Eggplant, tomato and parsley salad with mint yoghurt dressing.
Spiced orange roast chicken
Pasta Primavera
Triple Chocolate CheesecakeAnd to top it all off, The Cook and The Chef is about to start.
Eggplant, tomato and parsley salad with mint yoghurt dressing.Spiced orange roast chicken Pasta Primavera Triple Chocolate Cheesecake
23 comments:
Steak and kidney pie (or as the Americans call it 'kidney pie') followed by a generous helping of black pudding (or, again, as the Americans eroneously call it -- usually with a vomit expression on their fat faces which is rich coming from a country whose national dish is bulls' testicle patties -- blood pudding). Now that's what I call breakfast. Other might call it a heart attack waiting to happen...
Downs his third black pudding buttie ... falls to the floor clasping chest. (No, not your ample endowment Coppertop, but mine own whiter shade of pale 32B imitation.)
Oh bugger, I knew I shouldn't have had seconds, but I always feel peckish after a duel.
And wasn't The Cook and the Chef so good tonight.
Dammit Andrew, one more spoonful shovelled in their mouths and I would have damaged the TV. I have to have that apple pie recipe though, I could smell it.
'bulls' testicle patties', I thought their national dish was crap.
Before the vego state of this house, I could make grown men weep with my steak and kidney/parsley dumplings. The secret ingredient, a nice rough red for the gravy base.
Now that is revolting, black pudding butties. You deserve the heart attack. You serve it with greasy chips and runny eggs, you Philistine.
Just like the next election - "Two Prime Ministers for the price of one." - with "Black Pudding Knight without End Hughes" and "Throw another Cholesterol Buttie on the Barbie Sedgwick", you get two taking blood pressure to the max heart attacks for the price of one ambo call out.
We're both depending on you keeping your First Aid MICA certificate up to date.
(BTW, I accept and endorse the word verification "bssycoq". How did Google find that out ... and get it so right?)
...'bulls' testicle patties', I thought their national dish was crap.
No...they eat bollocks and talk crap.
(BTW, I accept and endorse the word verification "bssycoq". How did Google find that out ... and get it so right?)
Sedgers,
Google Earth, courtesy of the British Government, has been studying your activities via some secretly planted spyware in your monitor for several years now. It would appear that they have mistakenly concluded the frantic fumbling beneath your computer desk as an attempt to at self abuse rather than frantic fumbling at the lid of your beta-blocker carton.
Sedgwick, I will jumpstart your heart (oh that will be fun) but I draw the line at the kiss of life.
Lips that taste black pudding will never taste mine.
'bssycoq' how dare you appropriate Andrew's password.
'bssycoq' how dare you appropriate Andrew's password.
Think you'll find that Highriser's open sesame preferred password is in fact "black pudding".
Hughes made me say that ... and didn't even run away. Cocky bugger!
Kidneys YUCK. Lamb's Fry I can come at. Black puddin? Never had it offalled to me so can't say what I'd do and I've heard a few stories about what it is exactly. Bollocks you say? Hmmm.
Mum used to eat brains on toast for breakfast--and it did precisely nothing for her. But she did introduce me to oysters and avacadoes and taught me how to cook a good steak, which proved to be so very useful in the days of brown rice and toad-food, hippy households.
A zillion years ago my school friends came over one arvo and I was eating avacado, 'green putty' as my father called it. They (the goils) were agog. But then I've always been cutting edge. And now look what's happened. Only thing my Dad said he wouldn't eat was Tripe, so what does Mum dish him up? Hmmm.
I do like the cook and chef or 'tuther way around and if I had a tele I'd watch it too. I think you can take all those food tips in subliminally. I thought for a very long time that it was an English production, summit to do with his cockney accent and her plummy one. But in the viewing of the show wherein the penny dropped, they were cooking roo tail stew and I thought "WTF, you can buy roo tails in England? Geebers". You probably can buy roo tails in England (BTW) but that don't make it right.
Some time later and had logged off switched out, turned off and debunked everything and was happily warming dem bones in shower when suddenly . . I remember the trash can thingo, so here I am again, deleting my double comments to save my bunch of flowers. I have reinstated all and everyone at Beelzebublog where a continuum of scintillia has recommenced.
And I feel better now.
Nope...you can't buy Roo's tail in England. You can buy ox-tongue, lamb's liver, farmhouse pate (made from real mediaeval rubble) and even Hedgehog flavoured crisps...but Roo's tail isn't on the menu. I hate to bring this up, but does Roo's tail taste of Pooh, or is that just a vicious rumour?
Incidentally, it appears that my password today is sdgnob. Someone out there has got a very sick mind.
Black pudding is made from pig's blood and I never bothered to ask much further than that. As for tripe, apart from the fact I get enough of that from the comedy duo of Hughes and Sedgwick, it's an absolute no-no for me. I can't even look at it or touch it.
Glad you're back on line.
Roo tail is a very healthy meat with no fat and good for people with dodgy hearts. I couldn't eat it, I'd be dreaming of little Skippy for months.
The only place I've ever seen Emu on a menu was in London. Didn't make me home sick, but I'll believe you Monsieur Hughes about the unavailability of the roo's tail in pertikular.
Tongues and tails don't appeal to me, but I ain't sentimental, once its dead and on the plate, its well . . . dead and on the plate.
I have often wondered how I'll feed my cat when peak oil/armageddon arrives. I couldn't stand to see the little bugger go hungry. So a friend told me how to kill a duck. First you find a large flock of ducks innocently sitting by a dam, (unbenknownst to your wicked schemings). Pick up a heavyish piece of wood and hurl it with all your might into the flock of unsuspecting ducks, you don't even have to aim at any one duck in particular and (he reckoned) you're bound to hit one. I've since seen large flocks of ducks sitting by dams and I reckon it'd work. I do like 'duck'.
We do like duck too, Linky.
Have been to this restaurant a dozen or five hundred times and never have we ordered other than (dish 3rd from bottom) "Canard a la Montmorency".
Followed by a creme brulee ... a dessert that establishes that all's well with the world and the rest of 'em can eat cake ... or Hedgehog. (The preferred version being that devised by the antipodean Delia Smith, our very own girt by sea and Aga stove, Jean Bowring.)
Delia Smith doesn't cook on the first date. Personally I prefer two fat ladies, but that's a private matter.
Yeah, but Delia's a sticky second date pudding to die for.
A problem there Caroline, first find enough water for ducks to congregate. Have you tried testing his method?
And a word from our Melbourne Bon Vivant who gets a freebie every time he mentions that establishment on someone's blog.
Sticky date pudding and two fat ladies, that's me alright.
I never made it to a second date with Delia. She wasn't impressed by my spotted dick.
The unimpressive speckled object of ridicule that is only ever spotted by electron microscope toting twitchers.
BTW, the word verification seems to be getting longer (as opposed to Monsewer Hughes' sprat wot our Delia threw back out of her boulliabaise for being undersized) ... "iszmxmqd"
I would like to state, for the record, that Delia's disgust at my spotted dick was entirely due to her delicate constitution and the fact that my pudding was far too substantial and stodgy for her fragile digestive system. Sedgwick's toad in the hole, on the other hand, was, according to Delia later on, dribbly, unfulfilling and little more than a cocktail sausage in watery batter.
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