and Times Square.
We walked across Brooklyn Bridge and got the Staten Island ferry. We drank in a speak easy and ate in a diner. The Boyfriend drank buckets of beer and ate greasy chicken wings. I went to the Magnolia Bakery and re-lived Carrie's Sex and the City cupcake eating. We went shopping and saw Elf The Musical on Broadway.
We stayed with a friend, who is still a true Croydoner, but is also slowly becoming a New Yorker. He took us to some hidden gems (Whiskey Town - free shot of whiskey with every drink and truly delicious whiskey sours, PDF - old speakeasy hidden behind the wall of a rather scrubby looking hot dog stand, ESS Bagel - best bagel place in New York and when we went inside were accosted by a local asking us how we knew about the place and that we were lucky as it really was the best bagel place in the city).
We got the ferry to Ellis and Liberty Island (FREEZING) and saw the Statue of Liberty up close. And watched a very informative film about the history of New York immigrants and Ellis Island. We also went to the History of New York Museum (bit rubbish apart from the BRILLIANT film about the history of the city, starting with the Native American tribes that lived there, then the Dutch settlers, right through to the modern day).
We wandered through Chinatown and the Boyfriend nearly went to the Chinese McDonalds. We went for dinner in Korea Way (apparently containing the highest number of Koreans outside Korea). Dinner was a BBQ sunk into our table and platter after platter of raw, marinated meat and fish were bought over for us to cook ourselves. It was delicious and also such a novelty!
We wandered through Central Park, went ice-skating, but avoided the extortionately over-priced horse and carriage ride. We went to Bloomingdales (Bloomys) and had frozen yogurt and tried on stupidly expensive outfits. We visited wall street and saw the big bronze bull from the film "Hitch".
While the boys indulged in the constant sport shown on every TV in every bar I wandered the streets of Soho and Greenwich Village, trying on vintage one-offs and restraining myself from buying 101 trinkets. In fact it was the wandering of the city that were perhaps my favourite part of the trip. It is just the best city for that - not too big, easy to navigate thanks to the ingenious grid system and just FULL of amazing things at every step.
We were there for 5 days. In that time we did as much as is humanly possible.
It was -8 and really cold. Bone chillingly cold. But the good thing about New York is that there are coffee shops and cafes on every corner, between every street, in fact every other place sells some sort of caffinated beverage.
We went to the Top of the Rock (amazing, much smaller queue than the Empire State Building and you can look at the Empire State Building - you can't see it if you climb it!) and Grand Central Station, New York Library and Times Square.
We walked across Brooklyn Bridge and got the Staten Island ferry. We drank in a speak easy and ate in a diner. The Boyfriend drank buckets of beer and ate greasy chicken wings. I went to the Magnolia Bakery and re-lived Carrie's Sex and the City cupcake eating. We went shopping and saw Elf The Musical on Broadway.
We stayed with a friend, who is still a true Croydoner, but is also slowly becoming a New Yorker. He took us to some hidden gems (Whiskey Town - free shot of whiskey with every drink and truly delicious whiskey sours, PDF - old speakeasy hidden behind the wall of a rather scrubby looking hot dog stand, ESS Bagel - best bagel place in New York and when we went inside were accosted by a local asking us how we knew about the place and that we were lucky as it really was the best bagel place in the city).
We got the ferry to Ellis and Liberty Island (FREEZING) and saw the Statue of Liberty up close. And watched a very informative film about the history of New York immigrants and Ellis Island. We also went to the History of New York Museum (bit rubbish apart from the BRILLIANT film about the history of the city, starting with the Native American tribes that lived there, then the Dutch settlers, right through to the modern day).
We wandered through Chinatown and the Boyfriend nearly went to the Chinese McDonalds. We went for dinner in Korea Way (apparently containing the highest number of Koreans outside Korea). Dinner was a BBQ sunk into our table and platter after platter of raw, marinated meat and fish were bought over for us to cook ourselves. It was delicious and also such a novelty!
We wandered through Central Park, went ice-skating, but avoided the extortionately over-priced horse and carriage ride. We went to Bloomingdales (Bloomys) and had frozen yogurt and tried on stupidly expensive outfits. We visited wall street and saw the big bronze bull from the film "Hitch".
While the boys indulged in the constant sport shown on every TV in every bar I wandered the streets of Soho and Greenwich Village, trying on vintage one-offs and restraining myself from buying 101 trinkets. In fact it was the wandering of the city that were perhaps my favourite part of the trip. It is just the best city for that - not too big, easy to navigate thanks to the ingenious grid system and just FULL of amazing things at every step.
Friday, 10 December 2010
The tree!
The Boyfriend and I have put up our enormous tree. It is a 7 footer (not as big as Louise's at 8foot but the Micra was not going to cope with another inch, let alone foot). It comes with a state of the art stand (the Boyfriend was possibly more excited by this than the actual tree, demonstrating its merits to me a total of 4 times) and the Boyfriend got a LOT of lights.
The tree decorating got off to a wonderful start. We twined the lights round, taking the time to place them the correct distance from the centre of the tree, but not too close to the edge, evenly spaced as they ascended the tree, and finally twirling the last few around the top. We switched them on and.... nothing. We tried everything (including changing a fuse, and checking every bulb) until 30minutes later when I suggested that perhaps they were broken, and needed to be returned.
So back to Homebase, who were very obliging and even gave us a further £5 off (the already half price lights - bargain!). And set two worked perfectly - twinkly and multi-coloured and magical looking.
On went the decorations, and tinsel, then off came the tinsel as I disagree with it on the tree and despite the Boyfriend's attempt to sneak it on, it is not inconspicuous enough to be overlooked. It went over the picture frames and the window. Much better.
It looks amazing. Though it is minus an angel at the top. This is partially due to the argument of angel (me) versus star (the Boyfriend). And the result has been the purchase of neither. And also, as we are off to New York tomorrow, I'm harbouring a secret hope of getting a statue of Liberty wearing a Christmas hat to pop on the top.
The tree decorating got off to a wonderful start. We twined the lights round, taking the time to place them the correct distance from the centre of the tree, but not too close to the edge, evenly spaced as they ascended the tree, and finally twirling the last few around the top. We switched them on and.... nothing. We tried everything (including changing a fuse, and checking every bulb) until 30minutes later when I suggested that perhaps they were broken, and needed to be returned.
So back to Homebase, who were very obliging and even gave us a further £5 off (the already half price lights - bargain!). And set two worked perfectly - twinkly and multi-coloured and magical looking.
On went the decorations, and tinsel, then off came the tinsel as I disagree with it on the tree and despite the Boyfriend's attempt to sneak it on, it is not inconspicuous enough to be overlooked. It went over the picture frames and the window. Much better.
It looks amazing. Though it is minus an angel at the top. This is partially due to the argument of angel (me) versus star (the Boyfriend). And the result has been the purchase of neither. And also, as we are off to New York tomorrow, I'm harbouring a secret hope of getting a statue of Liberty wearing a Christmas hat to pop on the top.
Monday, 6 December 2010
Festive baking
I have found a cheap, quick, low fat and practically fool proof way to make mince pies.
All you need is a pack of ready made filo pastry sheets, a jar of mincemeat and some milk.
Get a sheet of filo pastry and fold it in half. Cut it into 4 and place a teaspoon of mincemeat at one end. Flatten it out and then roll up the pastry like a cracker. Pinch the ends and repeat until all the pastry and mincemeat are used up (should you run out of mincemeat substitute with jam - especially if the Boyfriend has recently purchased some fancy stuff from Borough Market).
Place on a baking tray and brush with milk. Bake for 8-10mins until golden brown.
Leave to cool as molten mincemeat is hotter than the sun.
All you need is a pack of ready made filo pastry sheets, a jar of mincemeat and some milk.
Get a sheet of filo pastry and fold it in half. Cut it into 4 and place a teaspoon of mincemeat at one end. Flatten it out and then roll up the pastry like a cracker. Pinch the ends and repeat until all the pastry and mincemeat are used up (should you run out of mincemeat substitute with jam - especially if the Boyfriend has recently purchased some fancy stuff from Borough Market).
Place on a baking tray and brush with milk. Bake for 8-10mins until golden brown.
Leave to cool as molten mincemeat is hotter than the sun.
Perfect weekend
I have been ill for the last three weekends. It has been rubbish. And this weekend was the first one I felt like a normal person.
Friday - had friends round for a drink and a catch up.
Saturday we bundled up nice and warm and went to Borough Market. It was fun and festive, and we had a chippy lunch (warm chips, cold hands, equals perfect match). We returned home with beer and jam (both chosen by the Boyfriend - how quaint!).
Went to coffee house The Black Lab in Clapham to see my sister. We drank tea and gossiped, and laughed and laughed and laughed. Friends came to meet us, and they laughed (mainly at us I think) and then it was time to go home and even though it was dark it wasn't late and the walk back was chilly but not freezing thanks to a bellyful of warm tea.
Train to Wandsworth town, and appreciation of a beautiful Christmas tree accompanied with a gin and tonic. Dinner was Thai and then drinks at The Ship (big bizarre and beautiful pub right on the edge of the river). And then things got hazy and there were cabs and shots and dancing, unexpected friends and a broken tooth (not mine). And then home and bed and a long long sleep.
Sunday was lazy. There was tea and scones (a McDonalds for the Boyfriend) and a walk and some baking, christmas cards, fajitas and then X Factor.
Everything just came together to make the weekend exactly what I needed
Friday - had friends round for a drink and a catch up.
Saturday we bundled up nice and warm and went to Borough Market. It was fun and festive, and we had a chippy lunch (warm chips, cold hands, equals perfect match). We returned home with beer and jam (both chosen by the Boyfriend - how quaint!).
Went to coffee house The Black Lab in Clapham to see my sister. We drank tea and gossiped, and laughed and laughed and laughed. Friends came to meet us, and they laughed (mainly at us I think) and then it was time to go home and even though it was dark it wasn't late and the walk back was chilly but not freezing thanks to a bellyful of warm tea.
Train to Wandsworth town, and appreciation of a beautiful Christmas tree accompanied with a gin and tonic. Dinner was Thai and then drinks at The Ship (big bizarre and beautiful pub right on the edge of the river). And then things got hazy and there were cabs and shots and dancing, unexpected friends and a broken tooth (not mine). And then home and bed and a long long sleep.
Sunday was lazy. There was tea and scones (a McDonalds for the Boyfriend) and a walk and some baking, christmas cards, fajitas and then X Factor.
Everything just came together to make the weekend exactly what I needed
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Tree Envy....
The Boyfriend and I have come to a disagreement regarding the Christmas tree. He wants to get it now, I want to wait until we return from New York (is there much point having a tree when we can't see it? Especially when we risk returning home to a tree with no needles?). He however, is adament that it is vital to get the tree as soon as December commences.
This weekend we went round to our friends' house. They too have had an argument regarding a tree. Needless to say it was won by the female, and there is now an 8 foot (yes EIGHT!!) tree wedged in their living room. The furniture has had to be moved, and you can only see half the TV but this tree is actually one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.
It is red and cream and twinkly. There are little wooden decorations, big glass baubles, and glossy silk stockings. There is even the odd poshy chocolate. My moral stance on Christmas trees has totally vanished. The minute the Micra is rescued from snowy Croydon we are going straight to Homebase, home of the festive tree.
This weekend we went round to our friends' house. They too have had an argument regarding a tree. Needless to say it was won by the female, and there is now an 8 foot (yes EIGHT!!) tree wedged in their living room. The furniture has had to be moved, and you can only see half the TV but this tree is actually one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.
It is red and cream and twinkly. There are little wooden decorations, big glass baubles, and glossy silk stockings. There is even the odd poshy chocolate. My moral stance on Christmas trees has totally vanished. The minute the Micra is rescued from snowy Croydon we are going straight to Homebase, home of the festive tree.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
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