Meaty barbecued bliss at Bodean’s, Soho

This weekend I had a meal so incredible that I just couldn’t resist blogging about it.

That meal was at Bodean’s in Soho, which, despite working opposite for more than a year and salivating at the delicious smokey barbecue smell emanating from it, I’d never tried before. We picked it on a whim — I’d already been researching London restaurants for an hour or so (the staggeringly high number and wide variety make this a hefty undertaking) when it suddenly came to mind. We took one look at the website and were decided as soon as we saw this:

“Smoke it slow, cook it low” — All our meats are slow cooked to government standards at low temperatures. This process keeps all the natural juices in the meats and enhances the flavor. Our smoking process also gives a beautiful smoke flavor and colour to the meat.

 

From www.bodeansbbq.com

Prelude: Barrio Central
Coming from a 2.30pm performance at the theatre, we arrived at the restaurant at an early 5.40pm and were told we’d have a 40 minute wait (we weren’t early enough!), so left a phone number while we went to have drinks at the nearby Barrio Central. I may as well give a review of that too. So here you are: quirky decor, loud often-retro music, decent happy hour with a limited cocktail list, huge list of cocktails around the £6.50-£10 mark, most of them weird in flavour. Great fun for dancing and experimental types (with money to throw around), not great for a cheap, quiet or relaxed drink. The Mexican-style tapas aren’t bad either — unoriginal but tasty, although the nachos are lacking in cheese. After 40 minutes we got the call for which our rumbling bellies had been waiting and left.

From www.bodeansbbq.com

Service with a smile
We were led to a small two-seater table by the very smiley front-of-house girl and shortly after greeted by our even friendlier waitress. She really made us feel welcome and appreciated, like you wouldn’t expect from a bustling restaurant that’s part of a small chain. We didn’t feel embarrassed asking for more time to decide and she didn’t forget about us afterwards either! The downstairs dining room was warmly lit, with brown leather chairs and studded sofas, a bar and various fitting decorations on the wall such as antlers. Subtle rocky music played in the background, contributing to the loungey feeling of the dining room. It was busy but didn’t feel that crowded — we had enough space for our elbows, yet could also peek over at other diner’s delicious food! The football (a big match, apparently) was playing on a screen but it didn’t disturb us.

From www.bodeansbbq.com

Drinks and decisions
We selected our drinks: Steve had an American cider (appley but a little sour, I thought) and I had an Old Fashioned cocktail with bourbon and maple syrup (its prominence on the menu meant I had to try it, but it was far too rich for my tastes!) and perused the menu. It was overflowing with delicious things: stacked burgers, proper American hot dogs, pulled pork rolls, chargrilled steaks, jerk chicken, macaroni cheese, enchiladas with refried beans (YUM), chilli cheese fries… but being the ravenous carnivores we are, there was only really one option: the Bodean’s platter.

MEAT
We went with this because we didn’t want to miss out on any delicious form of barbecued meat, and we weren’t disappointed. Never have I been faced with such an irresistible plate of food. Large, crispy-ended spare ribs coated in succulent dark-pink meat, falling off the bone yet chewy at the sweet blackened edges; sets of sticky baby back ribs crying out to have their surrounding soft flesh knawed off; golden honey-glazed chicken thighs, smokey-sweet and juicy; soft shreds of pulled pork infused with flavour; and meltingly tender cubes of beef brisket, drenched in a rich and gloopy barbecue sauce — called ‘burnt ends’ on the menu. All this was piled high, yet no matter how full our tummies became it proved near impossible to resist going back to tear off just one more strip of tender meat.

Adorable accompaniments
This meat feast was accompanied by a pile of creamy coleslaw and bowl of crispy golden chips, with a pot of rich mayonnaise. Mostly to satisfy our curiosity about American food, we also ordered creamed corn (juicy sweetcorn in a creamy sauce, very moreish) and cornbread muffins (I thought they were bready and bland but Steve liked them). We hung onto the plate long after we’d eaten enough, hoping we’d gain room for more if we just gave it time! Only our desire for dessert convinced us to let our plates be taken away.

Divine desserts
I didn’t think I could manage dessert but I’m so glad I took that risk. I went for pecan pie and it was everything I could ask for – thick sticky caramel, sweet rich nuttiness and buttery shortcrust pastry. And in a long slim slice I could manage! However I did swap the whipped cream for the vanilla ice cream that Steve got with his chocolate fudge brownie (which was too giant for him to finish)! We accompanied our desserts with a glass of tea each — absolutely perfect. By the end, I had that very special feeling of blissful fullness, where your head feels dozy and your eyesight hazy with contentment….

Sated and sleepy
We got the bill with no fuss and would’ve far preferred to tip our lovely waitress rather than have a pre-decided service charge lumped on to the total, but so is the way of dining out in London these days. The bill, including giant sharing platter, two sides, two alcoholic drinks, two desserts and two teas came to around £54, £60 with service. We thought that was decent for what was one of the most satisfying meals of our lives!

Emerging into the cold night air, we shook off some of our sleepiness with a walk through from Poland Street to Bond Street station, before taking the tube home. If I had to summarise Bodean’s in two words, I’d call it a carnivore’s paradise. Steve called it “heaven on earth”!

For anyone in doubt over whether it’s worth going to Bodean’s… this should answer your question.

Am I finally a ‘Londoner’?

It occurred to me while travelling home from work yesterday, as I stood swaying around on a tube packed like a cattle cart — reading newspaper The Evening Standard from its position nestled between two people’s backs — that I was content.

Riding the tube is a daily activity for me and a source of much annoyance, yet I still feel a sense of privilege in being able to commute in on it every day. I like being part of the commuter tribe. And I love that no-one talks or even looks at each other.

A lot of people complain that London is an unfriendly city and that it’s much better ‘up North’ because strangers will talk to you on public transport and the street — what a horrible thought. Who wants to talk to a stranger when you’re on your way to work (or ever)? Like the majority of Londoners, I imagine, all I want to do on my way into work is sit quietly reading my paper. Or stand quietly reading my paper. If there is someone sat on the tube talking to themselves, talking to other people who don’t know them, or in fact making vocal noise of any kind, everyone else knows that they are a crazy person and must be kept at a safe distance if possible.

That said, I have come across a disappointing number of people who talk to themselves on public transport. On encountering them I will always move if I can, lest they start speaking to me. What can I say — these people do not follow the unspoken rules of London to not speak, ever, and are therefore unpredictable and potentially dangerous.

However, this doesn’t mean people in London are not nice. On the contrary, underneath that silent demeanor I’ve found most people to be polite, generous and always eager to help if you’re in need. I’ve lost count of the number of times some kind stranger has prevented me from leaving something precious on the tube.

Sometimes there is need to communicate, but for some such instances there is a non-verbal code. For example, if you want to read a paper sitting behind someone’s head, there is a certain indescribable motion you can make that efficiently asks, “Are you reading that paper? And if not, can you please pass it to me?” The only things I think I’ve ever said to strangers on the tube are:

• Thank you (for a paper, for a seat, for getting out of the way)
• Would you like to sit down? (as I get up to give someone my seat)
• Excuse me (when I want to move further down the carriage or get out of it)
• A very slight forced chuckle when there is one of the aforementioned crazy people talking to me.

Sometimes I wish I had the guts to say other things, such as tell people to move down the carriage or to turn down the volume of their horrible music, but I don’t because such would go against the not-speaking code. Which leads me on to the things that irritate me, strengthening my conviction that I am now a Londoner:

• People who stand directly in front of the tube doors as they wait to get on, as other people get off it. Why do they do this? It forces people getting off the tube to weave their way past, which in consequence delays the boarding of the overeager person. Seriously — just be polite and FOLLOW THE CODE. Which is to stand at the very edge of the door, in order to give people getting off the tube ample room to do so.
• Similarly — people who push onto the tube while people are still getting off. It slows down the entire process and makes you obnoxious. Just wait for people to get off, ok?
• People who stand resolutely blocking off a whole seated section worth of standing space while the middle part is packed full of people with no space. Listen to the driver (and your common sense, if you have any) and move further down the carriage.
• People who talk loudly and in a very annoying way to a companion, or on a phone, in an otherwise silent tube carriage. Don’t you realise that absolutely everyone is listening in to your conversation (against their will) and thinking to themselves how inane it is and how stupid you are? (Don’t get me wrong, if I’m with a friend on the tube I will talk to them a bit. But in hushed tones respectful to others around us)
• People who flaunt their apparent self-inflicted deafness by blasting music out of their earphones, imposing it on everyone else in the carriage. First, we don’t want to listen to your music so how selfish of you to impose your awful taste on maybe 10 strangers. Second, if it sounds so loud to me then how loud is it inside your ears?? How has your brain not already melted and dribbled out of them, due to the excessive sound damage? Maybe it already has.
• And off the tube — tourists. Yes, I was once a tourist too, which is why I shouldn’t be so annoyed by them but I am (it is part of being a Londoner). The way they suddenly stop in the middle of the pavement causing you to almost crash into them. The way they take photos of crap run-down back streets around Oxford Street as if they’re a beautiful relics of history or culture. Even the way they use travel cards at ticket barriers instead of Oyster cards, which are much faster. Is that going too far? Well I’m a Londoner, I can’t help it. Everything and everyone must want to travel as fast and efficiently as I do.

There are probably more but those are off the top of my head.

And now, here are the things I love about London, which I believe also contribute to my Londoner status. 

• Riding the tube. Come on, it’s the opportunity to ride a fast train every day — when I was growing up in Nottingham, that experience was a treat. Sure it’s not always comfortable, and there are the annoying factors I’ve already mentioned,  but if you get a seat then it can be a blissful ride in which to read a paper, magazine, novel or kindle.
• Not getting a seat can be enjoyable too, as long as you view the experience in the right way. I sometimes feel as if I’m surfing and take some pride in keeping my balance without holding onto anything. And if you’re lucky enough to be standing at the full-length windowed doors on an above-ground train, it can feel like you’re miraculously flying sideways over the landscape at high speed. It’s a feeling that really makes you smile.
• Free newspapers and magazines. I’ve been frugal all my life (I may be a Londoner but I’m not rich) so being handed two free papers every day, as well as two rather good magazines every week (Stylist and Shortlist) feels like a real privilege to me. In reading terms I want for nothing. I haven’t bought a paper or magazine in years. And reading two papers every day keeps me up to date with the news like I never was before I moved here.
• Being part of the commuter tribe. As previously mentioned, I feel a strange kind of kinship with these strangers, travelling alongside me at 6.30am in the morning, to whom I never speak. We all have the same goals — to get to work quickly, to get home quickly, to travel in silence. We all know the unspoken Londoner code. We’re all busy people who work hard for our money and livelihood. I honestly feel that we are some of the most honest, hard-working and respectable people you’ll find (allow me some arrogance here).
• Being busy. I feel like my life is pretty busy and I’ve got to say, I love it. The accompanying stress is not so nice, but the sense of purpose I get from my job, from leaving the house at 5.45am, from tightly scheduling things in my diary and planning social activities at the weekend.
• Having everything around me. London has EVERYTHING. All the shops you could want, every kind of restaurant, globally envied cultural hotspots, beautiful buildings and green spaces, different events happening all the time and entertainment not available elsewhere in the country. TV shows are filmed here (we go to be in audiences a lot) and if musicians are touring they’ll always come here, even if they skip the rest of the UK. Live here and you’ll very rarely be bored.

However — the last thing I’m going to put on my love list is possibly a bit of a disclaimer.

• Coming home. As my readers will know, I don’t live in the centre of London but rather in a little-known western suburb called Perivale. This area is not at all what you’d call ‘London’. It’s quiet, leafy, inhabited largely by young families and has a small library, bluebell wood, wetland nature reserve, tranquil canal path, forest-flocked hill and acres of green fields. Coming home to this lovely little place is a pleasure when I’ve been out in throbbing London all day, which makes me think perhaps part of the reason I love living in London is that I don’t really live in it — rather very nearby.

So am I true Londoner or not? Whatever that word really means, I feel privileged to live and work here and maintain that is a wonderful city — even if overpriced, crowded, full of annoying people and grossly unbalanced in terms of its inhabitants’ varying wealth. When growing up in Nottingham I never thought I’d end up here — but I’m very glad I did.

How to have the perfect trashy night in all alone

So in our current household situation, it seems my boyfriend Steve and I are rarely in together anymore.

I leave the house for work at 7am or earlier, return at around 6pm. Steve generally starts work at 5pm and returns in the middle of the night. And with him often working weekends too, for days on end we only see each other asleep. My only chance to speak to him is by phoning home at lunch! I’ve never been a solitary person — I don’t cherish ‘alone time’ as some do. So I didn’t welcome the prospect of spending many evenings alone.

However, there is one good thing to come out of this — I can be as lazy as I please. Microwave meals, pasta with pre-made sauce, lashings of ice cream and watching rubbish telly until I decide to slouch off to bed (at an unusually early hour). And Saturday nights were just made for this kind of activity.

1. Ensure you’re wearing the comfiest clothing there is — leggings and a jumper

2. Put your frozen pizza in the oven

3. Pour yourself a glass of wine (from a miniature bottle because you’re a loner, not an alcoholic)

4. Snuggle up on the sofa and switch on some trashy TV. In the UK right now, that’s The Voice followed by Britain’s Got Talent

5. Get pizza out the oven and eat it with your fingers (obviously)

6. Collect ice cream on a stick from freezer and eat luxuriously

7. Tweet inanely about the trashy telly you’re watching

8. When your eyes start to droop, it’s time to go to bed (and best of all, there’s hardly any washing up!)

And there you are, perfect. Unfortunately, there is another, not-so-good part that comes quite a bit later…

9. Get woken up by the door opening at 3.30am but be too groggy with wine and junk food to utter anything more than a grunt to returned boyfriend.

New journalists: are we screwed?

Reblogged from Enquire Within:

Journalism is a profession that I’ve idolised since I was tiny.

For my sixth christmas, I got a ‘Make your own newspaper’ kit. My brand new Sega Master System was thrown to one side as I set to work writing.  After asking my parents what someone who did this for a living was called, I was always going to be a journalist.

Read more… 1,907 more words

An excellent, hard-hitting post on the current situation of journalism - and the yawning abyss facing young journalists fresh out of school or university today.

Up-close and personal with the animals of Whipsnade Zoo

Panorama from the edge of Whipsnade zoo

Wanting to be different, as usual, on Valentine’s Day this year Steve and I decided to skip the overpriced candlelit dinner and go to Whipsnade Zoo instead. Why Whipsnade, located in Bedfordshire, UK? Because we knew it had a walk-through lemur exhibit (Lemurs are Steve’s favourite), as well as some baby animals. It required a long journey — two tube rides, a train and a bus — to get there from West London,  but it was easy enough. The queue was, inevitably, filled with crying babies and it took a while to escape due to everyone using 2-for-1 vouchers at the entry tills. But once done, we were free to explore this massive, muddy playground for ourselves. And it really is massive — we were surprised to find roads running around the zoo, car parks at the corners and a bus running between different sections. A lot of walking and time was required to see everything, but this was due to the copious amounts of space the animals had in their enclosures — something that definitely goes in the zoo’s favour.

Chimp chat
Our first stop was the chimpanzee cage to attend the ‘Chimp Chat’ session, in which zoo keepers threw chunks of fruit over and into the cage. It was child-oriented but very informative nonetheless, and the chimps were quite interesting themselves, grinning out of the cage at everyone and sitting by the cage’s edge to eat the handfuls of food they’d collected.

    

Fuzzy bears
This furry brown pair had a huge enclosure, so we were lucky to catch a glimpse of one of them using a paw to knock through the ice covering their pond before they both went back into hiding. I know they’re ferocious and everything, but I just wanted to cuddle them!

    

Wolverine and Buffalo
The wolverine is supposed to be one of the most ferocious small creatures in the world… but this one was curled up fast asleep both times we went to visit it. The Buffalo were more friendly.

    

Gentle giants
The giraffes, like many of the other animals, were inside their house to shelter from the cold. We still had ample opportunity to admire their grace and beauty though. And they’re one of the few creatures on earth that make Steve look short…

    

Unexpected encounter
We next walked through the house of some boring animal — Springbok maybe — then, when we opened the door at the other end, came face to face with a wallabee — uncaged and very close. Stunned, we stared at it in silence for a while, figured that we must’ve gone through a door we shouldn’t have and quickly went back inside again. However, after going back out the other way and walking round the house we again found ourselves facing the mini kangaroo. Either it had escaped — used its strong legs to bound over the fence of its enclosure — or it was supposed to be roaming free. We later found out that it was the latter — and it wasn’t alone in its excursions! The zoo was also roamed by Indian peafowl (peacocks), prairie marmots (large beaver-like rodents), junglefowl (wild relative of the domestic chicken), Chinese water deer and muntjac deer (breeds of unusually small deer) and mara (an odd-looking animal that resembles a cross between a hare and a small antelope). I think these free-roaming animals were one of the zoo’s best features!

    

Rhinos, reindeer and hippos
Not much to say about these guys, except to note that the reindeer appeared to be very good friends with the mara (their enclosure was swarming with the strange small creatures) and that we didn’t see much of the hippos, unfortunately. Due to the weather being cold, they seemed to all be hiding inside and as a result we didn’t get to see Hula the baby hippo! Boo.

    

    

Feeding time
By this time we were starving and so made the trek from the top edge of the zoo to the canteen. Unfortunately, by now it was about 1.30pm and obviously peak time — the canteen was packed full and positively ringing with the racket of screaming children. The food and drink was inevitably a little pricey for what it was (sandwiches, a small selection of canteen-typical hot food and some cakes/slices), but not too bad (my veggie lasagne was about £7). We had no choice but to sit in the cold outside. So it wasn’t the most romantic Valentine’s dinner out… but, hey, we were surrounded by animals!

    

Birds of the world
We finished lunch and found the bird arena just in time for the ‘Birds of the World’ show. This was definitely one of the day’s highlights. The birds, which included a golden eagle, a barn owl, buzzards and harriers, were wonderful to watch and impressively obedient — most of the time! In fact the best part was probably when one of the birds refused to follow instructions and instead hopped up the stairs to take a seat in the audience and wouldn’t move for a good few minutes (see photo below). There was also an incident where a whole group of birds flew away to sit together in a far-away tree and would not be called back for a long time. Perhaps, with it being one of this year’s first shows, the birds were just excited to be out.

    

Freezing with the penguins
Next up was the penguin’s feeding time, so we walked a mile up to the penguin enclosure on the hill (I’m hardly even exaggerating). It was so cold up on this hill that I felt almost as if we’d joined the penguins in their natural Antarctic habitat. Eventually the zoo keepers arrived to give the penguins their feed — most of which seemed to be gobbled up by swooping seagulls That was rather irritating, but I don’t know how they could solve this problem.

    

Hanging with the lemurs
Our favourite part of the day! At first we were withheld entry to the lemur enclosure because it was really muddy and the lemurs had gone inside anyway, but then they came out and I determined to get us in! We went back to the door, were let in and converged with the lemurs on the bridge as they left their house and came towards us along a rope. From there, they jumped down to walk the wooden fence beside us and even onto the path! Seeing them up-close and without a fence inbetween really allowed us to see what strange and beautiful creatures they are.

    

    

Smiley elephants
I was looking forward to visiting the elephants — they’re such unique creatures and I find them fascinating. In addition, they look like they’re doing really big, cute smiles whenever they open their mouths! Seeing the baby elephant, named Scott, was my number-one priority but unfortunately he spent all the time we were there hiding underneath his Mum! But here’s a cute video of him to make up for the lack of photos…

    

Camels, a tiger and meerkats
The tiger was beautiful but unfortunately moved too fast to be captured on film. The camels stood conversing quite far away, but it was the first time I’d ever seen a camel so still quite cool. The meerkats, however, were a real treat! Very cute and active, making them interesting to watch whether huddled up in their house or running around their little open-top enclosure.

    

In the lion’s den
I was amazed at how close we were able to get to the lions. The viewing room almost took you into their enclosure, with only plexiglass inbetween. At one point a lion bounded down from a hill within right towards me, only turning away when it reached the glass! Another set of magnificent animals.

    

Closing time
Sadly the cheetahs, otters and red pandas weren’t around due to the cold. There was a petting zoo for children that had goats, chickens and other farm animals. The zoo began to close just as we finished seeing everything, leaving us just enough time to visit the gift shop before we left. Good thing we did, otherwise I’d never have bought Lily the cuddly lemur (see below)! Whipsnade zoo was a great day out — but next time we go to a zoo, we’ll make sure there’s no snow on the ground to limit the number of animals we meet.

    

Tales of the unemployed

Steve tells me where to go. At least he's cuter than The Apprentice's Lord Alan Sugar.

Five weeks ago, I was told my ‘job was at risk’; it was ‘potentially to be made redundant’; and I was to ‘enter consultation’. In plain English, that translates as ‘you’re fired!’

The strange thing was, I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sad. In fact, I was strangely excited — and a bit ashamed of being so.

I knew I should be devastated. Everyone was sympathetic and consoling. I felt odd, unsettled, a little worried, sure. But the overwhelming feeling rising in my chest was excitement for a new challenge, a fresh start, a better job — that I now had all the time in the world to find and apply for. What’s more, my boss’s kindness meant I never had to come into work again and would be paid for doing what I liked for two weeks. Brilliant!

Was it ridiculous to be looking forward to spending time at home with my (also unemployed) boyfriend? Would my happiness reveal to everyone that I was a fraud, who didn’t want my job and was glad to be leaving? I just hoped that everyone would see it as me being inordinately positive in the face of misfortune, as per usual — either that or in denial. And maybe I was a little in denial. Did I not realise that I had lost my income and a job I liked, working with people that I really liked?

It felt exhilarating to leave the office in the middle of the day, leaving a piece of work unfinished. I thought I’d treat myself to an afternoon of clothes shopping just because I could, before realising I’d feel too guilty to be frivolously spending the money I now needed to live on for the foreseeable future. So after phoning Steve to share with him my guilty joy, I went straight home to join him on the sofa. I felt as if I’d feigned illness, been sent home and was now reaping the lazy benefits of my lie.

Unemployment had good parts and bad parts.

Good parts:

• Lazing in bed until 10am
• Wearing my fluffy pink and white polka-dot dressing gown for most of the day
• Making hot lunches and eating them in front of the tv
• Going to the supermarket when it’s quiet
• Spending time on cooking dinner and eating it early in the evening
• Taking doctor’s appointments at any time of the day
• Going to the zoo on Valentine’s Day
• Going to the park on warm sunny days
• Staying up late to watch that tv programme, because I don’t need to be up early in the morning
• Playing Tetris Battle on Facebook
• Enjoying short breaks in Nottingham, Loughborough and Edinburgh

One of the highlights of my unemployment = meeting a lemur.

Bad parts:

• Feeling lethargic all day (partly due to getting up late and living in dressing gown)
• Seeing the same four walls every hour of the day
• Becoming too lazy to do all the useful things (cleaning the house, washing clothes, organising things) that I swore I’d do once I had the time
• Effectively gaining a more-than-full-time job (around 91 hours per week) of seemingly never-ending searching and applying for jobs
• Missing my friends at work
• Missing Stylist magazine each week
• Not allowing myself to shop
• Starting to notice and regret the money I spend travelling
• Going to job interviews
• Waiting for phone calls and e-mails that never come
• Receiving job rejections
• Reluctantly going to sign on for Job Seeker’s Allowance only to be told weeks later I’m not entitled to anything

Two unemployed bums sat in their dressing gowns at 11am

The average day went as follows:

1. Get out of bed at 10am
2. Put on dressing gown
3. Turn on TV for Homes Under the Hammer
4. Eat breakfast
5. Go through job alerts
6. Apply for jobs mentioned in alerts one-by-one
7. Stop for lunch midway
8. Continue to apply for jobs, maybe searching for more on other websites
9. Stop for a Tetris Battle break
10. Continue to apply for jobs
11. Cook and eat dinner
12. Continue to apply for jobs (flagging now)
13. Watch TV and have some pudding or tea and chocolate
14. Look at the jobs I still need to apply for tomorrow
15. Go to bed at around 1am

There were other days that ended up being incredibly busy — travelling to places as far as Windsor for job interviews, receiving multiple calls from recruiters, squeezing in a trip to the supermarket to replenish the milk, cooking and eating a quick dinner and finally going to Camden for a night out with friends. In fact, with up to three interviews a week in different places, at times my life felt more frantic than it ever had been in employment.

And then — after a spell of second interviews and waiting weeks to hear back from employers — I was offered a job within a day of applying for it. I sent off a quick application one morning (one of many) and that afternoon was invited for an interview. The interview was the next day and a few hours within returning home, I was phoned and offered the job. If only all applications could be dealt with so quickly! I excitedly accepted it.

Things became complicated the next day, when, engaged in being an extra in my friend Breezewax‘s first music video, I received an email from another employer saying they knew I’d already accepted a job, but would I like to come to work for them instead. This second employer was offering the same money, in addition to travel expenses, and another job I would gladly have taken. Being indecisive as I am, this put me in turmoil for the rest of the day and night.

I made my decision the following day — deciding to stay with the orginal one I’d already accepted. This job, as a staff writer for a set of business journals, is different to the majority of those for which I’d applied and will take me in a new direction — into writing, where I’ve always known I belonged. It is the new challenge for which I’ve been searching and I’m nervous and excited to take it by the horns; to see where it will take me.

I start on Tuesday — wish me luck!

Food Diaries — Succulent and crispy duck leg confit

I first tried my hand at the gastronomic phonomenon of confiting about a year ago and was absolutely WOWED by it. Long before that, I loved duck anyway — it’s really flavoursome; versatile in how it’s cooked and served; lends itself well to rich, spicy and fruity sauces; and doesn’t seem to have the unpleasantly textured parts of gristle and fat that other meats are plagued by. It’s equally fantastic as a delicately sliced breast in a gourmet meal, or roughly shredded in Chinese pancakes. My favourite way to cook and eat it (pre-confit-initiated) was juicy duck legs slowly roasted over sliced onions until the flesh was meltingly soft and the skin irresistibly crispy. Mmmmm…

From http://www.petitsbouchees.com/duck.html

Then one day I sampled ‘confit duck’ in a restaurant and subsequently had to try making it myself. In my opinion, my concoction was even more delicious than the restaurant dish that inspired it!

There are several reasons why I love to cook duck legs in particular. First, they are relatively cheap compared to other cuts of meat — we always get ours from Sainsburys, where you can get two big duck legs for just £2.50. Second, the skin gets fantastically crispy and tasty if done correctly. Third, despite how easy they are to cook, I think they make for quite an impressive dish. Fourth, they have enough fat to stay moist throughout slow-cooking, meaning the meat gets so tender that it just falls off the bone. I find this motion to be a pleasure in itself!

Anyway, onto my recipe. I adapted it from here, because I found this recipe doesn’t work as it should for me (the legs don’t produce sufficient fat to cook in). This isn’t a traditional confit, but tastes soooooooooooooo good. Requires a lot of time (24 hours to marinade, 2.5 hours to cook) but very little effort.

Recipe — Easy confit duck legs (serves 2)

Ingredients

• 2 duck legs
• coarse sea salt
• 2 garlic cloves, crushed (this brings out the flavour) then diced
• 2 bay leaves, ripped into pieces
• thyme and/or other dried herbs (herbes de provence work well)
• 100ml white wine
• 1 tub of duck fat

Method

1. 24 hours before you plan to cook them, smother the duck legs in the salt, bay leaf pieces, herbs and diced garlic then place them in the fridge to marinate overnight, in an airtight or clingfilmed container
2. When ready to cook, preheat the oven to 150°C.
3. Remove duck legs from the fridge and try to wipe off as much salt as you can with a paper towel but do NOT wash it off — this will reinflate the cells with water and undo the salt’s hard work!
4. Place the duck legs skin-side-down in an oven-safe pan (with a tight lid), in which they fit in a single layer (the tighter the fit, the better). Pour over the wine and heat on the hob until the wine starts to bubble
5. Put the lid on the pan and transfer it to the oven for 30 minutes
6. After 30 minutes, the wine should’ve reduced considerably (if not, put back in the oven for a bit longer). Add the duck fat to the pan, turn the duck legs skin-side-up and return to the oven for a further 1hr 30 mins
7. Remove from the oven — if eating today, move to step 8. If eating another day, place the duck legs in a container and pour over the melted fat from the pan. Put this container in the fridge and the fat will solidify, preserving the duck legs for up to a month. If doing this, remove the legs from the fridge and allow them to return to room temperature before putting in the oven.
8. To finish the duck legs, preheat the oven to 220°C and place them on a grill pan, so that the fat will be able to drip from them.
9. Put the legs in the hot oven for around 20 minutes (30-45 mins if they’ve just come out of the fridge) or until the skin has gone crispy. Don’t worry if it blackens — it will still taste amazing.

    

And to make a lovely gravy to go with the duck legs…

1. Glaze the pan the duck legs were cooked in, to remove the sticky fatty bits burnt onto it. This is done by sprinkling flour over the pan bottom, heating it gently and gradually adding a little red wine and a few splashes of balsamic vinegar as you use a wooden spoon to scrape the burnt-on bits off the pan bottom.
2. Keep stirring until you get a thick, viscous liquid. This can then be thinned by adding stock — I used the water that I’d boiled my carrots in — and a little bit of the duck fat if there wasn’t much left in the pan. Keep adding/reducing until you reach the consistency and amount you want.

    

I like to serve duck legs with potatoes roasted in the leftover duck fat. Failing that, it’s nice with creamy mash to counteract the richness and sweetness of the duck and its sauce. I still think this recipe can be improved — I’m perfecting it further each time I make it, and this recipe will be changed appropriately as I do.

Try this recipe and you’ll see that it really does taste exquisite. The skin is crispy without being fatty, the tender meat just falls away from the bone and you won’t believe how flavoursome it is. I don’t know where its amazing flavour stems from — it could be the marinading time, the wine or the fat. All I know is that it’s too incredible to pass up — so please try making it and tell me what you think!

Finished product (and a demonstration of how the meat just falls off the bone!)

Food Diaries — The rise and fall of my first cheese soufflé

There was no meat in the fridge, no ingredients for making sauce for pasta or noodles and nothing else inspiring. We did, however, have a lot of eggs, flour and milk (it had been Shrove Tuesday the day before). As well as cheese of course. We loooove cheese.

With few other options, I decided that the time had come — to try making my first ever soufflé.

What a cheese soufflé should look like — from www.bbc.co.uk/food/souffle

It was with some trepidation that I set out on this task. Watching contestants on Masterchef, The Great British Bake Off and other televised cookery competitions try and fail to make their soufflés rise and stay risen had taught me that mastering the souffle is no easy task. But loving cooking as I do, it was about time I gave it a shot.

Here is the recipe I used, adapted from BBC Good Food and the Masterchef Bible:

Cheddar soufflé (serves 2/3 as part of a main meal)

Ingredients

• 220ml milk
• pinch nutmeg
• 1 bay leaf
• 2 tbsp salted butter, plus extra for greasing
• 3.5 tbsp plain flour
• 1 tsp wholegrain mustard
• 4 eggs, separated
• 80g extra mature cheddar, grated

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 190°C
2. Put milk, bay leaf and nutmeg in a saucepan and bring to the boil, then set aside to infuse
3. Gently melt butter in another saucepan and gradually stir in the flour
4. Remove from the heat and add the milk (minus bay leaf) little by little, stirring all the time to combine it completely (whisk for smoothness)
5. Heat mixture until it thickens, then stir in the mustard, cheese and egg yolks
6. Whisk egg whites until white and stiff enough to form peaks (electric whisk recommended)
7. Gently fold spoonfuls of foamy egg white into the mixture
8. Pour mixture into greased ramekins (two-thirds full) that are placed inside a slightly larger roasting tin
9. Pour boiling water into the tin until it reaches half-way up the ramekins
10. Carefully put into the preheated oven for 25-30 minutes, until the tops are going brown. Serve immediately.

How I got on
The recipe I was using requested an onion be put in the milk to infuse, then discarded, but I thought this was a waste so ignored this. Separating the eggs was easier than I thought, especially as I already break open eggs by tapping them sharply with a big knife (rather than haphazardly knocking them against the side of the bowl). As I try to explain to Steve, repeatedly, this method may require an extra implement but it causes less mess, less dispersion of egg shell and never fails! Seriously, try it. Anyway, I found that once the egg was broken down the middle, it wasn’t difficult to carefully pass the yolk between the two halves until all the white had poured out — then leave the yolk inside one of the halves until needed.

    

Egg white palava
I hate whisking egg whites. Failed attempts at making meringue (why must it always turn out chewy?) have taught me to avoid any recipe that requires egg whites magically forming ‘stiff peaks’. This could be because I don’t own an electric whisk, which I assume must be the secret to this elusive stiffness. Whisking egg whites by hand takes a long time. And even then, the best that Steve and I could achieve with our combined 10-minute effort was a thicker, frothier white liquid. When I stopped whisking, it just about crossed over from liquid to foam — but foam that had liquid underneath. I ignored this liquid as I spooned the foam only into my mixture.

Muffin tops
My final problem was not having ramekins. Come on, who does, except frequent dinner-party throwers (or people who keep the ramekins that Gü desserts come in)? However, I figured that my floppy silicon muffin tray (never previously used, despite my greatest muffin-baking intentions) would suffice. This created six mini soufflés rather than fewer bigger ones, but I thought they were cute!

    

Happily ever after
And guess what? They turned out really well! It was exciting watching them rise in the oven and, although they sunk a little after a few minutes out of the oven (which is to be expected, apparently, hence why they must be served at once), still retained that soufflé shape and felt spongy and light. They tasted deliciously creamy and smooth, yet not noticeably cheesy — so I would increase the amount of cheese for a cheesier-tasting souffle.

Overall, I’d say these were lovely but perhaps not worth the effort, unless you were wanting to impress guests by serving them as a starter at a dinner party. And it’s definitely something every amateur cook should try — if only for the satisfaction of watching these babies grow.

One of my six mini soufflés — small but perfectly formed!

A birthday of much road walking and many kind strangers

On his birthday, I always like to take Steve somewhere that’s a surprise — last year it was two days in Brighton (the wind as we walked along the seafront was bitingly cold and the pier rides weren’t going, but the sun was warm and we ate fish and chips on the pebble beach — it was wonderful). This year I spotted a wowcher deal for an hour of quadbiking near London. Because one must always do this when one does not have a car at one’s disposal, I then checked whether we could get there via bus from the train station. A straightforward bus ride along the A22 then a short seven-minute walk to the quadbiking, Google Maps said. Perfect, I said, as I bought the wowchers and train tickets and felt suitably pleased with myself.

From http://www.a2e-es.com/Adult-Quads.php

Fast-forward to the day, 20 minutes before we’re booked in for quadbiking with Amazon Events, and we’re trudging through the soft snowy mud along the side of the A22. We’ve been walking for almost an hour and still don’t know if we’re going the right way — or what to do about it if we’re not.

Bus samaritans
How did we get here? With a little help from a bus full of people. An hour previously, we’d easily found the correct bus and settled into our seats tasked with looking out for a ‘Medway’, whatever that was (Google Maps said the stop from which we should alight was ‘opposite Medway’). Eventually, we spotted a bus stop that said Medway on it. Before getting off, we asked the bus driver if she knew which direction we needed to walk to get to Knockhatch Adventure Park, roundabouts where the quadbiking would take place. She didn’t know, so turned to ask the passengers.

‘Oh dear, you should’ve got off three stops back,’ said one. ‘Did you see the KFC? If you walked through that industrial park, you would’ve got to the right roundabout,’ said another. ‘If you get off at the next stop, you could walk onto the main road from there, but it’s a fair walk,’ said someone else. A woman gave us a set of directions and guidance, including how to get back once done with quadding. Stunned at how eager to help these strangers had been, we thanked them profusely and stepped off the bus to a chorus of ‘Good luck!’. It seems when you live in London too long, kindness from strangers comes as a shock — and there was far more to come.

Round the bend
‘What they call a fair walk is probably just 10 minutes’ worth,’ I said, as we walked down a curving road that led (we hoped) to a roundabout we had to cross (according to our directions). The outside temperature was -1°C but we’d worn enough layers to prevent us from freezing (one long-sleeved top, two jumpers, a coat, woolly tights, skinny jeans and furry boots for me). We eventually reached a roundabout, rejoice, then (with some difficulty, with there being no path) crossed it. We walked some more, in fact quite a bit more, until we began doubting our direction as there were still signs of civilisation. Thankfully we spotted a little cafe, in which we went to ask directions.

On the road again
‘It’s back to the roundabout and then first turning up the A22. At the next roundabout, it’ll be just on the right,’ the smiling proprietor said. So we’d gone the wrong way again and wasted yet more time. But at least these directions sounded simple, which renewed my optimism. We thanked her and set back the way we came. The new road we had to take had no path, leaving us to trudge wonkily along the A road through uneven soft mud and snow mounds, ducking under spiky trees as cars sped past us at 70mph. No doubt the people driving past thought we were either lost or mad (they’d have been right on both accounts). This was the longest part of our journey — after twice mistakenly thinking we’d reached the roundabout at two junctions, we finally reached the roundabout. And hallelujah! — it had a brown attraction sign pointing to the adventure park.

Carless wonders
But it was far from over yet. We were now walking down a twisting and turning single-track road, with still no path to speak of, very occasionally dodging a single car coming from the other direction. This curvy road went on for what felt like miles. By this time, I was heartily regretting wearing two jumpers — it may have been like the arctic outside but inside my coat it was a sauna (from a combination of exertion and stress, I expect). I took off and carried my coat, still sweltering in the freezing air.

Frozen out
Reaching a car park, we ventured towards a spookily empty ticket office as gunshots rang out from within. Ringing the quadbiking centre, we were told to exit the car park and keep on ‘driving’ (everyone assumed we had a car and we didn’t have the guts to tell them we were haplessly on foot) until we reached a ski slope. And so we walked some more.

We reached another car park, with a ski-slope towering over. We briefly glimpsed a man on what looked like a quad bike driving past in the distance. I wandered into the ski lodge, asked how to get to Amazon Events and was told with a friendly smile to ‘return to our car in the car park, then walk past it out of the car park’s other exit’. As we were following these instructions, the aforementioned man on a quad bike appeared in front of us and asked if we were here for quad biking. YES!

Let the fun begin
He led us to a set of quads, we filled in some forms, he sold us some ridiculous onesie overalls to keep our clothes clean and finally we were off. We began by following him round a snowy track marked out by stacked tyres to build our confidence, then were taken along a muddy and bumpy woodland course with lots of dips, humps and slanting hills that were a challenge to traverse without falling sideways into the trees — I generally avoided falling off yet drove out of the obstacle so fast as to go hurtling into said tree.

Mud and glory
We both managed to sink our tyres in deep muddy puddles, forcing our guide to tow us out. He was so good-humoured and patient though, we never once felt discouraged. Steve’s favourite part was going through a lake then up a hill out of it — I was however towed through that section (don’t think I could be trusted to do it without sinking myself and quad). The onesies and helmet visors were essential — the bikes threw up clumps of snow and spatters of mud (generally into the face of the person behind) spectacularly, especially when stuck in the mud. The messiness only made it more fun! The best fun for me came from drifting in wide arcs through the snow as we took sharp corners.

Hitching a ride
We sheepishly told all about our walking misadventure and, at the end of our session, breathed a huge sigh of relief and gratitude as our lovely guide said he’d drive us out of the middle of nowhere and to wherever we wanted. Starving as we were (it was 4pm, but we’d skipped lunch due to walking for the entirety of the lunch period), I asked him to take us to Route 22, an American diner I’d selected for Steve’s birthday meal (ironically, because it was supposedly on the bus route halfway between Polegate rail station and Knockhatch). It was dark and empty when we arrived but, having been told it opened at 5pm, we were allowed to sit inside and read the menu while we waited.

Some Mexican heat
We plumped for potato skins loaded with cheese and bacon to share as a starter. Gooey and fattening, it was exactly what our exhausted bellies were crying out for. This was followed by a Route 22 burger with fries and extra chili for Steve and a giant plate of fajita components for me, to assemble myself. Sour cream, guacamole, tangy tomato salsa, shredded lettuce, a pot of grated cheddar cheese, warm tortillas rolled up in foil and a luscious mass of tender chicken strips, stringy caramelised onions and melting chunks of pepper, all smothered in a delicious smoky syrup of spices. The decorous deliciousness of this meal persuaded me to eat beyond my stomach’s natural capacity but even as I was falling into a fullness-induced slumber at my seat afterwards, I knew it had been worth it. Steve enjoyed his burger too — after all, it combined two of his favourite meals in one.

Service with more than a smile
Steve had a chocolate milkshake — I wish I had, but I made the same mistake as always of waiting for dessert then being too full to manage one — and a toffee cheesecake for dessert. I managed to fit a crumb or two down my gullet. For how full and satisfied we felt, the meal price was a bargain — just £31 for the lot, drinks included — and the service, provided by one waiter who had no one to serve but us, was extremely warm and friendly yet not intrusive in the slightest. I asked for the nearest bus stop and the chef came out to help too, providing directions and offering to call a taxi for us. We said we’d try our luck with the buses — another mistake.

Groping in the dark
So there we were, walking haplessly down another road, this time in pitch darkness (except for whenever cars sped past with blinding headlights). We found a small bus stop sign and waited. And waited. And waited. A bus came by, we flailed our arms madly in its headlights, only to have it drive right past us (almost taking off our outstretched arms in the process). We waited some more. It was only once Steve used his keyring light to read the bus timetable that we realised buses only stopped here in the morning…

So we gave up and blindly trudged back to the diner (streetlights would’ve been really useful). Just as our waiter was ringing the taxi (the place was still empty), the chef came out and told him to stop — he had a delivery, so would give us a free lift to the train station! Though inevitably a little dubious about getting in a car with this stranger whose accent we couldn’t understand very well, we waited by the fire as he went to get his keys. The kindness of strangers had got us this far — it looked like it was about to get us home too.

Coincidence of the century
Bundled into the back of his car, the smell of pizza wafting warmly around the confined space, he drove us first to a petrol station and then into Polegate. He began telling us his recent life story — how he’s only been here six months, moved to Sussex for work, but doesn’t like living here — it’s too quiet and full of old people. He preferred his old life in Nottingham.
‘I’m from Nottingham,’ I pipe up.
‘Really? Whereabouts?’ he cries back, excited.
‘West Bridgford,’ I reply.
‘JESUS CHRIST!’ he exclaims, ‘Me too! Do you know Central Avenue? I used to have a pizza restaurant there!’
Central Avenue is the single short road that I’ve been down more times than any other in my entire life. We spend the rest of the journey chatting about the night life of West Bridgford, which, for those who haven’t lived there (why not?), is a suburb in the East Midlands with a population of around 43,500.

Home free
Despite everything, we’d still managed to reach the station about an hour early so decided to shelter from the cold in a warm local pub. Its inhabitants were a group of people sat around the bar, variously aged and all chatting jovially with the smiling barman. We snuggled into a corner with our drinks until it was time to catch our train. The journey home was delayed slightly, due to problems at Clapham Junction, but compared to the rest of the day it was a welcome break. We got home a little muddy and very tired but, most of all, warmed by the extraordinary kindness we’d received from total strangers that day. Thank you, people of East Sussex, for showing two Londoners (unaccustomed to such benevolence) some much-needed warmth on a freezing-cold day.

And thank you to Route 22, for not only feeding us but getting us home too!

A Valentine’s Day guide to chocolates found in boxes

One of the most repeated movie quotations of all time has to be Forrest Gump‘s pearl of wisdom: ‘Life is like a box of chocolates — you never know what you’re going to get’. Well, prepare to gain a little foresight. This is a guide to the rich, creamy, crunchy, gooey, fruity and alcohol-laced delights most often found in a typical box of chocolates.

With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, it’s likely that many of us will soon be receiving boxes of chocolates. But in the midst of indulging in such a gift, have you ever stopped to think about how the chocolates are made and, indeed, what it is you’re enjoying? By answering those questions, this guide to boxed chocolates will help ensure you know what you’re going to get — and how to make some of them at home.

Ganache
It may have a fancy French name, but a ganache is simply a mixture of melted chocolate and cream. The ratio of these ingredients depends on what consistency is required; for example, in a runnier form it is used to coat cakes and other confectionery. If it’s listed in the contents of your box of chocolates, however, it’s probably a form of truffle — named differently due to having an appearance unlike that of a typical truffle.

Truffle
Everyone loves a rich, velvety truffle don’t they? Despite being named after their resemblance to a fungus (yes, the ones pigs sniff out and dig up), they are one of the most universally loved chocolates for their smooth simplicity. That said, truffles are also the most versatile of chocolates — in boxed chocolates especially, all kinds of flavoured variations exist; many containing different forms of alcohol.

And the best thing about truffles? You can easily make them at home with this simple recipe:

1. Melt 400g high-quality cooking chocolate (white, milk or plain) and 150ml double cream together in a glass bowl, set over a small pan of simmering water on the hob.
2. When melted, stir in 1tsp vanilla extract and put mixture in the fridge for three hours to cool.
3. When firm, use a melon baller (or any small spoon) to scoop out the mixture and form balls.
4. Roll these balls in your chosen coating: this could be cocoa powder, flaked chocolate, chopped nuts or anything else finely ground.
5. Place on a baking sheet and leave in the fridge until needed.

Of course, the truffles found in chocolate boxes are often fancier than this basic version — incorporating liquors (such as brandy, kirsch or rum) in particular. To do this at home, just replace the vanilla with one or two teaspoons of your chosen liquor — easy!

Caramel
In its simplest form, caramel is just lots of sugar heated to around 170°C until it’s a golden-brown liquid — if left to cool, this forms a hard, brittle substance. Doesn’t sound familiar? That’s because the soft caramel that oozes out of boxed chocolates is mixed with liquids to soften it’s consistency: whether cream, condensed milk or some form of syrup (golden, maple, treacle or honey). Increasingly, sea salt is being added into this mix to create Salted Caramel — a piquant, salty-sweet kiss for your taste buds.

Toffee and fudge
Like caramel, toffee is mostly sugar – the difference is that toffee contains butter and is heated to a higher temperature to make it harder, either chewy or crunchy. Fudge takes toffee’s sugar/butter combination and adds milk into the mixture, for a crumbly, melt-in-the-mouth texture. Commonly found coated in chocolate, both can be combined with flavourings such as vanilla, and contents such as fruit and nuts.

Praline
Commonly found in seashell shapes (for the irrelevant reason that they’re pretty, I presume), the praline is loved worldwide by all those without a nut allergy. But how do chocolatiers transform nuts into that creamy, sometime-smooth, sometime-crunchy substance that features in so many chocolate boxes? Well, praline comes in different forms depending on where it’s made. The element central to all of these is pralin — finely ground nuts that were previously roasted and coated in sugar syrup that has hardened. The nuts used are most typically hazelnuts, but almonds, pecans and others create slightly different-tasting variations. The pralines found in boxes of chocolates, at least in the UK, typically combine pralin with a chocolate ganache to create a grainy, nutty-flavoured chocolate truffle, which is then encased in hard chocolate. Textures vary depending on how finely the nuts were ground.

Fruit and peppermint creams
The funny thing about this commonly spotted chocolate is that, despite its name, it doesn’t contain any cream. The gooey, or sometimes firm, substance found within the hard chocolate cases is typically a mixture of icing sugar, water and egg whites, which is then flavoured with fruit extract, peppermint essence or whatever flavour is desired. The fancier versions of fruity chocolates often contain actual pieces of the specified fruit — gorgeous.

So there you have it – an explanation to what goes in to the treats most frequently found in a box of chocolates. Interesting, yes — but let’s face it, nobody really minds what goes into them when they’re so irresistibly delicious.