mugofstrongtea

Beer, beer, and fine times in Karlsruhe.

2012-05-29T11:09:00.000+01:00

There are times in life when you know that you are meant to be somewhere and whenever I have been to Germany/Karlsruhe with the Lace Market Theatre as I did this last week, I knew that I was meant to be there and to experience all the good things that happened to us. The ‘us’ I refer too are twenty plus people from The Lace Market Theatre in Nottingham and the ‘experience’ relates to our cultural trip every four years to perform theatre in the German city. Most of the English folk choose to be hosted by one or other of the very friendly and generous German families or individuals and I am no exception in this.

This time I was hosted by the lovely Cornelli family and couldn’t have wished for a more wonderful time. We all did our best with each other’s language in daily communication and the beer flowed each night and they were fantastic hosts. Nothing was too much trouble and they took myself and another English couple, Doreen and Fred, out to dinner on the Thursday night and we were joined by their daughter Meike. I had the zander (caught locally) cooked in butter and served with broccoli and new potatoes. Yum. Every day I had a very generous breakfast of various sorts of bread and grapefruit and cooked meats and cheese and Italian coffee. There was a local smoked ham which I particularly liked but cannot remember the name of. Perhaps Waitrose will stock it. Some days I had a boiled egg or two and this came from learning the Badisch phrase, ‘zwoi woiche Oier in oinerer Roi’ which means: Two soft eggs in a row. A tremendous amount of fun was had that week repeating this phrase (and others) to the amusement of our German friends.

There were three plays performed in Karlsruhe, Hedda Gabler at the Jakobus theatre and my play, A Chip In The Sugar and The Typists were performed at the Die Käuze theatre in Waldstadt. Each theatre provided food all week long and we (at Die Käuze) were treated to some wonderful food, including käsespätzle and salad on the first day. On the last night we had a fun party and some fantastic food laid on by the theatre.

Gordon and the explosiv curry sausage

Meanwhile in the city itself we haunted Café Bleu opposite the Jakobus theatre and lots of my friends enjoyed the ‘explosiv’ curry wurst with chips. Whenever anyone ordered a salad it was huge. My friend Mathew can be seen tucking into his burger here. Needless to say the beers flowed as it was hot weather. Well, that’s our excuse.

It was very important to try out the local brews so a small group of us, Natalia, Fraser, Michael, Graeme, Richard and myself found ourselves at the Hoepfner brewery close to city and indulged in a few beers and some chips. The waitress was a real character. After one and a half litres I had to go back and get changed and showered ready to perform my forty-five minute monologue. I think the beer gave the performance an edge it never had before. We had a lot of laughs that afternoon. I'm still laughing at Michael's impersonation of a person at the Lace Market. Sadly we weren’t around for the Burgfest.

Thorsten

One day I went out to Durlach with my good friend Thorsten Feldman and enjoyed each other’s company and some laughs going around the town and up to the Burg for a view across the town and beyond. Back down in the town we had a few drinks together in a street café, laughed privately at the musician across the street who played the same tune over and over and applauded himself!

Another day, my friend Markus and I, plus a group English and German friends took the tram out to Ettlingen, had a wander round the pretty town, indulged in some coffee and ice cream and went for lunch at the popular Vogel café, founded by Rudi Vogel and where I had two beautifully clear beers (unfiltered) and some Baurenbratwurst in biersoβ und frites, farmer’s sausage and chips with beer gravy. It was delicious and the company at our table made it even more so. Much laughter, much fun and some very nice food and beer. My friend Emma tested her strength by lifting up three steins of lager beer and posed for the camera.

Markus and me on the tram

English Emma as German barmaid

There was good selection of German food on offer including: Mälzerschnitzel. paniertes Schweineschnitzel mit Biersoße und hausgemachtem Kartoffelsalat and Salatteller mit gebratener Hähnchenbrust Blatt- und Rohkostsalate, Zwiebeln, Mais, Kräuter-Vinaigrette und Bauernbrot.

On the Friday we all took a trip out on the coach to the Black Forest where we visited the open air Schwarzwalder Freilichtmuseum – Vogtsbauernhof. We had a fantastic tour round the reconstructed farmhouses and I thought our guide Elvira was super. Lots of info about how farmers and their families formerly lived in the houses and worked their land throughout the ages and not too bogged down in historical dates. During our tour we experienced the Vogtbauernhof and the Hippenseppenhof dating from 1599. It was very interesting to hear all about the traditions and wander around the farmhouses. I particularly liked the kitchen areas that smelt strongly of woodsmoke. After the tour we went for a platter style lunch at the Falkenhof. Lots of meat and farmer’s bread and a scrumpy style cloudy apple drink called, Most.

After the meal some of went on the dry toboggan run and although I initially was going to sit this out (not fond of heights or fast moving things) I was encouraged by my friend Natalia to go on with her. Actually it was great fun and we reached the top speed!

On the last night in Karlsruhe we all gathered together, Germans and English alike for a party at the Die Käuze theatre to celebrate the twinning event and what a fantastic time we had had. The food was fabulous and the atmosphere great. Each national group presented the other with a gift as is traditional and we thanked our friends for a wonderful time and that we very much look forward to seeing our German friends when they visit us in two years time in Nottingham.

We left Karlsruhe on the Saturday morning on our coach and said a fond farewell to our German friends and I admit I got a bit weepy as I do on these fond goodbyes. I simply don’t want to leave and the people are so so friendly and welcoming to us. I even have tears running down my face as I type this up. What am I like?

The sixteen hour journey home went very quickly and the bus was buzzing with chat about what a great time we’d had and when a group of went up to the brasserie for a quiet pleasant (away from the crowds downstairs) meal the ferry crossing time just flew by and … the staff forgot to charge for my lovely meal! Bonus!

By the way I shall be writing about the theatre side of things on my other blog at http://philloweactor.com soon. After all it was the reason we went there, to share a love of theatre.

Many many thanks to Larissa and her team for their hospitality, likewise to Carsten and all at Jakobus and to Gill Scott and the LMT organisers back home. Here's to 2014! Prost! Hep's moll und net falle lasse!

one happy bunny

Cat Cafe opens in Austria

2012-05-14T14:27:00.002+01:00

What would you think about having a cat with your coffee? Fear not, cat lovers, I don't mean to eat. If you would like some cat company and live in Austria, Vienna's newest coffee house is the place to be. The cat cafes are meant to be appealing for those Austrians who cannot have pets in their apartments but like to pet cats. You can buy time with the cats and many visitors find their presence calming and enjoyable.

Six cats roam freely in Cafe Neko (Cafe Cat) on Blumenstockgasse in Vienna, ready to be stroked and cuddled - and when they are tired or bored of all the attention, they can disappear into their own space or climb high above the tables, out of reach of the guests. The cats are called Luca, Nori, Sonja, Thomas, Moritz and Momo and have all been homed from a local cat shelter and are free to roam the cafe, get fussed and take regular naps. Sounds a great life.

The owner Alexander Thuer told the Austria Press Agency that the idea was to combine coffee with pussycats and it came from his Japanese wife, Ms Takako Ishimitsu, who says such establishments are common in Asia - but quite rare in Europe. She spent three years negotiating with city officials to be allowed to have the cats on the premises and she says that she felt good doing something extra for the animal shelter that she has been supporting for many years. Alas, not all guests are welcome. Dogs, which have entry to most Viennese coffee houses, have to stay outside Cafe Neko. Woof deal huh?

Luca the cat chilling out above the guests.

Bangers and Mash with a simple difference

2012-05-11T19:58:00.003+01:00

My own version of Bangers and Mash that I created almost by accident today. Dead easy, use sweet potatoes to add a sweet flavour and deeper redder colour to the mash.A tiny amount of salad, a few leaves, on the side lifts the dish and a smigden of pickled red cabbage adds another level of colour and tastes fab. Some high quality chipolata sausages add a subtle porky touch. That's it.

Guten Appetit!

2012-05-07T15:34:00.000+01:00

This is a fun video with me demonstrating my German language skills after shopping at the Co-Op for a few bits ready to make a healthy chicken soup. Lots of veg too and pepper. Here is short list of foodstuffs in German. All nouns are written with a capital letter in German. I’m a bit obsessed with the German language at the moment as I am going to Germany on the 18^th of May to perform A Chip In The Sugar as part of a cultural exchange. See my other blog for more details.

Das Gemüse = vegetables.

Die neue Kartoffel = new potatoes.

Die Karotte = carrot

Die Tomate =tomato

Der Lauch = leek

Der Pilz = mushroom

Die Zwiebel = onion

Das Vollkornbrot = wholemeal bread

Das Brot = bread

Das Hähnchen = chicken

Die dicke Bohne = broad bean

Der Knoblauch = garlic

Das Bier = beer

Die Knabbereien = bar snacks

Die Suppe = soup

Der Gefrier – Kuhlschrank = fridge freezer

Guten Appetit = a good appetite

Today I even surprised myself by having a conversation – am telefon – with someone in Karlsruhe about the prices of tickets for travel on the tramway system in the city and the city environs. I was understood and I understood them!!!

Und nun, vorwarts gehe ich um das Hähnchen Suppe zu machen!

Parisian thoughts and lavender chicken.

2012-04-30T15:39:00.000+01:00

My bench as I poked my head of my front door at 3.33am as it poured with rain.

Today the constant rain of the last three days finally cleared up and I found time to enjoy the sunshine and do some cooking and clothes cleaning.

Had a lot of fun today semi-recreating le petit Parisian (Willy Ronis's boy with a the baguette). I got a few funny looks from passers by as I posed in the middle of the village as the Baguette Boy now grown up but I don't care. Life should be fun!

Back at home I cooked some chicken pieces in lavender and lemon having marinated the chicken in said mix for twelve hours. It was delish and many thanks to Karen who kindly sent me the lavender. The lemon was the prominent taste but I could detect the lavender pieces coming through. The recipe was one of Rachel Khoo's and I even dipped my baguette in the cooking juices and boy was the experience a goodie!!!!

Karen and Steve's lavender

The weather had cleared up from the continuous rain we've been having the last few days and I managed to get some washing out to dry on the line. I sat for a while outside on the garden bench soaking up the sun with a beer with next door's cat, Mr Harris, keeping me company and feline eyeballing a raven on the fence. You can sometimes under estimate the amount of bugs flying about on an average sunny day and most of them seemed very attracted to my orange t-shirt, so-much-so that I retired indoors after a while after getting irritated by the little devils landing all over me.

Tonight will be first time in six weeks that Rachel Khoo and her fab Parisian cookery programme won't be on the telly to watch and drool over so I have been going through my French cooking books and DVDs and would like to recommend some to you. Not all are about Paris but they are all fabulously French and would grace any Francophone's home and kitchen. Most of the books I have pictured are highly visual (lots of sumptuous photos of food and markets) and the French Odyssey DVD is a must to have. Watch it and you feel like you have been on a French holiday with Rick Stein.

Two great French based dvds

An old favourite.

Two Paris based videos I definitely recommend for any lover of Paris.

Thanks for looking in and lastly a lovely picture of some bluebells that I discovered growing at the back of my house. Life can be beautiful at times. If only I was also lingering around one of those fragrantly fresh French markets.

Making do with foodstuffs in the cupboard and freezer

2012-04-23T13:03:00.001+01:00

Clearing out the cupboards and freezer

A few weeks ago I decided that I would make some kind of effort to start eating things from the store cupboard and freezer (both tiny) to stop myself buying even more food. Can’t say that it worked 100% but I did get quite inventive with using up the bits and pieces in both storage spaces. And it was satisfying to think that I wasn't just going out buying more food that I didn't really need.

One of the things I made was a Chinese style stew with chopped up pork meat from some previous frozen pork ribs and a pork hock. Lots of spices were added like star anise and a generous amount of fresh shredded ginger. The house smelled great for days afterwards and the food was very tasty. I added fresh chunks of pineapple and mange tout.

I also cleared out the flour in my cupboard and made some Madeleine cakes and recently used up the remainder of a cooked chicken by adding some saag and korma curry sauces and spare mushrooms and freezing them for future meals.

Somewhere in the back of the freezer I discovered an old pork chop and utilised that in a nice healthy dinner the other night. Cooked it in butter and black pepper and added some slices of apple at the end of the cooking. Twas yummy.

Last night I had one of the curries I mentioned with rice and used up some bits of mango chutney and lime pickle that had been sitting in the fridge for ages. It's actually quite satisfying getting rid of old food and saving some dosh too.

Killing the first fly of Spring and other uses for newspapers!

2012-04-18T19:41:00.000+01:00

I was reading the newspaper today and out of the corner of my eye I saw the first fly of Spring. I’m not keen on flies in the kitchen and immediately I had a vivid memory of my late Dad revelling in thwacking flies and bluebottles with a rolled up newspaper (well, attempting to anyhow) and further childhood memories of mum drawing the coal fire with sheets of newspaper and making newspaper knots with old newspapers to start it going in the first place. This led to a rush of remembrances featuring newspapers from my childhood.

Newspaper hats and newspaper boats to sail down streams.

We ate fish and chips out of newspapers.

There was the family routine of buying the Daily Mirror and Sporting Chronicle and News of The World and the TV Times and Radio Times. My comics, although clearly not newspapers were the Beano, Dandy, Topper and The Valiant. My step sisters liked Bunty and Jackie and anything with the Osmonds on, the Monkies or David Essex.

A squared up newspaper would provide harsh paper squares in the toilet.

I had a newspaper round at the age of fourteen, just at the time when Sunday supplements had started. Bad timing. Bad back too.

At the age of fifteen I was told by my Dad, “Get a proper job son otherwise you’ll end up as a newspaper seller. “ In his eyes this was the lowest of the low. Don’t know why.

We’d put newspaper sheets into loose shoes to tighten them, stuff balls of newspaper into leather shoes to preserve their shape and stuff wedges of newspaper in wet shoes overnight to dry and deodorize.

a fire started with newspaper

The family cat would have its litter tray lined with newspaper sheets. This was usually old Sporting Chronicles. A subtle reflection on my Dad’s shitty luck with the bookie, perhaps.

Being keen gardeners my parents would also use it to wrap green tomatoes to ripen, cover plants during a frost and they’d shred up newspapers and cram the bits into vases to help support fresh flowers.

Like a lot of council houses, our house could often be a cold and drafty place so elements of newspaper were placed in closed windows to eliminate wind rattle and wodged under doors and in cracks to stop cold wind from coming in.

As kids myself and my step sisters would make paper chains, paper dolls, paper mâché puppets, kites and cut out articles and make a scrap book on a specific subjects of interest to us.

Many a family budgie would have its cage lined with old newspaper and many a fly would meet its end thwacked with a rolled up newspaper too.

Now where’s that fly???

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz thwack! zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Rachel Khoo and the fishmongers in Trouville

2012-04-15T20:23:00.002+01:00

Trouville sur Mer. Normandy

On Rachel Khoo’s Little Paris Kitchen programme (episode four of six) I loved the visit to Trouville’s fish market and in particular to the family run 150 year old fishmongers, Pillet – Saiter (boulevard Fernand Moureaux, 14360 Trouville sur Mer) where Rachel cooked Moules Marinières with apple cider from Normandy and finished off with a dollop of crème fraiches and wowed the family Pillet - Saiter. As the camera tracked across the counters heaving with sea bass and crevettes, langoustines and bulots cuits ie: fresh whelks I could practically smell the ozone. If you missed the programme it is still available to view on bbciplayer. Download it and view to your heart's content, like I did.

Rachel said that they had eight different types of oysters and ‘amazing looking lobsters – don’t put your fingers in there!’ Apparently one can’t get live grey shrimps in Paris and the ones she witnessed and made her so joyous, were pulled out of the water only an hour ago. Heaven!

The owner, Dominic, showed her how to cook scallops in water. Not boiled but poached for two minutes because they were so fresh and to retain their natural sweetness. She made a mustard mayonnaise thinned out with water and vinegar. Trouville was such an attractive sight and place. I wanted to get on a train and go there straight away. Why don’t we have this type of venue in the UK? Perhaps once upon a fishing industry we did.

bulots cuits

I also loved the chicken cooked with lavender and lemon and the, ash covered cheese, pistachio and prune cake, and the super looking salade composée where each item complimented another.

For more info about cooking with lavender check out this website. http://www.what-about-lavender.com/cooking_with_lavender.html

The Health and Safety Garden Party

2012-04-09T17:07:00.000+01:00

Awfully bad weather today, don’t you know. Raining cats and Dawgs. One decided that one was better orf having a day chez moi and so I dressed up for the occasion, as one does. I picked out my best cherry design bow tie to go with the cherry cake, brewed some Earl Grey tea to compliment the grey day outside and was terribly chuffed to realise that I also had some Dundee cake in. Well a “Hairy Hibernian Hurrah and Hussar!” A jolly fine, and brolly free, afternoon English tea was had by me. What? Bring on the salmon and cucumber sarnies!

Soon it will time for the Dangerous Open Gardens season when gardening enthusiast folk open their treacherous gardens so that one can cripple oneself on their crazy paving or enjoy an accidental drowning experience in their ornamental pond. Once upon a Summer I attended such an event run by the local ‘very politically correct’ Health and Safety Officers, Sue Mee and her nervous husband, Roger Mee.

Weeds (complete time wasters) were banned in the garden outright. Every single flower and blade of grass had a label warning of a myriad of possible health hazards if fondled, sniffed or eaten and Roger Mee spent the afternoon warding off unsuitable types of all three sexes who had mistaken his name for a come on.

Dundee cake

The Indian tea (collected from a plantation run by the Sponsor a Deprived Third World Hillside Charity) was nice enough as were the dainty egg and organic cress sandwiches exclusively made with gluten free bread (just in case someone, somewhere was allergic). The bread crusts had been cut off, not for aesthetics but to prevent libel action should someone chip a tooth or choke. To further prevent libel they had been bagged up and frozen for safe removal by Mr Crusty the Environmentalist from the Borough Council. The collected crusts would then be assembled into an Igloo shape, re-frozen and delivered by Yak to the Eskimos as a way of saving snow and also persevering their way of life. The whole scheme was run by Upper Crusts Save the Igloos Campaign.

The eggs had been laid that morning on the Mee allotment by deliriously happy hens and had been checked by an Eggspert (Sally Monella) before being boiled and buffeted. The garden party seemed to be going well so far.

Sadly, the tempestuous, Sue Mee, did eventually have a hissy fit when some poor, innocent, chap complimented her on the ‘pretty in pink’ cupcakes. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I made the effing cakes!” said she, cleaving the trestle table in two with a fist of iron. For a moment in time the sky looked full of cupcakes and fine china. Sue Mee stormed off. Someone that it was all a ‘storm in a teacup’. Sue was last seen skulking in the dark scullery resembling Medusa on a bad hair day. Roger Mee was last seen being chased across the patio by a large amorous poodle.

They haven’t organised a tea party since. Roger has subsequently re-married and he and Dolores, the poodle, are very happy together. His cupcakes are legendary.

Sometimes good things come from annoying things

2012-04-08T13:56:00.001+01:00

All I did was try to add another gadget to my old format blog and the system decided to delete my sidebar! Well, that's what I thought was le case. What had actually happened was the sidebar had been shifted to the bottom of my blogposts where no-one could see it. Many Zuts Alors! I tried all sorts (not the liquorish type) to get it back to normal but nothing would do the trick.

Then I thought I would change the format and played around with a few in the 'dashboard'. Widen left side, widen right side, throw laptop at wall. Nothing pleased me.

Then I tried Dynamic and had a look through some of the options. I miss the option for header pictures but the rest is pretty cool and I get to answer each comment individually to like on some other blogs I've seen. I'll see how it goes. You, as the reader can also read the blog in different formats and the search option is still at the top of the page. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

My Little Frenchy Kitchen

2012-04-03T16:47:00.000+01:00

Entranced by another episode of ‘The Little Paris Kitchen’ featuring Rachel Khoo last night I thought I’d show off my French styled kitchen and the various objects I have collected over the years to feed my love of all things French. Alas, I live in rural Nottinghamshire not Paris but one can dream.

I had a bit of a tidy before I took the pictures and the interior isn’t as charmingly chaotic as Rachel Khoo’s tiny Parisian kitchen but it suits me. I sometimes listen to French radio stations (online) as I cook as a bit of fun background noise. My language skills aren’t enough to understand half of what is being said but I like the French sounds and get some of it. And when I’ve had a few glasses of Merlot I feel that I could walk out of the door and be in Paris itself.

Not that I’m obsessed or owt but, over the years, I have also built up a collection of modern French music on CDs and a movable feast of French language DVDs most of which seem to feature the lovely Audrey Tautou. Odd that. And then there’s a collection of books for Francophiles covering every aspect of French life and a big pile of France magazines and more cookery books about French Cooking. Oooh la la!

I was going to list them for you but got inspired to create an Eiffel Tower out of some of them instead. More fun.

I think I’m going to have severe withdrawal symptoms when Rachel Khoo’s six part programme is finished. I do hope that a video is produced. Last night’s programme interested me as a butcher because she went to the largest wholesale food market in Rungis, south of Paris and wowed the butchers (all but one) with her version of Steak Tartare. I also loved the cheeses at the award winning cheese shop and what she did with the goat’s cheese.

Tonight I am cooking a lemon and thyme chicken with some simple roasted vegetables. At the time of writing this it is still in the oven and smells great.

Fierce dogs and a meal at Cafe Rouge

2012-04-02T11:04:00.000+01:00

My best friend Janette and I went out on a day trip to the city of Birmingham (UK) on Saturday and had a fun time being tourists and we ate lunch at one of the Café Rouge restaurants at Brindley Place near to the canal system and around the corner from the famous Ikon Gallery. We managed to get the train fares for a ridiculously cheap price which was just as well as the price for lunch came as a bit of surprise for us! Curse those desserts!!

In the morning we cruised around the New Street branch of Waterstones’ bookshop (fab staircase) and promised ourselves to come back on the way to the railway station and pick up some great French style wrapping paper featuring Paris. In the meantime we headed for what we thought was the right direction of Selfridges and had to ask two local lasses for directions. "Just head for the Bull n' yo'll be there."

When we eventually found it, we were disappointed to be unimpressed with Selfridges’ Food Hall. It seemed to be lots of overpriced boxes of chocolates and a big area dedicated to wine. There were a few eateries and the only redeeming feature was the counter with the cakes and macaroons. Janette was tempted to purchase a selection of these to try later as she is considering making some herself.

Much more interesting and lively was the open market close to the Bullring and it had great atmosphere with the fruit and veg stall holders calling out their wares. Birmingham is a very multi-cultural city and this ethnicity was reflected in the shoppers, the foodstuffs on offer and the area itself around the rag market and the open food market.

A walk in the light rain back though the city centre, via a great statue of the Birmingham reformer and philanthropist Thomas Attwood and past the new library being built near the Rep and on through to the canal area where there are plenty of restaurants to choose from. By the time we got there the drizzle had stopped.

You just want to put a banana in his hand.

We had already decided to go to Café Rouge (one of three in the city centre). The service was excellent and we had a convivial time together chatting, eating and people watching. For those of you on Facebook check out Café Rouge at this link. http://www.facebook.com/#!/caferouge.co.uk Otherwise go to www.caferouge.co.uk for more details of branches in your area.

For a starter I had ‘Moules Marinières’ - mussels steamed with lots of garlic, shallots, white wine and cream served with French bread. Janette went for the veggie option of ‘Feuilleté de Champignons’ - seasonal sautéed mushrooms with a garlic and cream sauce in a puff pastry

My main was a ‘Saumon à la Niçoise’ described as a - pan-roasted fillet of salmon on a classic Niçoise salad of potato, anchovy, egg and black olive with mixed leaves dressed in a light vinaigrette. The salmon was ok but a bit tough and dry on the ends.

Likewise, Janette said she enjoyed her pasta with goat’s cheese and spring onions and olives but there was a bit too much chilli for her taste.

You have to have a dessert don’t you? We opted for the classics: a Crème Brûlée made with vanilla pods and cream (Janette) and I indulged in the Coupe Rouge, a sundae of white chocolate flake, ice cream and a tangy raspberry sorbet, topped with fresh strawberries, blueberries and light crème fraîche with a warm red fruit coulis.

The service at this branch of Cafe Rouge on Brindley Place was excellent and we both agreed, in that respect, that it was much better than the one in the centre of Nottingham. Zuzanna, our waitress couldn't have been better and changed my tepid coffee on request without fuss. What they thought of us photographing the food, I don't know. I expect lots of nutty people do it.

After a coffee and a hot chocolate we paid the bill and headed for the Ikon Gallery around the corner and were met with a scene looking like The United Nations of little dogs. Bizarre!! Check out this website and you may be slightly wiser about Fierce at Live Art project. http://www.brindleyplace.com/event/fierce-festival/

During the visit we had a look around the Ikon Gallery and the Birmingham City Gallery (lovely old fashioned tearooms) and both took a fair amount of photos. Early in the day, on our search for Selfridges, we popped into Louis Vuitton to look at a handbag that cost over a thousand pounds. Well dear reader, it did have a hand stitched logo. My dear old Dad would have been flabbergasted at this (the price, not the hand stitching) and if it had been purchased he would have puffed out his cheeks and said one of his stock phrases, “They saw you coming!”

On the theme of ‘stock’ we also popped into the Old Joint Stock pub that was formerly a bank and admired the décor. http://www.oldjointstocktheatre.co.uk/rte.asp?id=10

Also, earlier in the day, we had spotted a vendor selling pretzels and we called back on route to the train station to pick one up for Janette’s hubby Rick. It was from Ditsch, a company I’d never heard of and looking on their website they appear to do a pizza in the shape of a pretzel. Can’t say that it appeals though. The pretzel itself (we got two) was very nice, as was the day out with my best friend Janette.

Happy in Cafe Rouge

Janette doesn't like having her photo taken

Chartier. Paris.

2012-03-29T21:43:00.000+01:00

After watching another glorious Rachel Khoo programme set in Paris I started thinking about previous times I had visited this stunning city and places I had eaten. One of the predominant memories was that of the restaurant Chartier.

I’ve eaten at Chartier twice in my life. The first time was back in 1990 on an Arts student vacation in Paris. I went with the tutors and some of the other mature students on recommendation of Susan Croft, one of my drama tutors. I wasn’t the huge Francophile I am these days but I certainly appreciated the atmosphere in the restaurant and the history of the place. There was an element of excitement about eating in the busy restaurant and the fun aspect of the likelihood that you may have to share a table with strangers.

Quote from their website: ‘ In 1896, the Bouillon Chartier was born out of a very simple concept – provide a decent meal at a reasonable price and give customers good service in order to earn their loyalty. 50 million meals, and only four owners later, the recipe is still every bit as much a success.’

More from their website: ‘Enter the large, legendary, historically listed dining room. Have a seat at a table and take the time to admire the famous sideboards where regulars kept their own, personal napkins and the painting by Germont, who gave it to the establishment as payment for his debt there. Watch the elegant to and fro of servers dressed in black vests and white aprons, unmatched for their efficiency. And then get ready to delight your taste buds! The dishes are traditional but with a wide range of choices at frankly unbeatable prices. Enjoy leeks vinaigrette, hard-boiled eggs with mayonnaise, vegetable soup or snails for starters; meat, fish or stews simmered to perfection come next. The menu is a long one, the meals are authentic and the mains are around €10. You can be sure that what you’re getting is quality, too as their suppliers are consistent and always among the best. For dessert, treat yourself to the famous home-made Chantilly cream; you won’t find it anywhere else. In fact, no matter what you’re seeking at Chartier, you probably won’t find it anywhere else… because there’s only one Paris, only one 9th arrondissement and only one Bouillon Chartier.’

this is the menu in my kitchen with original French Francs

The second time was with my wife at the time and we were on our honeymoon in June of 1997. I had walked the poor woman all over Paris in my enthusiasm to show her the city of light which I love, and she was complaining about her blisters and after a day in and around Montmartre we finally descended on Chartier mid afternoon and had a lovely time. As well as gorging on the lovely food we also had three or four Kir Royales and wobbled out of the restaurant very happy bunnies. The Chartier menu got framed up and has all the prices in French Francs. I notice that the menus now have Bouillon at the top as opposed to restaurant was it was advertised in the past. "Bouillon" = a mixture of meat and vegetables.

An interesting aspect of the restaurant are the afore-mentioned famous wooden racks with numbered drawers laid out along the room. These symbols of Chartier, as old as the restaurant itself, relate to when every customer had its own napkin and could store it in the numbered drawers.

Alain Ducasse in his restaurant based tome ‘J’aime Paris’ says about Chartier that: ‘This reasonably priced restaurant has always had bouillon as its signature dish, a broth made from meat and vegetables served directly at the table. Chartier is popular for its unusual mix of bistro cooking and opulent theatrical décor. As if seated in a velvet lined box you can appreciate this quality by simply biting into an egg with mayonnaise. Canteen style dishes are the order of the day, with grated carrots and cucumber and cream. The menu scrawled on a tablecloth is almost worth framing.’

And I did!!!

People watching in the Family Café

2012-03-26T13:04:00.000+01:00

Last Thursday I worked my late shift at Tesco and arrived at the shop half an hour before I was due to start work. I fancied a coffee and sat for a while with a cappuccino in the Family Café that the customers and visitor’s use. It was fairly relaxing and I spent the time people watching and recorded my observations on my Dictaphone. It looks like a mobile so I get away with talking to myself most of the time. It was fun observing people and it seemed a good thing to write about for a blogpost. Part of me wished I had my camera with me but I didn’t and in retrospect it’s better that I didn’t bring it out in such a close public space and draw attention to myself.

Here are my embellished notes on the people around and some quick drawings done afterwards.

I spy two women in their mid thirties perhaps, both wearing spotty blouses, one woman’s spots were bigger than the other’s. Both have a hair flicking habit and the one facing me has a very big smile. Big spots’ laptop is half open or half closed dependent on your viewpoint. Small spots’ folder is fully open. Generously open. They both have mineral water and cupcake crumbs.

On another table by the window pale sunlight is coming through. Here are two Turkish looking ladies, both enormous, being kitted out in several layers of clothing making their heads look small. Both ladies heads are covered in headscarves, one red one black. Thought they must be bloody boiling sitting in the sun with all these layers on. Young boy in a blue scary devil’s mask that’s too big for his head. Boy is turning his head away from the spoonful of baked beans that he is being offered by the woman in the black headscarf. The sunlight streaming through the dirty window is making his little ears look bright red. Now he’s über reluctantly having his face wiped by one of the women. They are rubbing hard to remove a mixture of baked bean and something purple, maybe his drink.

Another two women sit nearby (much younger and assumedly English) and are facing each other at another table by the window and although I hadn’t got my camera it would have made a great photo as they both have bottles of orange juice and I could just imagine the photo of them in silhouette with the orange bottles shining like day-glow orange in the middle. Swirly waves of design on the window behind them.

Trying hard not to be staring at the Lolita family behind me. They have a young daughter about fourteen or fifteen dressed in a dress design that is more suitable for a woman a lot older than her, or a pubescent prostitute trying to look eighteen, badly. Actually she is barely dressed at all and displaying to the world her youthful naked shoulders and arms and a pink bra strap that has fallen out of supportive position. She has enormous eyes and wild looking tussled hair, bright red lipstick, and is sitting drinking a milk shake through a pink lipstick stained straw. Get her some heart shaped sunglasses and a lollipop and you would have jail bait disaster on a plate. Mum and Dad are with her and her little sister.

Moving swiftly away from the teenage temptress, I spot a father and daughter over on the next table by the window. The daughter looks in her mid to late forties and her bespectacled head is arched over to the left whilst she talks to her dad on the opposite side of the table. Her hair is going prematurely grey and she constantly pushes the glasses back on to the bridge of her nose as if they are about to fall off. Both figures drum alternately with their fingers on the table. Her fingers appear to be painted with henna and her clothes are quite artistic and new hippy style. The old man seems to think that ‘muted and grubby’ are this season’s colours and he slurps his tea so loudly I can hear him four tables away.

A very tiny and giggly little blonde haired girl totters past sporting a diddy rucksack with a bumble bee design. She is about two or three years old. Doting Mummy and Daddy are just ahead and swoop her lovingly up and place her gently in the supermarket trolley for a ride around Tesco.

On the other end of the age scale a doddery old dear in racing green also performs her version of the ‘tottering’ walk towards me. Only she is carrying a tray with tea cups, a jug of milk and a hot pot of tea and a generous slab of fruitcake; the latter item, to match her personality. She has the ‘granny grin’ that a lot of pensioners have. This is a practically permanent smile showing off her loose dentures and a small shred of lettuce from last night’s tea. The tray’s contents are sliding dangerously toward the café floor only to be pulled back at the last minute by the old lady. I notice that she is wearing her slippers from home, and they don’t match. Thankfully the perilous porter’s progress passes by and the drinks arrive intact on the table top behind me.

In the electrical section a boy child screams at the top of his shrill voice. I shudder, finish my coffee and head off to work.

Rachel Khoo and fun in the kitchen

2012-03-20T08:33:00.001Z

Well, what a fun day I had yesterday. A full day off work (first in two weeks) and a full day in the kitchen with a break when I popped into Nottingham to buy a copy of Rachel Khoo’s book, The Little Paris Kitchen. Whilst in town I had a café complet style late breakfast in Café Rouge as a treat.

Back in the kitchen I made some Madeleine cakes and gave the mixture a real good fluffing up with a fork and the result was perfect Madeleines! The secret is to not overfill the shell like trays and to whisk the mixture well before cooling it in the fridge. Mine were lemony though I did like Rachel Khoo’s take on the classic French cakes by adding a raspberry and filling it with lemon curd. Hmmm!

I also made a loaf of bread from a packet and salivated over three sirloin steaks before putting them in the freezer for another day. In between cooking I got on with some clothes washing and ironing and took a dish of Madeleine cakes round to my neighbour Jo as a late birthday present.

Later on I checked out my Facebook page and saw a link to a ‘just for fun’ competition run by the Royal Ballet. They wanted people to send a video of themselves performing a grand jeté (big leap) for a Royal Ballet Live event on Friday 23^rd March. It didn’t matter if you couldn't dance (that’s handy) and to make it fun. So I got out my tutu – like you do – and made a silly video. It might be too long as they only wanted 30 seconds but it was fun to mess about. By the way – in case you are now worried why Phil would have a tutu – I found it on top of a post box early one frosty morning as I was going to work and kept the lacy thing to decorate my lectern for A Christmas Carol. There you go.

My day was full of anticipation because in the evening the BBC were showing a new programme called The Little Paris Kitchen and it looked right up my rue. Paris, lovely home cooked food, and a very beautiful and talented presenter, Rachel Khoo.

On Sunday night I had made a big pot of Moroccan lamb stew after coming home from a day’s work and it wasn’t ready until about 9.30pm and I just didn’t feel like eating so late so I left it to cool down and went to bed. Last night I heated it up and it was delicious and I still have enough left for two more meals.

So, back to Monday night. Half past eight finally arrived and I sat down to watch Rachel’s programme. Superb!!! A feast for the eyes, and then there was Paris in the background. I want the video now!!! I loved the bee hives on top of a grand building in Paris and the views of the markets around the 13^th arrondisment and her no messing cooking style and enthusiasm. I was licking my lips by the end of the programme and was gutted when the half hour had finished. Encore! Encore! I might well watch it again on BBCiplayer. Might well? Who am I kidding? I WILL be watching it again on BBCiplayer.

Funny names for Fish and Chip shops

2012-03-19T09:16:00.000Z

‘Oh my Cod!!!! A Fish called Rhondda!

I was in discussion with my friend Paul about Chip Shops that have amusing names and so came about a madcap look at random Chip Shops around the East Midlands and beyond that have funny names. I promise you that I haven’t made any of these up. Cod’s honest truth.

A Fish called Rhondda (Ton Pentre, South Wales.), Oh My Cod (Hornchurch)

I found a number of 'Codfather' chippies.

'A Salt N Battered' was to be found in London road, Sheffield and in nearby Walkley, Sheffield was Codrophenia. (ref: Quadrophenia by The Who)

The others I found by chance through a random search on the internet. However I have to thanks Paul for the first one ‘In Cod We Serve’ and ‘apparently’ it appeared in the film Brassed Off.

In Cod We Serve. (Grimethorpe), The In Plaice (Clifton, Nottingham), Mr Chips (Grimsby), Frying Nemo (Goole), Moby Nick’s (Bradford), The Hippy Haddock (Halifax) Ickys (Leeds) Would you want to eat there?, Codley’s (Keighly) O'my Cod Fish and Chips, (Majorca), The Frying Squad (Northern Ireland) Battersea Cod's Home (Sheffield), Flippers Fish Bar (Hythe)

Several cases of Friar Tuck or Fryer Tuck in the Midlands.

Fishcotheque (London), The Laughing Halibut (London),Hedgehogs (Folkstone) Road kill alternative?

The Happy Haddock (Brighouse), Wi’bits (Huddersfield), The Fryer (Humberston – Grimsby), Salt and Battery (Barnetby), Cod n’ Cockerel (Skeggy), Goodbuy Mr Chips (Derby), Friendly Fryer (Burton Upon Trent), Tasty Plaice (Eastwood – Nottingham)

There were many many, Crest of the Wave’s and Steve’s Fish ‘n Chips Bars.

Cods Scallops (Nottingham), Frydays (Swadlincote), Simply Fishy (Nottingham)

Great British Invention (East Leake), Frying Squad (Alfreton), Atlantis (Hucknall)

Chippy Shoppy (Nottingham), Trawler’s Catch (Loughborough)

Jolly Fryer (Kirby in Ashfield), Market Plaice Fish Restaurant (Sutton in Ashfield)

Harbour’s Fish Bar (Market Harborough), Poseidon Fish Bar (Leicester)

Hi Tide Fish Bar (Enderby, Leicester), Pisces Fish and Chips (Earl Shilton , Leicester)

Mermaid Fish Bar (Oakham), The Wise Plaice (Melton Mowbray),The Codfather (Ryde – Isle of Wight), Codrophenia (Sheffield), Codfellas (Chesterfield), Fishy Business (Uttoxeter)

Spuds Place (Walsall), Rock and Sole Plaice (London),Fish Bone (London)

Ye Old Chippery (Barnet), Chips and Things (Dyfed), The Contented Sole (Dyfed)

Sglodion Y Sgwar (llanybydder)

Do you know of any others?

A Chip In The Sugar - rehearsal process

2012-03-13T18:41:00.001Z

At the moment I am two weeks into my ad hoc rehearsal schedule in learning Alan Bennett’s ‘A Chip In The Sugar’ monologue. My pet name for this foolhardy project is ‘Chip’ and it is going to Germany in May alongside another short play called, ‘The Typists’. In my enthusiasm to perform, I blithely ignored the realistic fact that this humorous and pathos filled theatrical piece from Bennett’s original Talking Heads TV series is actually sixteen pages long and forty minutes in performance on me tod!!! Proverbial light comes on when Phil realises a monologue is one person talking! Alone! On stage! Without a script!

possible poster option (visuals)

In this case, the monologue has the main character of Graham, an older gay man with mental health problems, living with his elderly mother who has met up with an old flame, a Mr Frank Turnbull , and is courting him despite her own problems with a failing memory. I have chosen to use differing voices for the various characters in the storytelling unlike Bennett who originally played Graham himself and all of the other characters with his own iconic voice. Both work equally well in performance and the writing is undeniably Alan Bennett in style; laconic, Yorkshire through and through, and witty, very witty indeed, and also full of understanding for human frailties.

another possible poster option (visuals)

It is a joy to try and learn and even though there are lots of ‘she said – he said - Mr Turnbull/Mother saids’ liberally scattered throughout the piece they are a part of the rhythm of the theatrical writing and though these interjections may seem odd to an actor, at first, they actually work very well. They help create a rhythm, a pace and a balance.

Like any comedy, a lot of the performing does rely on being aware of where the laughs/chuckles are likely to occur and whilst rehearsing I have left a short space after the punch lines to practice, (albeit sans audience) the art of remembering the pick-up lines or the proceeding passage and story development. To help me with the rehearsal process I have recorded the piece with my Dictaphone and put it on a CD to play again and again at home and get me used to the story and the pace of its’ telling. I have also kept a copy on the Dictaphone itself to listen to during the day via a set of newly purchased headphones. I think that I am now the official ‘nutter on the bus’ who mutters to himself on the 6am Indigo bus to work each morning and during the day, at work itself. Paul, the chap on the fish counter, next to me at work, almost knows the script as well as me, so much has he heard it, or incorrect versions of it. I hope I haven’t bored the poor fellow to death. I have noticed that he has been fondling the knives rather a lot lately and has gained a rather twitchy, dangerous look in his eyes. Maybe he has a cold coming on.

I am often tired after a day’s work and don’t always feel inclined to spend the evening rehearsing and getting frustrated with myself because the lines aren’t coming out right, so I rehearse as and when the energy or enthusiasm is with me. I am enjoying the rehearsal process and the humour of the piece so I do try and find time to devote to learning it. The fact that I really need to be ready by the end of April (my deadline) spurs me on. Come June I will look back with astonishment that I managed to learn it all and perform successfully in Karlsruhe!

The script itself has a lot of repetition throughout and it is easy to find oneself verbally leaping on to another section in the story so concentration is paramount and doing one’s best to be true to every word and inflection helps build confidence in the piece. Without sounding immodest I often give myself a mental ‘slap on the back’ when I think that I am getting stronger in the recalling and performing without the script in front of me. Any actor would agree that these moments of freedom from eye-balling or gripping desperately on to the script are scary but also a very satisfying part of the rehearsal process.

I mark up the script itself to remind myself of my own verbal errors (the odd word wrong or slight paraphrasing) and to illuminate links from one ‘idea’ within the storytelling to another. A good example of this last notion would be that Graham mentions his mother sitting on the cold pavement and in the next breath says, ”Come on Mother, we don’t want piles!” The link being that a cold bum might give her piles. The additional fact that pile and pavement both begin with P helps to cement the script memory too. Additionally, I often try to visualise the scene like a mini movie in my head and find this helps and I am prone to making little drawings in the margin to remind me of the thread and order of the prose.

in the original the marking and drawings were in red.

At this stage of writing this up (mid March 2012) I am confident in the first six pages. Only ten more to go!!!

For anyone who has ever used loo paper.

2012-03-09T21:37:00.015Z

In case you didn’t know, the Romans were all happy to share an open communal toilet and defecate in full sight of each other. Lovely. Qui peto laboro una , deleo una.

In Roman advertising,, would their sponge on a stick be described as? ‘Salty, stingy but it does the job and less rough than sand’. Try Titus Andrex’s - New Roman Sponge sticks in three different colours. Made for sharing. Because you are worth it Centurions.

As a recent visit to the supermarket proved to me, we are very pampered and want our toiletry to be as comfortable as possible and possibly to colour match the bathroom curtains and the puppy. ‘A touch of luxury . Andrex limited collection, bright and bold, a little touch of contemporary style.’ A limited collection of toilet paper? It’s going to get flushed down the loo. What next? Bog roll as Art? Limited Edition, papier de toilette as seen hanging in the Louvre?

What big softies we are now! When ah were a lad we used the Sporting Chronicle and Daily Mirror pages to clean up the proverbial family bottom. If you were lucky! Sometimes we’d have to stoop to The Sun. Times were hard.

A part quote from the Nouvelle toilet tissue website illuminated that:

‘Nouvelle has found that softness is the most important thing that consumers look for when they choose a toilet tissue, so they have strived to provide a soft and luxurious paper for their customers.

The traditional image of toilet tissue made from recycled paper is that it is less soft than toilet tissue made from virgin pulp. (Virgin pulp is made from newly harvested trees, sawmill off cuts and forest thinning or short rotation cropping such as Eucalyptus).

And all research supported this view until they developed the Softest Ever Nouvelle, which they introduced in July 2000. In blind consumer tests, new Nouvelle was described as much softer than any Nouvelle they had made before, and also softer than a major virgin pulp brand. It was also seen to be the best value for money.’

Loo roll art

A blind consumer test? How did that work?

“Ok, Mr and Mrs Average, pants down and put these blindfolds on. Comfy? Have a good poop and try out these different bog roll papers. You’ll be pleased to know that there will be wet wipes somewhere along the way. Something to look forward too. Don’t be shy now. Nobody’s watching. Ready?”

The advertising nowadays offers a bewildering variety of choices featuring - Indulgent softness – thicknesses of paper - moist toilet paper - flushable toilet wipes - gorgeous comfort quilt - super softy toilet tissue - three layers of velvety softness and a touch of shea butter, as opposed to a smearing of Tesco’s Value butter, I guess.

Then we get all medical and botanic (it’s fecking loo roll for God’s sake!!) - Andrex skin kind with Aloe and vitamin E - Regina, chamomile soft toilet tissue - Enriched with genuine balm - Helping to protect the world’s trees – kind to Andrex puppies. Couchelle, get your derriere wiped by a happy koala bear.

And as the Nouvelle folk said we want soft soft soft and thick. It’s gotta be thick and quilty. Nobody wants to poke the poo as they wipe, do they? I know, it's a disgusting thought, but you laughed didn’t you? And I've never seen any toilet paper advertised as 'So thin it hurts.'

‘Nouvelle. How on earth did they get it so soft?’

‘Andrex classic white, soft strong and very long.’

‘Andrex, gorgeous comfort quilts.’

‘Velvet, soft, soft, soft, three layers of velvety softness.’

‘8 out of ten people prefer new softer velvet as compared with old triple velvet.’

‘ Lambi – so soft, you’ll want to clean up your bottom on sheep. (I made that up, but back in the day lamb’s wool was used as a toilet paper.)

Prior to toilet paper, these civilizations/classes commonly opted for the following:

- Wealthy Romans -Wool, rosewater
- Public Restrooms in Ancient Rome- A sponge soaked in salt water, on the end of a stick
- Wealthy French – lace, wool and hemp; bidet
- Middle Ages – hayballs, a scraper/gompf stick kept in a container in the privy
- Early Americans – rags, newsprint, paper from catalogues, corncobs, and leaves
- Viking Age/England- discarded sheep and lambs wool
- Hawaiians – coconut shells
- Eskimos – snow and Tundra moss
- India – your left hand and water
- Commoners – Defecating in the river is very common
- Sailors from Spain/Portugal – frayed end of an old anchor line
- Medieval Europe- Straw, hay, grass, gompf stick
- United States – Corn cobs, Sears Roebuck catalogue, mussel shell, newspaper, l eaves, sand
- British Lords – pages from a book
- Elite citizens – Hemp & wool

Happy wiping!

Now that's what I call a display!!!

2012-03-05T10:05:00.006Z

Some images today mainly from former Dewhursts the Master Butchers' shops around the UK. The patriotic displays would have been created around the time Charles and Diana got married. When I speak to some of my younger friends in their twenties they have no idea to whom I am referring when I mention J H Dewhurst. "Was he a DJ?" one asked.

A Dewhurst the Butcher's shop used to be on practically every High Street in most towns and cities in the UK up until the early 1990s. I worked for them for about six years in Derby. I never got involved in displays as elaborate as these ones but we prided ourselves on creating an attractive display of meat every working day. See this earlier blog linked below for further enlightenment.

Fit as a butcher's dog - the Dewhurst years.

The PILE IT HIGH approach.

Bye Bye Family Butcher

The birthday boy thinks about ways of getting fitter.

2012-02-27T17:46:00.080Z

Today my birthday age matches the year in which I was born. I am now 56 and was born in 1956. Only once will that happen in my life unless I survive to 2056. So happy birthday to me and thankyou to all my Facebook friends for your birthday wishes and thanks too to those who have sent cards and thanks to Rick and Janette who are taking me out for a meal tonight at Piccolino's in Nottingham. http://www.piccolinorestaurants.co.uk/nottingham.html

I'm not a sporty person, you have to know that about me. At school I was crap at the egg and spoon race, skipping was a nightmare of bad co-ordination, near self strangulation and savage rope burns and I almost broke an ankle in a rather rough sack race event when two of the fattest boys in the class for twelve year olds fell over in front of me ( I was third from last anyway) and I went arse over juvenile tit and spent two weeks off school getting familiar with constant bags of ice cubes around my practically frozen purple and blue coloured right ankle. The two fat boys, Toby and Terry Jenkins just bounced away without injury. At senior school I cried off all ball sports, was terrified about vaulting the horse, and jumping hurdles. I refused to climb the rope ladders due to a terror of heights and more rope burns and the only sport I excelled in was cross country running. I was surprisingly good at this and loved to splosh through wet fields and hidden amounts of dog poo and run down country lanes in willy exposing shorts and floppy green flash tennis shoes. Nothing better than a scolding hot shower to ease those muscle aches and wash away the mud from my skinny legs. After school I got interested in cycling for fun and for a while followed the Milk Race and The Tour de France in the media if not on my bike itself.

Then the seventies arrived and me and mate enrolled in a Shukokai karate class for a while because we were big Bruce Lee fans and couldn't find a Kung Fu class in Derby at the time. We lived, breathed and idolised Bruce Lee and loved to watch the TV series, Kung Fu, too. The karate classes were physically tough and we didn't stay long. At home my Dad suggested I use his abandoned Bullworker to build up some muscle. I over did it and put my back out for the first time in my life.

Crossing the channel

hmmm, sexy shorts.

It wasn't that I hadn't been adventurous.I loved to go hiking for miles and, by my mid thirties, I'd been caving and sailed in a yacht across the English channel to Cherbourg and back and almost got the crew and myself marooned near the Isle of Wight. Later in life I took up Tai Chi and loved the slow exercise and only really finished the classes due to not being able to afford them, being out of work at the time.

Today I have been amusing myself by taking photos and thinking up ways of exercise that I could adopt to get myself fitter.

extreme ironing

weight lifting

orienteering

indoor running on the spot

Spatula tennis

Horse riding

Skate boarding! This is the shot seconds before I fell off the skate board.

fell walking

naturist cycling

hugging competitions

Men's Health magazine exercises

barefoot wet rocks walking

dry land swimming

And so back to my birthday. Thanks to Rick and Janette for a lovely evening out tonight. Fabulous company as always.

Pass me the walking frame now...

2012-02-20T12:29:00.046Z

At the end of this month I'm fifty-six years old. As a small child I would have thought this age to be cobweb covered ancient. Beyond ancient - almost one hundred, give or take a year as percieved from my naive nine year old's advantage point.. If you could see me right now typing away with the heating on full, slumped on the settee, still in my dressing gown and it being well past midday; feeling yucky with a runny nose, head cold and a glass of medicinal Jack Daniels by my side (courtesy of kind neighbour - by the way) you might well believe my smug childhood self was correct.

smug little git

Today I lost my glasses three times and couldn't find the house key more than once and got bad tempered when I continually struggled to put on my boxer shorts without toppling over. The proceedure took three wobbly goes in all. We don't even talk about putting on socks without straining my back. When I get the left sock on it is a miracle of acheivement on the lines of the discovering the Americas or a cure for the common cold. The right one takes a decade longer to put on and then, frustratingly, I find it is inside out. And this action of 'putting on the socks' entails more huffing and puffing action than the Wolf did oustide the home of the Three Little Pigs.

Painting a good picture aren't I? Attractive huh?

What ever happened to all those years ago when I would run for fun, miles and miles, in tennis pumps! And cycle, again miles and miles up and down the hills of Derbyshire, for the simple joy of it all. Wind in me hair and all that. Hair, aaah, hair, down the proverbial plughole of life it has gorn. One day Leo Sayer, next day Jean Luc Picard without the six pack. Or a Next Generation Starship Enterprise for that matter.

My friend Rebecca cutely refers to my sixty pack as my Buddha Belly. I have trained for many years inbibing beer to get to this level of tummy so I must surely be credited with some honour in this regard. As they say in the Far East: the Budai figure generally represents happiness and the same reason praying brings miracles, rubbing the figure brings luck. Form an orderly queue here.

I previously mentioned hair.

Question:How come hair won't grow on a large proportion of the rear of my head but will grow in abundance from my ears and nose? And why is there one very wirey hair that insists on growing in the middle of the bald spot when all its fellow hairs gave up the ghost many years ago? AND, more importantly WHY does Leo Sayer STILL have a full head of hair forty years on? I bought all his bloody albums for God's sake. Ungrateful bastard!

Answers on a postcard to Age Concern c/o Phil Lowe please.

Going for a siesta now. Make sure nurse has my hot milk ready for when I return.

Phil Lowe, A Very Hungry Englishman.

2012-02-17T21:18:00.002Z

I’m thoroughly enjoying Raymond Blanc’s journey through his favourite culinary regions of France. In the BBC 2 series, The Very Hungry Frenchman, Raymond travels to five regions of France, takes over a restaurant and cooks the special dishes of that area. So far three programmes have been broadcast and in each one I would have loved to been by his side meeting all the people passionate about the food of France.

The episodes I have seen so far have Raymond and his two helpers Kush and Katy from Le Manoir Aux Quat’Saisons travelling to Lyon, where he meets up with his friend and award winning chef Paul Bocuse and indulges in the superb chocolate the city is famous for. They made a crumble with it and served it to their guests in a bouchon – a typical rustic Lyonnais restaurant. They also made a very light pike quenelle which was very much admired as well as poached egg Lyonnais salad. The programme also extolled the quality of the Bresse chickens which can fetch up around Forty pounds apiece. The modern Paul Bocuse market looked fantastic as did the city of Lyon itself. Somewhere I must visit some day.

Out of the three episodes that have been shown the first was in Franche Compté where we get to meet one of the biggest influences of Raymond’s life, his mother. This was the region where Raymond grew up and the region where he discovered a passion for gastronomy as his mother’s helper and where he would roam the forests, foraging for everything – wild asparagus, snails, frogs, eggs, mushrooms and berries. Oooh la la!

Then, says Raymond, “After hours of hunting and gathering, I’d run home to devour bread with butter and Maman Blanc’s jams. We kept rabbits, but they were for the table and whenever one was served my mother had tears running down her cheeks and a smile on her lips. This time around, I ate mountains of magnificent smoked Morteau sausage – and had that gastronomic marriage made in heaven: slices of nutty Comté cheese and a glass of sherry-like vin jaune. I hope you British gourmets will be inspired to create these superb French dishes at home. I am proud to have been part of the Great British food revolution, but I’ll always find time to raise a glass and toast, Vive La France.” Source: Daily Mail website.

The second episode was in Burgundy where Raymond and his helpers cooked the famous Beef Bourguignon from beef from the long lived and stress free Charolais cows and inspired me to give it a go last Saturday, albeit with meat from a Vache Anglaise. He also ate Michelin star snails and visited a vineyard world famous for its Chardonnay grapes and learnt the technique for taking the grapes from the vines without damage. The best wines, grand cru, are made from the vines at the topmost part of the vineyard and of course, the terroir along with the sunshine are the most important ingredients to creating superb wines.

Next week the programme comes from Alsace, a region of hearty mountainous dishes and close Germanic flavours along with French and I can’t wait for the final episode in Provence. Again I quote the Daily Mail website.

“Heading south, Provence provided Mediterranean sunshine and I was instantly reminded of my first visit, when I was 12 and went to see a friend who had moved there. It was like going to another country: the smell of fennel and lavender, the lazy sound of crickets, the constant blue sky – and the bustling market stalls laid out with lobster, octopus and squid. When I returned this time I enjoyed Provençal specialities including brandade (a purée of salt cod) and the best bouillabaisse I’ve ever tasted – a glorious fish stew combines the flavours of the sea with the tastes of the land (tomatoes, olive oil, saffron, star anise, pastis or brandy). “

Sounds great non? Could this series rival my favourite French cooking series, French Odyssey by Rick Stein?

Le weekend... enjoying a big joint.

2012-02-13T11:05:00.001Z

I don’t normally have a Saturday and Sunday style weekend off as I work both days and get Monday and Tuesday off instead. However, I’ve had a bit of a holiday break including yesterday and the day before. So, to celebrate I went on a cookathon and cooked a joint of spiced shoulder pork on Saturday and made a Boeuf Bourguignon yesterday. I didn’t intend to do both but this is how it happened.

Firstly I went across the road to my ever smiling village butcher, Mr Happy, and enquired about the price of a nice looking pork shoulder joint in his window display. As I enquired I was also aware that I could get a hand of pork – that’s a shoulder piece with the knuckle joint on the bone for about a fiver from the butcher two miles away on the Clifton estate. They are very good value from the Clifton butchers, Paul Walker’s. So, when Mr Happy the butcher in the village smiled at me and said, £13.55, guess where I went? I don’t think he was very happy anymore.

It was a cold but nice day weather-wise and it took me over an hour to walk to Clifton and back but the thought of saving £8.55 and probably getting a bigger, considerably cheaper, fresher joint, stirred me onwards, Clifton bound. In the end I spent about nine pounds with Paul Walkers’, purchasing some nice looking braising steak and three cooking apples for an apple sauce as well as the pork hand for £4.91. I felt like a hunter gatherer bringing home the catch of the day, plus some. Ug!

When I got home I boned and rolled the pork, scored it and laced it with cloves, star anise and a cinnamon stick and popped it into the oven for two and half hours on a low heat and it was yummy. Great crackling too!! I also had some roast spuds and carrots and green beans but there is no picture as I got a bit tiddly with some accompanying vintage cider and forgot to take one. That same afternoon I prepped the beef, trimming the little bit of fat off and marinating it in a red wine from Bourgogne (Mâcon – les Epillets). I added a sort of bouquet garni with some thyme and bay leaves and three chopped cloves of garlic. Then I covered the bowl with tin foil and placed it in the fridge overnight to do it’s magic. This was the first time I’d done this. I also did some clothes washing and more vintage cider drinking and made a home made apple sauce from three cooking apples. Not bad for a Rosbif.

Sunday saw me cooking the beef as recommended in my French cooking book and I added new potatoes, chunky chopped celery, carrots and button mushrooms to the casserole, made a wine reduction with the marinade and cooked it the oven – medium heat- for two hours and sat with a glass of wine watching Rick Stein’s French Odyssey while the house filled, once again with the delicious aromas of my weekend meals.

Rick Stein in a French railway cafe

left over cold pork and home made apple sauce

What next?! Maybe a rabbit fricassée? I know a field or two near Bunny where there are some bunnies. Where’s me gun? I’ll get my trusty hunting cat, Madame Soufie to come with me too. Bang bang!! Fetch Soufie fetch. No don’t eat it!!!

Madame Soufie the hunting cat.

Well, eat my ears and feet

2012-02-11T10:49:00.001Z

Sadly, that's not an invite to be pervy or cannibalistic but me reflecting on a recent book purchase called Odd Bits. The book invites people to think about how delicious some of the lesser eaten bits of cows, sheep, pigs and fowls might be. It's full of very nice looking recipes but I think I would draw the line at eating chickens feet or testicles ta.

I do like various bits of offal like lambs and pigs liver and lambs and ox kidney (pigs kidneys always seem a bit bitter to me) and when I was a young boy my mum used to take me to a tripe shop at Derby Market. The tripe shop always smelt strongly of vinegar and we used to eat it raw as well as cooked. I don't think I was told what tripe was at the time but did enjoy eating it. We also had it cooked in milk and the taste was quite different. My Auntie Barbara remembers the tripe shop too and they used to ask for the honeycomb bit of the tripe. Tripe and onions (pickled onions) were a favourite with her side of the family when growing up and her Dad (another grandad) used to enjoy eating chitterlings (cooked intestines) and called them by a name I'd never heard before, hodge. This I gleaned from a short chat with Barbara on the dog and bone (phone) this morning. Speaking of dogs, her old dog in the 1960s used to be given a sheep's head with the brains exposed and, apparently, the Alsatian used to wolf these down. Imagine that now!!!! We had a laugh about walking into a supermarket and instead of seeing rows of canned dog food there would be rows of sheep's heads for sale! Macabre.

We also used to eat a lot of brawn where pig's cheek would have been shredded and cooked in the brawn mixture. My Grandad Lowe used to like to eat cooked sheep's brains as did a lot of his generation (folk born around 1890 and 1900) and he was particularly fond of boiled pigs trotters.

Cooked tongue was a regular part of my Sunday tea growing up and as part of my early days in the butcher's trade I was used to seeing ox and lambs tongues preserved in big buckets of brine as well as pigs intestines, also in brine, ready for cleaning and using for sausage skins. In fact I grew up seeing all the humane killing processes and gutted chickens and trimmed the meat off cows heads and lambs heads for cow's cheek and dog food. Even back in the 1970s people used to come into the butchers shops and ask for lites (the lungs of pigs of lambs and sheep mainly) to cook and feed their pets.

I'd try most things of this nature but grey chitterlings and their smell does turn my stomach a bit and as for sweetbreads and testicles, well call me fey but...

Minus eight and a house filled with the aroma of lemon and thyme chicken.

2012-02-07T17:33:00.001Z

According to the local radio, tonight's temperature could be as low as minus eight and as I am feeling very peckish I have spent this afternoon oven roasting a succulent chicken filled with a whole lemon and fragrant thyme picked fresh from the garden and sprinkled lovingly over the partially cooked meat two thirds through the cooking process. I also prepared some roasting vegetables, peppers, onions, tomatoes and garlic and placed them in the oven around the roasting bird around the same time. On gas mark seven they now had three quarters of an hour to cook through and flavour the chicken further. Furthermore, I lightly boiled a few new potatoes to add to the dish.

Next door's cat, Mr Harris, came in to check that all was well with the chicken and found it perfectly OK as he sniffed the air like a cat version of the Bisto kids. He also found it perfectly (and a bit alarmingly) OK to bite my fingers as I stroked his sweet little head affectionately. I think it was the strong smell of the thyme. He's never bit me before. Interestingly, I gave him a bit of the the cooked chicken when it had come out of the oven and had cooled down enough to be comfortable for a little cat's mouth to eat. He had a bit but didn't seem that fussed. He either wasn't hungry or the lemon and thyme flavours put him off.

Anyway, I enjoyed it and there is plenty left for another day or another dish to enjoy.