NGOMPOL: food

Showing posts with label food. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Chocolate and other stuff

Looking at this picture,its a shame this isn't scratch n' sniff, innit? Or scratch, scrape from your fingernails and eat.

I was sniffed at in the office this morning. A woman pressed her nose against the flesh of my neck and made appreciative noises. What’s more she had all her own teeth and everything.

I want chocolate.

I’m cheesed off because the Manchester United v Arsenal semi-final is on sat TV and I only have council house sports on my telly. Mind you, the Barcelona/ Chelsea game didn’t live up to the hype. So maybe I’m wasting energy.
A thought, after listening to the commentators the other night crowing about how the EPL was the best league in the world and how 3 English teams had made it –yet again- to the semi-finals of the world’s greatest football team competition. ..there was a total of 6 Englishmen in the starting line-up for all 3 teams. Let me put that another way; that’s 6 out of a possible 33. Man Utd also had a Scot and an Irishman if we want to generously beef up the numbers, but it surely doesn’t make good reading for the caretakers of the English game. Fabio Capello, the Engurland manage was spotted in the crowd at the Nou Camp the other night. Should have saved your cash, Fabio.

Just read Kris Boyd on the beeb website saying he doesn’t regret giving up playing football for Scotland. For those who don’t know/ care he “retired” from international football at the grand old age of 25 after the Scotland manager left him on the bench during a high profile game. Now I don’t care what side of the Old Firm he plays for but I would just like to say one thing to “100 goals for ‘gers” Boydie; grow up, son. It should be an honour to play sport for your country. Take a look at David Beckham. He was ridiculed; effigies of him were burnt in public, he was used as pawn in a crap manager’s power games (Steve McLaren anyone? No, didn’t think so)and still he came back for more. He’s an example to every professional sports person out there. Whether or not you like the hype that seems to surround him, he works hard at his game, at pleasing his fans and at fulfilling his responsibilities as a prominent person in the public eye (Rebecca Loos aside). However, we could do without the adverts with him in his scanties. Nothing to do with feelings of inadequacy, I have to add. I too could stuff a pair of socks down the front of my y-fronts.

I want chocolate. Deliberately didn’t buy any during the weekly shop. 'Cos I would just eat it all.

Back to the sniffing, I can’t say I’m all that effective in an olfactory way. I’ve had the one bottle of aftershave since my 40th birthday (not yesterday, I might add. Nooooo, I hear you cry) and I often read work from female writers and admire their ability to bring their sense of smell into their writing. Is the varying effectiveness of this particular sense part of the whole male/female difference?

Thinking in terms of members of my family I have one sister who could double as a sniffer dog at airports. I swear she can smell a fart before it hits the air. My argument is that particular skill has developed because she expects it to be one of her own. Readers of earlier postings will have already been introduced to my sister, the Queen of Chaos. She’s a size six, four feet eleven with long blonde hair and looks about 15 years younger than her birth certificate states. She is also it is fair to say and without bias, very, very pretty and obsessed with bowel movements. Think Kylie with IBS.

And thinking about this issue from an evolutionary point of view. ..men were the disposable gender sent out to fight big beasties and bad men who came to rape and pillage. An acute sense of smell would have just gotten in the way. I can just see a group of men charging into battle...and pulling up shouting, whoa...get a load of that. Or. You can’t make me fight, sarge, that battle ground is absolutely minging.

The chocolate craving has passed. I should be congratulated. Tomorrow I celebrate by scratching, sniffing then eating a bar of Cadbury’s.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Pear Ice Cream

Years ago when I was in the south of France on a camping holiday, I went to a cafe in the town of Cavalaire. Apropos of nothing but a chance to name drop, my caravan was next door to a very young Patsy Kensit and her pals. I reckon that’s where she got her taste for Scots men, but that’s a whole other blog.

One of the things I noticed while I was en vacances was that the fruit was bigger, more colourful and much tastier than anything we got at home. The pears in particular were amazing. And as I am often heard to say, you cannae beat a nice juicy pear. This particular cafe in Cavalaire specialised in ice cream. My pals chose while I studied the menu. One of the English girls in our company asked for a crepe. Stunned silence. She was too nice to be using that kind of language (too nice by far, if you catch my drift). With her southern accent it sounded like she was asking for a crap.

Eventually I chose pear ice cream and a few minutes later a very large glass container arrived holding a light green, glassy concoction that had me slathering like David Cameron over Labour’s latest fuckup (get over it, Davie-boy. You’ll never get the job). The pear ice cream came with a jug of water. Pourquoi l’eau, I asked in my best French. The waiter stared at me as if I’d asked for a crap. I was brilliant at asking for “trois coca” or “trois orangina”. I also had no small talent for asking for “du sel” for “les pommes frites”. Not so good at anything else. The waiter’s expression went through some changes before he considered that I just was one of those dumb Britishers who didn’t bother to learn god’s own language. Eventually pity won over scorn and he explained that the water should be used to refresh the mouth, because the flavour was so rich.

Aye right, I thought. Bring it on. There was a serious amount of ice cream here and I attacked it with gusto. I almost hesitate to use the metaphor – like the beautician faced with Susan Boyle’s eyebrows. The spoon from glass to mouth was a blur. Each spoonful was distilled, melting heaven. Ice cream as art. Then disaster. I noticed that my taste buds were becoming less responsive. The flavours were fading and I was less than a third of the way through. My gob was indeed in need of a rest.

I had a sip of water. My tongue was refreshed and - aaaaaaaah -once again able to cope with one of man’s best attempts at working with nature’s bounty. The next few spoonfuls were glassy green nectar. Chilled ambrosia. Then it was time for another sip of water before once again I lost the ability to fully appreciate the flavour.

This is a long-winded (but fascinating nonetheless as I’m sure you will agree) follow up to my blog on the reading marathon I embarked on at the weekend. If perfection is dished up to you as a constant, your ability to fully take in the achievement becomes tempered. Excellence becomes mundane and I’m too young at just over 21 to be jaded. Who’s that laughing in the corner? In essence it is time for a break from the reading. Besides, I don’t think ‘I haven’t finished my book yet,’ is an acceptable reason to pull a sicky. Nor would the boss believe I had a weekend break in Cancun and as a consequence required bed rest and the gentle ministrations of a student nurse.

...give me a moment to think that one through...

In any case, I’m half-way through Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Angel’s Game and my mind needs a wee rest from Barcelona and the machinations of Carlos’ quirky, wonderful characters. This is one of those occasions, just like the pear ice cream when quality should be taken in delicious spoonfuls, not in a binge.

As for Patsy and her pals...je suis un gentilhomme. And as everyone knows they don’t tell tales. Unless of course, suitable motivation is provided.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

SPAM Plant Works Overtime: What's on The Financial Crisis Menu

SPAM:
On the Comeback Trail

SPAM Plant Workers Feast on Overtime

The NY Times discovers that SPAM is making a comeback: Spam Turns Serious and Hormel Turns Out More

Austin, MN-The economy is in tatters and, for millions of people, the future is uncertain. But for some employees at the Hormel Foods Corporation plant here, times have never been better. They are working at a furious pace and piling up all the overtime they want.

The workers make Spam, perhaps the emblematic hard-times food in the American pantry.

As RidesAPaleHorse observes, "Spam makes a comeback (as if it ever really went away)."

ALSO at DBKP:
* SPAM: Ethanol Subsides Force Families to Turn to Spam to Cut Food Costs

by Mondo and RidesAPaleHorse
image: RAPH

Monday, October 6, 2008

Politically Incorrect Food: Heart Attack Grill

Pixelaneous #56
"A Taste Worth Dying For"

Only in America

Received in the email box.

These incredible pix of an "only in America" institution: The Heart Attack Grill.

A quick Google search brought the following info from Wikipedia to help put the pix in context.

Heart Attack Grill:

The Heart Attack Grill is a Chandler, Arizona burger restaurant that has become internationally known for serving incredibly large, unhealthy hamburgers and for its criticism by the Arizona Board of Nursing and Baltimore-based Center for Nursing Advocacy for putting its waitresses in naughty nurse uniforms.

The Heart Attack Grill is a hospital theme restaurant. The restaurant was founded in 2005 by Jon Basso who calls himself "Dr. Jon" and dresses in a white doctor's lab coat.[1]. Basso designed the theme of the restaurant with the intent of serving "nutritional pornography," food "so bad for you it's shocking."[2] Customers are referred to as "patients," orders as "prescriptions," and the waitresses as "nurses."

The menu includes "Single," "Double," "Triple," and "Quadruple Bypass" hamburgers, ranging from half a pound to two pounds of beef, "Flatliner Fries" (cooked in pure lard), cigarettes, beer and liquor, and soft drinks. The names imply coronary artery bypass surgery, and refer to the danger of developing atherosclerosis from the food's high proportion of saturated fat and excessive caloric content. The Quadruple Bypass burger has 8,000 calories.[3] Customers who finish a Triple or Quadruple Bypass burger are pushed in wheelchairs to their cars by the waitresses.

The waitresses' nurse costumes and behavior have caused the most controversy. The waitresses wear crosses on their nurse hats, thigh-high fishnet stockings, short skirts, and low-cut tops. On occasion, they sit at the table with customers while they eat, role-play as nurses, or even jump into the arms of their customers.