|Prohibition style at B.Y.O.C|
Thursday, 17 April 2014
Thursday, 10 April 2014
By Rebecca Smith
First came the burgers: shamelessly brash meaty monsters, groaning with toppings, sauces and sides. Then came the ribs, followed by the fried chicken, then the pulled pork sandwiches.
|Fried chicken? Bring it on! And the sides too...|
A wealth of bourbon and rye cocktails followed hot on their heels and before we knew it, our restrained British dining scene was seeing a dirty food revolution – we were wallowing in the sheer forbidden, greasy pleasure of it all. Eating with your fingers! Loud music! Mac’n’cheese as a side dish!
Tuesday, 8 April 2014
|How did this wild garlic get to London?|
Just a couple of weeks ago, the cherry tree outside my house could have passed for dead. Now, it’s dressed up in a frothy frock of white and pink blossom and throws pale confetti onto the ground in my front garden, as if celebrating the arrival of spring. The once-bare earth is alive with green and the air is honey-scented. But there’s another aroma too – something a bit, well, pungent; stinky even. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was garlic growing nearby.
Monday, 31 March 2014
By guest blogger Matthew Wadsworth
I’ve been blind my whole life, so I’m used to finding alternate solutions to everyday problems. My girlfriend calls me the king of the workaround.
Nowadays she and I cook our meals together, but I do cook on my own when I need to. You can hear when it’s time to turn the heat down on the veg, and you can smell when the mince has cooked through. Pouring a glass of wine? Just stick one finger halfway down the glass, and when the liquid just touches your fingertip, stop pouring and hand the glass to your bemused dinner guests.
There were some early mishaps when I was learning to cook, like the first time I made spaghetti. I poured a tin of tomatoes into a pan for the sauce, but they evidently didn’t all quite make it into the pot. As I sat the table munching my curiously dry spaghetti, my horrified flat-mate came into the kitchen, which, he said, looked like a murder scene.
Thursday, 27 March 2014
By Andrew Webb
|Always open for business|
I was once on Hampstead Heath in London, where nestling near a rotting tree trunk was what I thought was a truffle. I teased back the dead leaves and gently tried to pick up a… dog poo. Thankfully I was wearing gloves. That’s the thing with urban foraging: everything comes with a dressing of urine, car fumes and dirt. Why people spend their time picking weeds in the park is beyond me.
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
I give it a go and inhale some Italian Pecorino Terre di Chieti 2012 with a cough and splutter.
Then I hear in familiar, crystal tones, "No, don't inhale the wine, suck in the air over your tongue to combine taste and smell...”