I was strolling through Dublin one morning last week when I popped into the National Gallery café for a bit of breakfast. This is a good deal in nice surroundings.
You get the full Irish, minus the fried egg, with toast and unlimited coffee for a fiver.
The place was buzzing with special tours taking place for Active Ageing week. One of the events was an interview by Brian Dobson, the newsreader, with Anna Manahan. I thought about taking a look, but didn’t. I was surprised to hear of her death the following Sunday morning.
I settled back with my newspaper and second cup of coffee and spotted an article on The Fat Duck restaurant in High Wycombe, near London. This is generally considered by those who know about these things to be the best restaurant in the world. It’s owned by a guy called Heston Blumenthal who’s currently hosting a very bizarre cookery programme on Channel 4, where he cooks an entirely edible garden with insects, 24 blackbirds baked in a pie, a Trojan Hog with edible intestines, an ‘ejaculating’ cake and meat that looks like a bowl of fruit.
The reason his restaurant has made the headlines is that it was closed after a number of customers claimed to be unwell after having dined there, not something you want to experience after paying £130 per head for the set menu, plus £165 for the recommended wines to go with the food. For one or two people to complain of feeling sick would be bad enough for any restaurant, but at this stage over 400 people have been throwing up their snail porridge or scrambled egg and bacon iced cream.
Other highlights on the menu include starters such as Oak Moss and Truffle Toast or Pommery Grain Mustard Ice Cream.
For a main course you could choose Roast Foie Gras “Benzaldehyde” or Salmon poached in Liquorice Gel. If you manage all that you could finish off with the Nitro-Scrambled Egg and Bacon Ice Cream or maybe the Mango and Douglas Fir Puree. I switched over during a recipe for jelly that involved fitting it with a vibrator to make it wobble on the table.
I’m a bit of a fan of all these cookery programmes. Nigella has her obvious charms, Delia has been making families feel less guilty about using jars of prepared sauces and Jamie Oliver always comes up with something that you feel you could have a go at cooking at home.
Maybe it’s an age thing but I’ve found the last series of Masterchef a lot more exciting than watching another scoreless draw in the Premier League over on Sky.
The case of the food poisoning at the Fat Duck (that would make a good title for an episode of Vultures P.I. ) goes on. The sports broadcaster, Jim Rosenthal, is not amused. His wife has been sitting on the loo for two weeks since going for a meal there and he hasn‘t had much response to his complaints. “We have heard nothing,” Mr Rosenthal told the Daily Mail. “A bowl of flowers for my wife to be sick into would have been nice.”
It sounds like just the spot to send our politicians and bankers while the rest of us get to work putting the country back on track.
Everybody likes good neighbours
We’ve been lucky with good neighbours over the years. We all get on with our busy lives, but there’s always someone to give a hand or keep an eye on each others houses when needs be.
Lately there’s been a bit of a change. The arrival of two young noisy neighbours has upset the quiet atmosphere. I don’t mind a bit of noise, but this can often start at the oddest of hours and can carry on into the morning, or even the afternoon.
I’ve taken to glaring at them, giving off my most disapproving looks and even told them to shut up, all to no avail. The worrying thing is it looks as if they’re here to stay.
I’ve been watching them though the hedge as they ramble around their garden, looking very happy with their lot. The new neighbours I refer to are a couple of cocks that have taken up residence in the old Auxiliary Hospital, just behind our house. We kept hens at home in my schooldays and my memory of any cocks was that they made a bit of noise early in the morning and then shut up for the rest of the day.
Not so with this pair. They’ve obviously never heard of cockcrow and don’t realise they’re only supposed to be heard at daybreak. Maybe it’s the lack of any female company that has them calling out at odd hours, but I’m beginning to fancy a nice bit of roast, free range chicken if they keep this racket up.
I wonder has Mr Blumenthal any recipes that would do them justice?
Things we can do without - part 5.
Ah yes, remember the good old days. Around this time of year you’d hear the stories of people heading to Cheltenham and rounding the week off with a trip to a rugby international in Edinburgh, London or Cardiff.
This year the true sports fan could add in a trip to Bari for the Ireland - Italy soccer match and finish off the spring sporting season with a weekend at the Heineken Cup final.
I can’t see too many making any, or all, of these trips this year. It’s stay at home time and support what Ivan Yates refers to as the local gambling “industry.” It’s going to be the couch, or, better still, the high stool for these great occasions. Who says the recession doesn’t have a silver lining?
