ianbee: this is instead of getting a dog

Ninja Chicken Pie

Despite many popular folktales, historical accounts of the Ninja are scarce. Masters of disguise and combat, the ninja were trained to be particularly secretive about their actions and existence. Legend has it that on completion of Ninja training the students were rewarded with a pie, decorated with representations of the great Ninja warriors.

Tradition states that the pie was chicken and leek, with a puff pastry lid.

Dogs like Cadbury's Mini-Eggs but they shouldn't eat them

The flight to Australia was uneventful, apart from being distracted by a stewardess running down the isle clutching a fire extinguisher. Breakfast service was uninterrupted, so I remained unruffled, even though she ran past me again in the opposite direction.

The guy at passport control wanted to know why I felt it necessary to import English chocolate into the country. "It's not as good as ours, is it?" I smilled and kept quiet, as we all know that Australian chocolate is rubbish.

My friends never got to discover this truth for themselves as Einstein the dog sensed an opportunity and stuck his head into my luggage and ate two packets of Mini-Eggs when no-one was looking. Did you know there is an iPhone app ("ChocoTox") that tells you how much chocolate it takes to kill a dog given the weight of the dog and the cocoa content of the chocolate?

He's fine.

 

Ate the bar dry

I had a great evening at my local bar last night. They have a great range of beers but the only food they do is platters of bread, cheese and ham. And cupcakes. We stayed until the bar closed and totally ate them out of cupcakes last night! Rock n'roll!

I worry that I'll walk in one day and they'll say "your usual?" and I'll say yes and get given a cupcake.

Actually that would be great.

Rhubarb

Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, rhubarb.

I live near the "Rhubarb Triangle" so Jo suggested that a free evening seemed like a good opportunity to visit our local rhubarb sheds. We received a cup of tea one (or two) biscuits and a lecture on the history of rhubarb and what you can do with it.

I took along two of my neighbours, who are from the Netherlands. This turned out to be slightly awkward/hilarious as we discovered through the lecture that the Dutch are the evil bad guys of rhubarb. Yorkshire rhubarb is elegant, stately, robust. Dutch rhubarb smells of poo and is rude to your sister. Yorkshire rhubarb is sold everywhere in the UK apart from Lancashire (don't mention the (100 Years) war). 

The highlight of the tour was a visit into one of the hallowed rhubarb sheds. These extensive, low ceilinged buildings are packed full of vibrant stalks and tall, optimistically green leaves. They extend in rows disappearing into the distant darkness. We stood, illuminated by a few candles, listening to the sound of rhubarb growing ...

Those dutch, you know they don't have harvesting paths in their rhubard sheds, instead they TRAMPLE it!?! If you buy dutch rhubarb, look out for footprints.

 

 

Bunting

My friends dedicated their new baby the other week. They bravely opted for a open air celebration, and unoficially took over a corner of my local park and covered it in cake. There were three competing banana loafs. Mine stood out amongst the others for it's use of dark chocolate and its just-out-of-the-oven gooey warmth.

For the actual dedication bit we all formed a circle around the family and surrounded them with bunting, on which we had written prayers for their health and happiness. At this moment a passing rider fell off their horse in the distance. This created a minor distruption witnessed by a portion of the circle - resulting in something in the order of 120 degrees of shocked gasps.

Blackberry picking and LEGO pizza

Had a massive, monster blackberry picking session yesterday, down by the canal. And the day before too, near a quarry. I have five boxes in the freezer and am anticipating a winter of crumble followed by a spring of cake and a summer of smoothies. That's how it worked out this year anyway!

I washed each one under the tap and found spiders, little worms and many flies. All gone now. I also found two thorns in my thumb today, both were removed with a sterile needle.

 

 

 

 

Other news - did you know that they make LEGO pizza? I have so so much to tell you. I can't believe this made it to the top of the list. It's just because my brain goes fuzzy after work.

While we're talking about food, the second series of The Great British Bake Off has started. Last year it was my telly highlight. It's sublime viewing - funny, sad, educational and nutritious. Next week it's biscuits. I am totally excited to the point of distraction. I have to go now ...

 

Saturday

Despite the fact that they are unwelcome in the green bin, it is possible to recycle paper-based drinks cartons if you are prepared to save them up and take them along to the tip. In order to save up enough to make it worthwhile, your home does smell a bit of stale milk. And when you get to the tip the man who works there assumes you drink an awful lot of juice.

On the way back from the tip I bought some broad beans from the Meanwood Valley Urban Farm. They were grown locally, probably picked by young offenders. The community-service beans were a bit tough, and required double-shelling which raised the hassle-to-benefit ratio to 'barely worth it'. However, when served with quinoa, mint and lemon they were brilliant.

I shelled the beans while watching the Hitchcock film 'Rope' on the telly. It's a thriller about a man who considers himself superior to those around him. Considering himself morally superior to the rest of society, he uses this belief to justify a horrible killing then seeks to profit from his action to make a macabre point. WIth the miserable news from Norway on in the background, it was either inspired spontaneous television scheduling or a sobering coincidence.

Bill's

I'm in Bill's, a top Brighton cafe tip from my brother. I've had the buttermilk pancakes but I'm still a little hungry. They are playing Corine Bailey-Rae.

My helicopter conference starts soon- with an "opening ceremony". "Like the Olympics" said the hopeful girl at the registration desk. I'm now expecting flaming torches and Sir Steve Redgrave at the very least.

Sleep last night was interrupted by an intermittent flashing light. After exhaustive research involving unscrewing every bulb I could find, it was traced to a small LED on a carbon-monoxide detector way up in the corner of the room. I weighed up the relative risks of falling off a chair or dying of CO poisoning and decided to tough it out. It was like sleeping near a lighthouse.

My local

I have a local. It's called Alfred. I have never had a local pub before. I had a local restaurant in Sydney, but try as i might they didn't recognise me as a regular and they never acknowledged my 'usual' order of brioche french toast with mascapone stewed apple and raisins. I had a local lift-bridge in Edinburgh, and a local bakery in London, but it was the same story.

Now I have Alfred, a cosy 60s transport cafe with formica tables, wobbly wooden chairs and a couple of squishy sofas. I have been there half-a-dozen times now, sometimes on my own with a book, sometimes in a group. I have started to recognise people. We have started to exchange friendly smiles. It can only be a matter of time before someone says ... "your usual?"

       

NB Dogs are welcome.

Cod cheeks and a joke about a pirate

I've been in Windsor this week, on a work-related course. I didn't get an invitation to the wedding, but the next best thing was spending time at Cumberland Lodge in Windsor great park, where the course was held.

It was built in the time of Cromwell, and later became a royal residence playing host to many historic events, including the abdication of King Edward. I believe this was recently the subject of some film or other, that was quite popular. One evening I was lucky enough to dine in the "abdication" room and was served cod cheeks* whilst sitting in the shadow of a picture of a bloke talking into a microphone. In honour of the occasion I told my joke about a pirate.

For the wedding itself I was in the lounge of the hotel, sandwiched between two old ladies, one a Charles supporter and one a Charles 'hater'. Some of the conversation highlights included:

"He drove her to bulimia"

"It's disgusting, William should be wearing his RAF uniform, he is a serving officer"

"You wouldn't say that if you had read Paul Burrell's book"

Thankfully there was wedding cake and wine with bubbles to distract me. My proud connection to the actual event was that my brother's friend's company supplied the trees. And also that my friend Matt was a royal wedding pundit on Bangladeshi television.

* I once saw a Heston Blumenthal programme where he cooked these on board a Navy submarine.