The Jelly Monster’s Fantastic Foodie Quiz
Right then, back to some good ol’ fashioned fattening stuff. So fellow Cavan-dweller, the scrumptious Jelly Monster, has tagged me. I’m not really into memes and stuff, but this one’s so food-related it’s practically got my name on. Here goes, then:
1. What’s your #1 comfort food?
Brownies! There’s always a stash of some sort of brownie here at English Towers. My current favourite are rum and raisin (’specially made for English Grandma’s birthday), peanut butter and dark chocolate, or the ridiculously indulgent double chocolate cookie dough brownie:
2. If you were stranded on a desert island what food would you want to have with you to survive on?
Stranded? On a desert island? I wouldn’t want food, I’d want a lifetime’s supply of barbecue coals and a nice Weber. Oh and a nice young man to get the fish out of the sea because I don’t think I can actually fish. And maybe some dill. Or fennel. Okay, I’ll shut up now.
3. What are your signature dishes? (What dishes are you known for making?)
Cakey buns! Anything with loads of sugar and chocolate and cream and gazillions of calories. Of course I make normal food too, but I don’t really advertise the fact.
4. It’s Friday night, you don’t know what to cook. You opt for?
Risotto. It’s our staple ‘what shall we have tonight?’ food at English Towers. There’s always Parmesan in the fridge, herbs in the garden, risotto rice and stock cubes in the cupboard and generally some other old leftover chicken or mushrooms in the fridge to bung in.
5. What’s your ultimate food weakness?
Cheese. Give me a lovely chunk of Wexford Cheddar with some ome crusty bread and a glass of wine, or a golden bubbling welsh rarebit… and I’m a happy hedgehog.
6. What food can you soooo not eat?
I’m not a big shellfish eater. I don’t mind the odd mussel or prawn, but I’m not big into oysters or clams. I don’t think there’s anything I really dislike, but I’d probably choose something else given the choice. Although the hand harvested Maine scallops with a pea, Pecorino, basil and mascarpone laced risotto at The Flying Fish Café at Walt Disney World were pretty darned lush (extra triffids too):
7. You need a drink, you grab a…?
Nice glass of white wine. A Chablis or a Sauvignon Blanc please, extra cold. Or maybe a frozen watermelon daiquiri. Or Champagne if I’m really celebrating.
8. What’s the most decadent dish you’ve ever had?
Our farewell dinner at Citricos at The Grand Floridian, Walt Disney World, Florida was probably the best meal I’ve ever had. My main course of braised short ribs (lusciously falling off the bone) with vanilla parsnip purée, sautéed mustard greens and blood orange demi-glace was just amazing.
9. What’s your favourite type of food?
Probably Indian. I’d eat it much more often if there was a decent Indian restaurant nearby. Apart from that, I’d have to be contentious here and say junk. For an occasional treat, I can’t think of anything I’d rather eat than a big fat burger from Eddie Rockets, or a huge pizza with everything on from Pizza Express. Slurp.
10. Favourite dish?
What, my ‘last meal on the planet’ type favourite? It would have to be chicken korma, pilau rice, peshwari naan and that yummy spinach and potato curry. Ooh, I’m salivating just thinking about it!
11. If you could go to any restaurant, where would you go?
I’d love to go to Matt Tebbutt’s The Foxhunter (the wondrous Sarah from Disney is a friend of Matt’s and STILL hasn’t arranged me a table. Tsk, some friend she is). I’ve always wanted to go to the Fat Duck too. Closer to home I love The Forge in Kells, County Meath (review – with pics! – coming up very soon),or Eatzen in Ashbourne.
12. Soup or Salad?
Salad, probably. Although it would have to be a nice warm one with some chicken or maybe a Caesar.
13. Buffet, take-out or sit down?
Sit down. You can’t beat the ceremony of going out to eat somewhere really nice.
14. What’s the most impressive meal you’ve ever made?
Probably last year’s Christmas dinner for 10. We had the best time and the turkey turned out really well.
15. Do you consider yourself a good cook?
Well, I’m certainly a food obsessive. I’m probably an okay home cook. (Note to Matt Tebbutt: don’t let me loose in a restaurant kitchen though).
16. Do you know what vichyssoise is?
Yes.
17. Who’s your favourite TV cook?
Matt Tebbutt. Love his style of cooking (and he’s rather easy on the eye too).
18. Can you name at least three famous cooking personalities?
God yes, I can name loads. Don’t get me started.
19. Homemade or homemade from a box?
Eh? Home made every time. Although I’m not sure what home made from a box is anyway.
20. Tag three more foodies…
I’ll throw this out to you lot. Answer one, answer them all, put it on Facebook, or just ignore me. See if I care.
Wedding planning for duffers
So in a couple of short weeks I shall be tripping up the aisle (not literally, fingers crossed) in our pretty little church to renew the vows I made fifteen years ago to love, honour and erm…look after my long-suffering Hubby. We’ve had our ups and downs – neither of us have been angels, but we’ve survived fifteen years without killing each other (it’s been close on occasions), produced two lovely sons and, as the eminently sensible Revd Craig pointed out, that’s got to be worth celebrating.
When he asked me this time last year if I’d consider doing him the honour (‘properly, this time – church… dress… party – the whole nine yards’) who knew that half the fun would be in the planning. I heartily recommend getting married (or remarried or blessed – don’t let the fact that you already have the ring stop you) quite a few years down the line in a relationship. Okay, so the downside is you have to pay for it yourself, and I’ll never make a wedding planner (‘what do you mean the Rally of Ireland is on the same day as the wedding and we can’t use the carpark as it’ll be stuffed full of rally cars?’) but the advantages are enormous. In fact, here are my top ten reasons for planning a wedding once you’re mature enough to make all the decisions:
1 The dress. Every girl knows it’s all about the dress. I had a bit of a false start here, purchasing a sensible, grown up cocktail dress from Monsoon then lying awake at night wishing I’d bought the wedding dress of my dreams. After all, you only get to walk down the aisle once, okay twice. And hey, if I want to do it wearing acres of pink tulle, looking like a cross between Katie Price and the Bride of Frankenstein, then it’s my shout. I don’t, but I reserve the right to.
2 The guest list. Don’t want to invite that maiden aunt with the moustache who frightens the children? Cross her off the list. Let’s face it, by the time you get to your forties (6 months to go before the big 4-0!) you know who your friends are and who they aren’t. We’re delighted that we’ll be spending the day surrounded by the people that we love, and who love us back, and not with the people we felt we had to invite.
3 The service. Now it helps here to have a good relationship with your clergyman. We, happily, are onto a winner. Want a relaxed, child-friendly, happy, intimate service with lots of music and fun? No problem. Craig’s suggestions and ideas have added so much to the ceremony that we just can’t wait. And the locals secretly can’t wait to get a shufty inside the C of I church either.
4 The details. ‘I want the church full of flowers!’, I said to the florist, presenting her with my lovingly-made collage cut from several hundred wedding magazines. ‘I’d love the scent of beautiful lilies, freesias and roses to hit the congregation as they walk in… and I want my bouquet to be huuuuge and smell gorgeous and be full of bright colours: pink and orange and lime green…’ [cue sound of needle screeching across record.] Okay, so my original remit for the florist might have been a little extravagant. Flowers are slightly expensive and the sound of Hubby’s sharp intake of breath when presented with the quotation was enough to send me scuttling back with a slightly amended version of my original flamboyant request. These things cost money, y’know. The advantage is that you know exactly what you want. Even if you can’t actually afford it.
5 The cake. Don’t like fruit cake? Bit of a fan of Ace of Cakes? Happen to have an incredibly talented friend who just happens to make the most fantastic cakes in the world? You’re onto a winner. Jen and I have spent many a happy hour discussing the merits of white chocolate sponge with raspberry filling versus dark chocolate sponge with a lime-scented ganache. In the end we decided we’d have a layer of each one we liked. See, when you’re grown up you can make those kind of decisions.
6 The music. The fantastic night we spent at JD’s wedding convinced us that their band was the only one we wanted. It didn’t matter that they’re based in Waterford, and that there’s six of them plus a ton of equipment to find room for. We had to have them, so we took budget money away from other stuff and juggled the sums until we could afford them. You can do that when it’s your money.
7 The poncy bits. Don’t want buttonholes (‘why would I want a flower on my suit?’)? Don’t have ‘em. Ditto all the awkward, expensive and largely pointless bits that nobody cares about like favours. I mean, who actually eats those sugared almonds in a bit of netting tied with ribbon anyway? Cross ‘em off. Equally, if you want every car to be decorated with bright pink ribbon, for example, or have a friend mental enough to agree to sit with you and tie 85 bows of ribbon around 85 order of service scrolls then go for it. The poncy bits are all yours.
8 The grub. You get to pick the food you like. We’re lucky because the chef at the hotel didn’t run away screaming when he saw me enter our meeting with a clipboard and a list of requirements twenty feet long. Even better, he suggested fantastic local produce that we could incorporate into our wedding feast: beautiful fresh crab from Annagassan on the coast of County Louth… fresh local wild salmon and sides of beef sourced locally from the wonderful beef farmers of County Cavan (a couple of whom will be there with their families, which reminds me of my favourite conversation so far: ‘thanks for the invitation…you do know that I have five kids don’t you?’ Me: ‘Yup and we want you to bring them all along – don’t worry, we’ll reserve you a pew!’).
9 The chiselers. You get to enjoy it all with your kids. The boys’ friends will all be there and they’ve had enormous fun planning the day with us. They’ve picked out their suits and selected a couple of lucky local girls to share their ‘first dance’ with. The lovely Revd Craig suggested including them in the actual blessing ceremony and they’re breathless with excitement. What better way to teach them about the importance of family than to get them involved?
10 The fun. Oh we have some tremendous fun stuff planned. Some really bonkers off-the-wall stuff that will have our guests astounded and amused. Again, a flexible, forward-thinking vicar is de rigeur in this situation. But, I mean, blimey, it IS supposed to be fun, isn’t it?
Oh, but it’s not all romance and roses. We’ve had our fair share of doubts too. Are we mental? Does anyone really give a shit if the crab’s local? Is it wise that 35 of our 85 guests are children? Why have we spent all this money when we could have had two weeks on a tropical beach and renewed our vows barefoot on the sand with the boys in hawaiian shirts?
I collar the Hubby while he’s watching the grand prix. ‘Are we mad?’, I ask him. ’Would you have preferred the beach?’.
‘I don’t know’, he says, ‘I’ll tell you the day after the blessing’.
Oh.
The diet? Oh, it’s going really well thanks (cough)
So my lovely friend Al, sis of D-next-door and sis-in-law of my late, lovely friend C, also known as Mrs Lovely (blimey I’m going to have to cut that intro down), recently decided that she was going to lose weight. She started weighing herself at that big machiney thing at the chemist once a week, watching what she eats and walking like a mad thing (I tell you, the woman is a demon walker – every time I drive anywhere I see her charging along, head bowed against the elements – impressive stuff). I have watched, open mouthed, as the weight has fallen off the girl. She’s a shadow of her former self, and looks fantastic.
What a good idea, thought I.
I should do that, thought I.
I eat far too much cake and drink far too much wine. I’m partial to the odd glass of champers, have a penchant for Scampi and Lemon NikNaks as well as the odd cocktail (preferably at the same time), and I can’t pay for petrol without walking out clutching a Double Decker. I made a loud (and admittedly rash) announcement that I was going to have a spell of healthy eating and moderate drinking, exercise and general abstinence, culminating in shimmying down the aisle looking slim, svelte and princess-like. Hubby gave me that stare that means ‘this won’t end well’ but sagely kept silent. He knows, you know. We have this conversation often. I debate the roundness of my tummy. He professes a love for said tummy and reminds me of the ‘arse vs face’ rule. You can’t save both. It’s a scientific fact. Just look at Janice Dickinson.
My first hurdle was the machine in the chemist; it’s right by the door so while you’re standing there in your socks (shoes weigh TONS), holding on to the handle and looking like a complete berk, it waits until someone you know walks in and then bellows out your weight and height, stopping short of adding, ‘you fat shit’ at the end of it. After this, it spits a bit of paper out at you and laughs a hearty and metallic laugh as you shuffle out, red faced and mortified.
I know, I know, we’ve had this conversation before: I was born curvy (Hubby once said to me: ‘you don’t have a big bum, your hips just stretch it out a bit’). I have boobage and stuff and I do quite like it, but I do bake (and eat) a large amount of cake, and if it goes wrong or the recipe’s not quite up to scratch (my reader’s demand perfection, don’t you?) I tend to have another crack and eat that one too.
So the end of my first week arrived. Not a single packet of crisps or chocolate bar had passed my lips. I’d abstained from wine all week. I’d not even buttered my toast, for goodness sake. I stepped up to the evil machine with my head held high, waited for an acquaintance to walk in the door and… I’d put on weight! TWO whole bloody pounds! How could this be?
So as an experiment, the next week I ate what I usually do. The odd bit of cake – the odd toast and marmite breakfast, watermelon martinis, even a jammy dodger or four. And do you know what? I lost a pound.
So that’s it. After my highly scientific experiment, I have proved that I somehow have a randomly backwardised metabolism and obviously if I was to completely exist on a diet of lettuce leaves and miso soup I would soon hit 25 stone.
Pass me a slab of that brownie, would you?
The Thursday AND Friday Photos: Dining at Disney – foodie photo alert!!!
So I thought rather than bore you to death with one big huge enormous Walt Disney World post, I’d break it down for you into more manageable bits (I’m good like that). Today, then, is part one of the reason that I came back from Disney looking 6 months pregnant (no, don’t get excited, Mum). I suppose a common preconception about visiting Disney (maybe even America in general) is that you’re going to have to survive on a fast food diet of chips, burger and pizza. But seriously, nothing is further from the truth. In fact, when our happy band of bloggers did happen to pass a rather enormous McDonalds in the bloggerbus, we were all begging Sarah (our very own Disney Mary Poppins) to let us stop. Happily, she had far nicer stuff in store for us:
First night, then, saw us wandering along Disney’s beautiful Boardwalk area, still dazed from our amazing upgraded flight (never EVER been upstairs in a plane before) and the fact that it was now 1am back home. The Boardwalk is a beautiful recreation of a 1940s seaside resort, where we walked, further dazzled by the beautiful lights twinklingly reflected in the water, into the stunning and very classy Flying Fish Café. We were even more gobsmacked when we found that Disney had created a restaurant menu just for us:
We started with cocktails (I had a Bay Breeze) and the chef brought us a little ‘amuse bouche’ of spiced seared tuna with a ‘carrot-coconut infusion’ (me neither but it was lubly) topped with sturgeon caviar (yellow and green – how do the Sturgeon do that?). I adored the caviar – I love the way it pops on your tongue. I tell you, thoughts of burgers were now seriously melting away:
We moved onto our appetisers. I chose beautifully tender crispy sesame and togarashi scented calamari, served with spiced green papaya (amazing) and an Asian dipping sauce. For entrées (no mains here, baby) the choice was vast – from fresh yellowfin tuna… scallops… red snapper… I went for a beautiful piece of oak-grilled North Atlantic salmon with puy lentils and American Sturgeon caviar which was fabulous, and in my eagerness to stuff it into my face, I actually forgot to take a picture of it. I did, though take a pic (and a couple of generously proffered forkfuls – I think it was the fact that I was drooling on her shoulder that did it) of Jane’s beautiful hand harvested Maine scallops with a pea, Pecorino, basil and mascarpone laced risotto and weird triffid things. It tasted even better than it looked:
Too stuffed for desserts, we staggered back to our beautiful Beach Club Resort for a well earned rest.
Up bright and early to breakfast with Minnie, Goofy and Donald (more of this later). I actually still feel stuffed from the night before so settle for a reasonably ‘light’ breakfast of Mickey waffles with fruit, ignoring the vast array of bacon, sausages, fried potatoes, grits, yoghurts, and even desserts such as cobblers and crumbles:
Quick DISNEY FACT here: all around Walt Disney World there are what’s known as ‘hidden Mickeys’. There are even proper ‘hidden Mickey’ nerds that make it their life’s work to know where they all are. We spotted a couple, including a Mickey-shaped rivet in a manhole cover and a Mickey-shaped electricity pylon (no, honestly). This, obviously caused me to collapse in a heap laughing every time somebody mentioned it. Why? Because in Ireland a Mickey is another name for a man’s erm… oh, you know. And ‘hidden Mickey’ has all sorts of connotations to my filthy brain which prompted the snorting. Sorry…
Off in the bloggerbus (or ovenbus as it became known) to Typhoon Lagoon (more of this later too), then to Downtown Disney (you guessed it – more later), where we have an absolutely amazing cob salad in the Earl of Sandwich. I’ve never had one before, but it’s a rather delicious combination of chicken, cranberries, chunks of cheddar and masses of mixed leaves, all doused in a lovely dressing. See, even the takeouts are scrummy.
The evening found us hurling ourself upside down on various rides at Walt Disney’s Hollywood Studios Resort (sorry, but I’m going to have to keep saying ‘more of this later’) where we dined at the spectacular Hollywood Brown Derby, a pretty good approximation of the original Brown Derby, frequented by the stars and decorated with signed caricatures (I spotted Bette Davis’s and Fred Astaire’s).
The service, as usual, was impeccable: friendly, helpful, discreet and informative. The steaks were absolutely amazing (I think most of us ordered one):
Again, no room for dessert, but obviously we squeezed in a quick cocktail (made by the crappest cocktail waiter in the world, the lovely Craig, who took so long making our cocktails (checking his recipe every ten seconds), that we missed our showing of Fantasmic. In fact, as one of my fellow bloggers pointed out, this photo looks misleadingly like he was moving at speed. He wasn’t.
Instead, we retired back to our resort, Walt Disney’s Beach Club, to down more mojitos and get all sillly and giggly. Poor Sarah started to look vaguely scared, especially when a competition to see who could say motherf*cker the fastest got into full swing. We retire to bed a little tired and emotional (it’s the jet lag you see).
So that’s my first two days, then. But brace yourself, you’ve got the other five to come, plus roundups of the main resorts, plus the parks, Disney’s Dining Plan, prices, packages, some amazing Disney facts and some rather wondrous exclusive Disney scoops.
Here’s a final DISNEY FACT to keep you on your toes: Walt Disney’s brain is widely held to be kept in a secret location, cryogenically frozen. This is a load of horse poo. He was just buried like everybody else. See, you’re gagging for more now, I can tell….
The Friday fridge photo
So you’ll like this. I’m bored of the Friday photo. I’m always hunting around for something interesting to happen, and then when it does, it’s Saturday, and by the time Friday comes around again, I’m wondering if it’s not really so interesting after all.
So anyhoo. I’ve just been shopping. Yup, up to Enniskillen – naughty, I know, not supporting the Euro and all that, but I only go once a month, honest, hofficer. The rest of the time I drive miles to pay double for less choice. And I thought how nice my fridge looked, all full up with goodies. So I thought I’d show you. And guess what? Next week it’s your turn. A description and a lubly photo of your fridge, please. And we’ll carry it on until we run out of photos, or get bored, or er…. well, you get my drift. Off you go, then.
Oh, and just in case you don’t fancy looking at my fridge, here’s a snow angel, competently demonstrated by #2 (‘y’see, Mum? You have to kind of flap yer arms and legs’. ‘Okay, darling, I promise I’ll come and have a go in a minute’).
Sour Grapes? Not likely.
So this is really clever. Lovely Lar, over at Ireland’s best wine blog, Sour Grapes , has taken different recipes from various Irish food bloggers nominated for the Irish Blog Awards, and matched them with some rather outstanding wine choices.
To accompany my Sunday lunch of beef stew with fluffy parsley dumplings. Lar suggests a Clos du Val Cabernet Sauvignon coming in at a breathtaking €27.49, but hey, as Lar points out it would be perfect for a special weekend dinner. And anyway, staying in is the new going out, don’t they say?
Read all about it here.
No battery required: well done, Sainsbury’s
Of all the things I really miss about home, it’s being close to a really nice, big supermarket: being able to choose from tons of lovely stuff rather than having to make do with whatever the smaller shops can squeeze onto their limited shelves. And although our closest was Tesco, there was a really nice Sainsbury’s not too far away (do you know what, I can’t even remember the name of the town, and I’ve only been gone two years. It’ll come to me, I’m sure). I really like Sainsbury’s (and no, it’s not just the Jamie Oliver connection), I like the stuff they sell and their values too (I love Waitrose, too, but seriously – who can afford to shop there?). And true to form, their latest press release is a sign that they’re way ahead of the competition.
From the 5th February, Sainsbury’s have announced that it will sell only eggs from uncaged birds. I think, to be fair, that M&S or maybe Waitrose were the first to do this, but still, Sainsbury’s is the first of the big four to ban battery eggs and hopefully it will force the other big hitters to do the same. Compassion in World Farming have called the move ‘breathtaking‘ and praised Sainsbury’s ‘genuine commitment to continuously improving life for all farm animals in their supply chain‘.
Still on the subject of welfare, there’s some cracking TV coming up over the next few weeks. I’m gutted I missed Jay Rayner’s ‘True Cost of Cheap Food’, but Channel 4’s ‘Great British Food Fight’ continues with the return of the chicken’s champion, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, as he continues to badger the hell out of poor Tesco (26 January, 9pm), and Jamie moves from chickens to pigs in Jamie Saves Our Bacon (29th January 9pm). Bring it on, I say.
Your last meal. Evereverever.
Okay, so the bad news, obviously, is that you’re just about to die a most horrible death (metaphorically speaking, natch) but the good news is that you can have anything you want for your last meal. And I mean ANYTHING. This morning we started along the ‘last spoonful’ path, which obviously wasn’t quite enough for my gang of extremely greedy commenters.
Likely suspects so far include Jennifer, Bert’s #1 fan:
Starters – hmm, Suppli or tomato, buffalo mozzerella and fresh basil leaves with a drizzle of balsamic.
Main – lamb shank with mint gravy and M&S croquet potatos (not very gourmet I know but they’re scrummy).
Dessert – Gooey, runny, warm, chocolate fudge cake, with a scoop of really good quality vanilla ice cream to break the richness of the cake.
Then Wee Jen (who’s completely to blame for all this pretend face-stuffing):
A great big mezze plate (wot?! is that cheating?)
Hubbie’s garlicky lemon roast chicken, cooked over the roast potatoes so they go all lubbly-tasty with the schmaltz. There would be token greenery too and a gloriously-risen Yorkshire pudding.
Dutch applecake, scented with cinnamon and a big dollop of cream or hazlenut icecream on the side.
I might even find room for cheese.
…and Baino:
Entree: Rare carpaccio of filet beef on watercress salad with balsamic vinegar and horseradish cream
Main: Seared green lobster tail in garlic butter, crusty baguette and warm mesclin lettuce salad with caramilised pumpkin squares and new potatoes
Dessert: Lime cheesecake on a chocolate biscuit crust.
As for me? Hmmm, tricky one. I suspect you could ask me any day and it would be something different, but right now (which is difficult because I’m completely stuffed with chilli at the moment), it would be something I really, really miss:
Starter: A cute little onion bhaji and maybe some popadums, plus some fresh onion salad and the little bowls of raita and chutney and pickle
Main: A really gorgeous chicken biryani, with buttery, spicy rice, tender chicken and that lovely vegetable curry. Ooh, although I have to admit for a very tacky craving for chicken korma too. Not had one since I left the UK *sob*
Dessert: Slightly off-course here geographically, but it would have to be steamed syrup pudding with custard AND cream AND ice cream. (What? I’m dying here).
Over to you, then. And yes, the Jens and Baino can have another go if they want, just so they don’t feel left out.
Foie gras? I’ll pass, thanks all the same
On Sky today, they had a news item about the force feeding of ducks and geese for the foie gras industry (DON’T click on this link if you’re easily upset) in Hungary and Bulgaria. The charity Four Paws took sneaky video evidence of this force feeding practice and I have to say, it’s not pleasant viewing. So yes, different cultures think different things are acceptable. I wouldn’t think many people in the UK or Ireland would ever think of eating foie gras, but in some places in Europe, like France, it’s hugely popular. The charity workers trying to get the undercover film were chased and threatened with axes – someone not particularly happy about being filmed, methinks?
Now I’m not an animal rights campaigner. I eat beef, and chicken and pork and all that stuff and I know the animals die in order that I can eat them. However, I don’t want anything to suffer on my behalf, and I do find it incredibly distasteful in this day and age when the public demand much higher levels of animal welfare, that the mighty Tesco feel that it’s acceptable to sell this product in their Hungarian branches, while declaring that they don’t sell it here on ‘welfare grounds’.
I have heard, by the way, that some foie gras facilities have ‘free range’ geese and ducks, and that they rush over to the ‘force-feeding’ machine at dindins time. I wouldn’t know, but the crating seems excessively cruel. I know foie gras is a foodie thing, and is regarded as a delicacy, but being responsible for shutting a bird in a teeny cage and and walloping a great tube down its neck twice a day in order to make something yummy would put me right off ordering it. Sorry and all that. Stupid question, but is there a kinder way to produce it?
English Mum’s ‘Don’t Eat Six Gingercakes’ Diet
So Hubby and D-next-door play 6-a-side soccer on a Thursday (well, sometimes it’s 5-a-side, or 7, depending on who can be arsed). They come home absolutely shattered, pouring with sweat, have a quick shower and bugger off to the pub where they consume large amounts of beer. I can’t help myself; I have to question how healthy this pastime actually is. I, on the other hand, don’t bother with the exercise or the working up of a sweat – I just go straight into the vino. We have a chat and decide that we’re probably not the healthiest of families.
The thing is, though, dear reader, I generally don’t think we do too badly. We have good, freshly prepared food, eat plenty of fruit and vegetables, we exercise… Well, I walk the dog every day and Hubby has a gym in the garage (I don’t go in since my run-in (hah) with the evil running machine that glares at me when I go to put stuff in the tumble dryer. It made me dry-heave after ten minutes then spat me onto the floor). But yes, I do have a serious baking addiction and a fondness for a glass of wine or seven. Where do you draw the line? I think I’m quite healthy – I’m a size 12, which is probably about right for my 5′7″ frame. I have been this size for my whole adult life. Yes, I have ‘tits and ass’ (sorry mother), but I like them, I’m fond of them and I don’t want them to disappear.
But (or should that be butt), equally, I’ve noticed the curve of my tummy being rather more pronounced recently, and as much as I love curves, I wouldn’t want them to be lost under rolls of flab either. I want to continue to be healthy, but to curb some of my more extreme habits (the baking of 6 ginger cakes in one day because I couldn’t quite get it sticky enough being one of them).
I absolutely and utterly will not do diets. I won’t have the D word even mentioned in my house. I think denial equals disaster. Healthy eating is one thing, but denying yourself fruit on the Atkins diet because it contains hidden sugar is just plain mental and unhealthy and I won’t countenance it. We have a long chat, and decide on the following rules for English Towers:
- We will try to have a healthy breakfast (damn, there goes the enormous slice of leftover ginger cake and the big fat hot chocolate, then)
- We will cut down on the amount of refined food and junk that we eat. Damn you, Ronald McDonald.
- We will try to avoid eating big stodgy meals after 6pm (scientific studies – not that pillock Atkins – have proven that you don’t need huge amounts of carbs at night when you’re going to just sit around and not burn them off).
- We will (double gulp) cut down on our alcohol intake. Initially we’ll try to just drink alcohol at weekends.
- We will do all this without making a big fuss and involving our children in ‘ooh, I can’t possibly eat that’ type conversations.
There. I’ve said it. And now I’ve told you all it will have to become law or I’ll look really stupid. And I’ve just bought 24 bottles of Jacob’s Creek up at Tesco’s in Enniskillen too. Damn.
