Taste of London

Ok so this is a bit delayed but I'm still reeling from the amazing time I had last weekend at Taste of London in Regent's Park...YUM!!!! My lovely friend Melanie from work, the author of fab food blog om nom London won some VIP tickets and she was kind enough to take me along. See Melanie's blog for a full run down of what we ate, but I can give you my main memories of the day.

First off was a rabbit stew from Hereford Road, which was great in flavour, but a bit sloppy and full of bones for us.

We then had some great samples from Almondy and The Curry Company, plus a young's pie which was beautifully rich on the inside and flaky on the outside...perfect.

My favourites however, were the pork from Asia de Cuba and the cold pumpkin and crab soup from Pied a Terre ... simply delicious.

In between all this, we managed to take advantage of the VIP tent, supping champagne and partaking of neck and back massages, both complementary, and both fabulous.

The great thing about the Taste of London is the fact that everyone gets involved, and everyone is welcome. yes ok so it takes a bit of money to get there, but in terms of attitude, I didn't find it as snobby and exclusive as I expected. The chefs and kitchen staff were friendly, chatty and welcoming, and the other guests all seemed gracious in queues and looked genuinely happy to be there.

I might even buy my own tickets next year...coming?

p.s Technorati says if I post this it will boost my blog profile.... nyzfu5mtdx

It feels good to do something good

Hello. I gave blood tonight...and I feel good about it. I know that's terribly cliched; do a good deed and feel all proud etc, but really, I do feel good. I don't know what the statistics are but I know that thanks to the 15-20 people that I saw pass through the clinic tonight, including me, a few more unlucky people might be ok , or even live instead of die.

Ok, so it was a long wait, and ok, it was slightly annoying that I had two people double and triple check the manual to see if my meningitis four years ago affected my eligibility to donate. Yes, it was painful when Patrick the grumpy but delightful old american man who took my blood put the needle in at the wrong angle and had to jiggle it around causing a cascade of lovely red liquid down my arm. Yes, it was weird that some strange lanky dutch boy was appearing to eye me up while lying on the stretcher bed next to me, watching the blood trickle out of my arm with a peculiar leer on his face.

It was even frustrating that the biscuits they made me eat to stop me fainting afterwards meant that I'll most likely go over my weight watchers points for today. All of these things were probably not what I'd usually include in my regular Thursday night, and some of them, especially the latter, WW related point, were a little inconvenient. That said, in order to help a few people out and blimey, maybe even save a few lives, it's got to be worth it really, hasn't it?

The customer's always..right??

Wow, it's been a while. Hmmm. I seem to have slipped back into the 'wake, work, eat, sleep' mode, which is not a good thing but inevitable I suppose.

I had a brilliant customer service call today. Abel and Cole rag me, because I set up an account last week, and made an order, then cancelled just before the payment stage because I realised I was going to be on holiday (d'oh...). Anyway, this very nice chap called me today and casually asked me if I was having problems, could he help, just to introduce me to the service...yada yada. I was very impressed. You see, the problem with most customer service people is that they either try and be super efficient, which often comes over as unfriendly and patronising, or they can't give a monkeys.

I HATE bad customer service. Having worked in a supermarket once, I can't understand why or how people who work in shops can even contemplate not acknowledging or saying hello to thier customers, talking to colleagues while serving, or even (and this really winds me up) taking mobile phone calls whilst in the middle of a transaction. Appalling. I know I sound like a prude, but really - are we so 'advanced' in our society now that we don't even need to make contact with people while we serve them at the supermarket?

Anyway, I digress into the negative because it's often easier to do so than focus on the positive. But, Mr Abel and Cole, you were extremely impressive - you didn't try too hard, didn't gush over me, and you only stayed on the phone as long as I wanted to. Top marks, sir.

Cornish fasties

Ahhh...Cornwall. Just returned after five glorious days visiting my nanna in Falmouth and I couldn't be happier, more sunburnt, or any fatter... Honestly, I have eaten so much food in the last week that I don't think I need to have another meal for months. Seriously though, we couldn't have asked for better weather; the sun was out, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the wind was just enough to be a comfort without making my hair look like a hedge with a bird's nest in it.

I've spent lots of holidays in Cornwall, visiting family and gorging myself on pasties and the like, and quite often we've had great weather for most of the week, or a few days rain followed by one reasonable day, but this time, I was gobsmacked as each morning as I dragged myself out of bed, I was greeted by bright blue sky and glorious sunshine. Pretty perfect as one of the reasons for the trip was to prove to the Kiwi other half that there are indeed sunny days and sandy beaches to be enjoyed in the U of K.

So, enough of the Michael Fish impersonation, and on to the Rick Stein (from weather to food if you need further explanation). Cornwall and food, for those of you not familiar with the county, go hand in hand. The Cornish are fiercely protective of their own creations, and have now moved from cheerfully moaning that none of their wares (hog's pudding, saffron cake, Rhodda's clotted cream) could be purchased outside of Cornwall, to cheerfully moaning that 'you can get it anywhere now.' However, even though I'm delighted that I can get 'proper' food in London, there's nothing quite like eating the delights of the most south west county in the place itself. What would be bread rolls, cream and golden syrup anywhere else becomes the deliciously mysterious sounding 'thunder and lightning', and thick white sausage takes on the brilliantly country bumpkin persona of hog's pudding. Yum. I'll still be eating them in my dreams a week from now.

So on to the tricky subject of pasties. Mr Kiwi had tasted some pasties before but had not yet enjoyed a proper Nanna version, and other than that he'd only been exposed to the horrors of the supermarket and train shop versions (Mince?? in a pasty?? whatever...) Come Thursday night, we were sat down at the table and there, placed ceremoniously in front of us were the most beautifully rustic, crispy parcels of pasty perfection. I would go into detail about how juicy the steak was, how smooth the kidney was , and howthe potato, swede and delicious pastry melted into each other, but I think I'd start salivating onto the keyboard. Oops..too late. Needless to say, on account of both the weather and the food, Mr Kiwi and I are already planning our next trip to Kernow, but before then, I seriously need to start dieting. Hence the title.

recipe for bliss

Ah, the joys of youth..when I was so sure I would grow up to be an independent-minded, career driven girl with no desire to stay at home and cook. What did I do today? Cooked a big lunch and spent the afternoon baking brownies...haha!

But seriously, there is a serious pleasure to be had in cooking. I never really cooked much when I was younger, I guess it came from having an HE teacher as a mother! She was so good I was happy to leave it all to her! But as I've moved away, got older and found my own man to cook for (oh the feminist in me is groaning, and the man himself is even protesting because he actually would love to cook if I let him in the kitchen), I've discovered a real love for cooking.

Whether it's the long drawn out joys of a roast dinner (the cooking is drawn out; the eating takes a frustrating 5 minutes!) or the 'will it rise, will it collapse' traumas of baking, I find I can really escape from stress and throw myself into cooking, it completely takes me over and I'm as happy as Larry. However happy he is.

Brownie anyone? Before the other half eats them all?

Telly-vision

Why is it that a TV programme can sometimes make me feel as good as meeting an old friend, or spending a really nice night with my fiance or my family? Is it sad that sometimes, looking at a small box (well, actually, my TV is enormous - old and unsexy, but enormous, yet that's besides the point) can evoke in me the same emotions and feelings of comfort as more, well less face it, legitimate pleasures?

I sit here, wearing old clothes and hugging a cup of tea, and pass the hours watching a mindless soap or drama, or going goggled eyed over the latest reality-let's pick-the-best-out-of-a-bad-bunch music / model / entrepreneur show, and it actually makes me feel really, really relaxed and happy. I read constantly that such shows are 'drivel', 'brainless' and 'dire', but what if mindless and unchallenging is exactly what I need after a long day? I take comfort in the fact that I don't need to strain to understand these programmes, be disturbed, shocked or frightened by them, or feel uncomfortable with the subjects they deal with.

Don't get me wrong, sometimes I love to watch programmes that challenge, educate and confront me - I like to learn, I'm not afraid of tough topics and I'm not averse to being proved wrong or have my views altered by what I see. There are days when this kind of viewing is what I need, what I crave.

But sometimes, just sometimes, give me a cuppa and American Idol and I'm the happiest girl in the world. Oh and maybe throw in a biscuit. Covered in chocolate.

The morning after

After setting up my blog last night in a wave of enthusiasm and confusion, I now have that familiar but unpleasant morning after feeling of 'oh no, maybe I shouldn't have done that.' It's not that I don't want a blog, I do, but the name, the purpose...

Anyway, I am a worrier so the name will stick. But what I really want to do with this is write, put feelings and thoughts to page and generally just observe and post. Being in the communications business I am of course like many others a frustrated writer, and now I can submit my ramblings to the ether forever...

What I'm interested in this morning is why people react so differently to the same topic or problem. Why do so many of us look at an email, a situation, or hear a conversation and immediately think the worst or start panicking? Are we just programmed to be that way? Or is it something we've experienced; is it past bad memories that make us panic so dramatically? Sometimes I'd love to be one of those gloriously laid back people who can always look at a situation and just say 'oh it's fine, it will all blow over.' It must be nice not to tense up and imagine the worst all the time. But other times I realise why I am the way I am; I think I just really like the drama, deep down.