skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Not really - anyone who's ever eaten in Lygon Street Melbourne wouldn't dare put this trash on their table, even at 5 bucks a head.
Don't get me wrong. I have loads of respect for Jamie Oliver's crusades to convince English people to eat decent food. Far too many Brits eat rubbish, left over from an era of wartime cookery and dodgy joints of unethically farmed once-was-cow.
I'm sorry, the more I rethink this post, the more I realise I really have learned the art of the English Moan. But the food really was rubbish, especially given the "so-called 'affordable' but marked up because I'm a celebrity chef" prices (around £30, or $75, per head).
Foodies and wine buffs, I dare you to read on...
So, I started with a glass of prosecco (sparkling wine), which was served flat. And warm. And the waiter couldn't see anything wrong with that. When we finally got his attention after nearly 10 minutes....
Of our table of 9 people, three of us sent back mains for being 'too salty to eat'. The Jamie's Italian website says I should have paid £9.25 for my beef carpaccio salad - but his restaurant charged me £10.75 plus service. And my massive plate of rocket and sawdust parmesan didn't even have any 'carpaccio' on it - granted, the meat on my plate was very tender, but it was bright 'cured' red, and looked much more like bresaiola (which is cured for 2 months, not served raw in lemon juice), and not unlike the stuff you get presliced in packets at Sainsbury's.
Shame, really.
Glad my boss was paying: I'd have asked for my money back, if it was going on my own credit card...
About 2 weeks ago, my workchum Emily fronted the office with a massive kiddie grin and a challenge for all the team: "come and see the Wurzels!"
For the Aussies out there, the Wurzels are of a similar style and vintage to, say, Rolf Harris, and as much a part of English childhoods as Humphrey B Bear, apparently. They're farmers from Somerset (apple growing, cider swilling territory in the south west of England), famous for Pirate-drawl 'rrrr's and such lyrical classics as "I've got a brand new combine harvester and I'll give you the key", "I am a cider drinker", "Cider, Cider" and "Sunny Weston-Super-Mare" (which would be a bit like singing about Sunny Dandenong).
I went along prepared to laugh and nod along with stuff I'd never heard of - but I had forgotten
that the Company of Chivalry lads and lasses mostly hail from 'Weston'. It turns out that most of the rude songs we sing about the Duke of York are actually take-offs of Wurzel music... (except for the one about someone's bum bein' up for rent....) So it turned out the Aussie ring-in knew more words than the rest of the crew (who were too busy standing on a picnic table throwing beer on each other anyways, so missed the words...)
They also missed the lead singer removing his shirt - a sight I could have done without too, as the chap is older than my dad and hairier than my husband! But the cheeze was worth it for the look on Em's face all night ("I can't beLIEVE I'm seeing the Wurzels!"), and Slovenian Tomaz's response when he heard the accordian fire up: "you don't understand, they're playing one of those things that my country used to invent for the world the polka. It has a lot to answer for...".
And perhaps best of all - Tom from work had quietly sneered at us all week prior to the gig, but on monday morning, the laugh was on him. "I'm really sorry. I'm gonna be late for work. I'm stuck in traffic... behind a combine harvester!"
Karma? Oh I think so!
We did it! We managed to do a second Ramsay night - and I dunno what Brenda is on about with her 'I can't cook'- she makes a cracking meal!! Check this out!
Throw in a bottle of wine, some hazelnut liquor and a lesson for BB on how to use facebook, and a very silly night was had by all ... Not bad for a Tuesday :)
Truly, it was the soggiest wedding I've ever been to, although after Caerphilly this year, i shouldn't have been surprised...
However NOTHING, not even the fact that our marquee was pitched in a field under 3 inches of water, could dampen the spirits of these two on their day of days. Ants and I felt privileged to be a part of the festivities, being so new to the company.
Bride and groom, as you can see, looked absolutely resplendent in their wedding clothes, and we guests enjoyed the usual nuptial festive high jinx, playing with candle wax, starting a food fight with the bread after food was done with, and drinking and carousing and singing songs until the sun came up.Hurrah!
It's not just because much of it was built by my undoubted hero of medieval heroes - William Marshall - and his father in law, Richard Strongbow (yes, the chap on the cider bottles!).
It's not the amazing water defences, or the gorgeous view, or the cave under the castle that's probably had people living in it for most of the last 10,000 years. Nor is it because of the amazing memories from our first weekend in Wales. Nor even because this time we went there on a soggy Friday, arriving to put up tents at midnight in the rain with the rest of the Company of Chivalry and then enjoyed almost perfect weather for the rest of the weekend. I think it's the sense of anticipation that builds up through the bloody long drive through Wales to get there - and the fact that every wildest dream plays out once you arrive because it's so darn BIG! And every where you turn, there's always more to see.I thought I had this castle pretty well sussed after our first visit about 18 months ago. But this weekend's event with the Company of Chivalry proved me wrong - in between shows I discovered loads of rooms we never got to see last time. So I found the room where Henry Tudor (later Henry VII) was born, to a terrified 14 year old Margaret Beaufort, who had been sent there by her husband for her own safety. Before the sun set, a group of us scaled the battlments, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the scale of the Marshall's massive round tower, and trying to work out the layout of the kitchens and serving rooms of the ruined Great Hall. 
Oh, and the cave was really spooky too...
And there is NOTHING to beat cooking your dinner on an open fire after the crowds have gone home, sitting down with a beverage in hand, toasting stuff over an open fired, surveying how well your stripey tents look pitched inside the walls...
