Saturday 23 January 2010

Dinner party cheat


I’m naughty. I cheated. Tsk, tsk – I know. But before you go ahead and judge, let me explain.

Last weekend I had a dinner party for a few friends, co-hosted by the lovely AW. The thing is, because it was at AW’s beautiful 2-bed Notting Hill flat and not my rented Holloway abode I was able to:

  • Not do much prep work or cleaning
  • Simply direct our main course (goulash) virtually since it needed to be prepped the day before
  • Rock on up 2 hours prior
  • Sneak away late-night leaving poor AW and Studd a cacophony of dirty dishes (I blame this entirely on the heated debate over the Kindle Reader which took us way past midnight)

So yes, I claimed equal parts glory on what was an absolutely lovely evening and meal – but let’s be honest my role really entailed:

  • Steaming some green beans and roasting some potatoes (not exactly climbing Everest here)
  • Dancing around to some fabulous 80s cheese, funk, and jazz and voting yay or nay for our dinner party play list
  • Reducing and doctoring the goulash sauce (not exactly rocket science but of considerable value add since we needed to work with a whole lot of acidity) … brown sugar really is a miracle worker
  • And last but not least, making and serving up one of my new favourite desserts…which if you replaced the butter with a non-dairy substitute would even make the recipe vegan (not that I’ve any strong desire to use anything else besides delicious lightly salted French butter)

It was a really fantastic night – filled with great banter and of course lovely food. I’m looking forward to the next AW / DB dinner party. I’m even happy to host in Holloway, as long as we have that amazing playlist!

Fig (lounge) Bars

So this was actually the second batch of these lovely ladies I’d made during a six-day period. The first I’d just done for a bit of fun, convincing myself they were healthy (oats, figs, nuts) and hence didn’t need to feel bad about eating 2 a day for 5 days straight.

Seeing as it was a Saturday night out, I wanted to gussy them up a bit - I figured that if I could wear something that made me sparkle – well so could they.

Unlike earlier in the week when they were just unwrapped from a bit of tinfoil, when serving them for the dinner party I cut them into larger rectangles, heated them back up in the oven ala fig-crumble like, and plated them with some lightly-sweetened whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. That night AZ made a comment to one of her friends about my modesty when it came to my baking, which I actually found quite sweet (and funny). Now, I’m the first to admit when I’ve made something and it just hasn’t turned out quite right – but there was no error in these little gals. I actually do believe there was moaning (of the good variety) around the table upon consumption.

If you can - use real butter and please, swap out those unattractive walnuts for toasted pecans. Other than that, the reheating and whipped cream is entirely up to you.

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Oatmeal-Fig-and-Walnut-Bars-356871


Saturday 9 January 2010

NightmAIR

I couldn’t make this shit up even if I’d just completed a 2-year creative writing course. Now I know the main point of this blog is to share what I'm eating and drinking, but this tale of woe must be told. Even if the food / drink doesn't play centre stage.

This week, Wednesday morning to be exact, I flew on British Airways from Boston to London. Things started out very well – I had a complimentary upgrade, I’d checked my overweight bag in on a belt with a broken scale (“yes sir, I’m sure they are less than 50 pounds each”) and had plenty of snacks (pineapple, a blood orange, yummy cherry oatmeal cookies) to get me through the morning / afternoon flight so as to not be subjected to the dead-awful airplane food (styrofoam eggs aren't really my thing).

Things seemed to be going very well, when just about the time I expected to be told we were approaching London, the pilot came on and told us he had something different in mind. Due to inclement weather (um, about 1 cm of snow) we were being diverted to Newcastle. “Not to worry folks, we’ve already arranged ground transportation for you and after we land we’ll have a 3-hour bus ride down to Heathrow.” So hover over Newcastle we proceed to do until, Cap comes back on…

“Sorry everyone. Conditions have deteriorated in Newcastle. We’re going to Glasgow now.” So hover over Glasgow until Cap comes back on for a third time…

“Um, sorry about this. Looks like a few other planes have thought to do the same thing. Look out the windows; you’ll see lots of planes. Ha-ha, don’t worry objects are farther away than they appear! We’ll, um…will be diverting and landing into Prestwick, on the coast of Scotland.”

I’d like to say that this was the worst of the experience…but BA had more in store for us. When we finally landed and collected our baggage from Prestwick airport (a one terminal dinky airport) we then proceeded to queue for over an hour to get on busses and be shuttled to a hotel 1-hour away. Unfortunately the lucky folks that were at the end of the queue (yours truly) we’re sh*t out of luck. They didn’t have enough busses for all of us. So we proceeded to sit in the freezing airport with no food or drink until about 90 minutes later when they were able to procure one for us. 60 minutes later, at 1:30 am, we were finally at the Marriott.

Happy to finally be checked in, around 2 am I called down for room service. Clearly BA would be covering a bit of food, right? Well no. And seeing as this Marriott only had 4 things on their 24-hour menu (lamb, chicken, shrimp, and veggie curries) I had no desire to spend £20 out of my own pocket. Instead, for what ended up being my lunch and dinner I ate some lemon pound cake. I’d made this (quite scrummy cake) for my mom the night before I'd left. She’d suggested I take some with me and I very nearly declined. How glad was I that I didn’t? Stressed, cold and not very sated, I still managed to fall asleep around 3 am.

The next morning I was woken up at 8 am with a message that the bus would be picking us up in an hour and that we were heading back to Prestwick to board our plane and fly down to London, Yippy!

So arrive at Prestwick we do – me and the other approximately 299 folks from my flight. All checking back in at the same time. As well as two other diverted flights from the US. Remember I said the airport was tiny? It was absolute chaos. After about 45 minutes of waiting in line an announcement was made:

“Sorry everyone, but Terminal 5 at Heathrow has been closed and we will no longer be flying you down to London. We’re arranging coach service which should arrive in a couple hours. The drive will take about ten hours.” Seriously, shoot me.

If mayhem hadn't already been ensuing, it starts now. To add salt to the wound BA tells us we won't be reimbursed for taking trains or renting cars. A 10-hour coach journey is our only option if we want to avoid incurring any fees. Honestly, no wonder BA is going under. What a dumpster company.

However, things then improve (before they get worse again). Another announcement that Terminal 5 is back open – YAHOO! So back into the queue we go. Things run smoothly for about 10 minutes when after a bit of time we all start to notice that we’ve not moved in the line. Why? A check-in / baggage system failure.

Unable to accommodate so many passengers the airport’s check-in system crashes. It’s another 45 minutes before it’s back up and running. Then about 40 minutes of successful check-in…(I’m very nearly there!!!)…. when the airport alarm bells go off. We are then evacuated from the airport due to what turns out to be a burst water pipe. Once resolved, back in the queue we go.

Right so fast forward 45 minutes more, I'm checked in, I'm through security, a rubbish “ham and cheese toastie” has been consumed. I think I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. So be it that we won't depart for London until around 5 p.m., I’m getting home at a decent hour tonight!

Or not. The rest of the evening proceeded something like this:

1. The gate we were meant to disembark from had a frozen / stuck plane. Joy. Rectified after only 1 hour.

2. Disembarking the plane at Heathrow: We needed to be shuttled to the main terminal on busses. Surprise surprise, BA had only arranged one bus for 300+ people which meant that only about 60 odd people could disembark at a time. Then we would have to wait until the bus drove over, dropped people off, and drove back again to the plane. Again, only another hour.

3. Luggage: I waited at the luggage belt for 3 MORE HOURS for my bags. With no word from BA on where they were or what the issue was. A promise of bottled water while we waited to then be told they’d run out. A customer service rep walking around wearing a sweatshirt that said “Can I help?” which when I asked about our bags he proceeded to say, “Um, I don’t know no one has told me anything.” And finally….

4. 5 hours after having landed I met the driver of the car I'd arranged for a pick up only to be told that because he’d been waiting so long my £50 cab was now going to cost me £126.

I can't think of any other time I've been as happy to get home as I was that night.