You are what you eat

I've been most flattered recently by a number of people telling me that I have lost 'shedloads' of weight.

I am aware that I've gone down a couple of belt sizes, but the implication that I have lost shedloads kind of insinuates that my girth was once adequate to fill aforementioned shed, so maybe I should be offended. I believed that my gut was not shed sized, and would in fact struggle to fill our mini plastic Argos greenhouse.

I have moaned previously about feeling fat, and undeservedly so since I was walking more, and eating and drinking less, (but still having to disable the touch pad from my laptop as my overhang could move the cursor just by me breathing).

And even now my stomach is definitely more washbowl than washboard - so what kind of a monster was I?

I however hadn't really appreciated the size that I had become. If I knew my photo was being taken, I would probably breath in a bit. And when looking in the mirror, I wouldn't stand side on and let it all hang out, I'd just check the front, which can be deceptive....

It was only this weekend looking at Mum and Dads photos from Brazil that I truly took on board what I had done to myself.

The photo below is un-doctored, and taken without my knowledge.

If you look carefully you can probably just make out the contents of a small, but perfectly serviceable shed strapped around my midriff.





Due to the usefulness of the Wii balance board in weighing travellers carrying, and not carrying suitcases, I know that just before we flew out, I weighed 16 and a half stone.

Since I have been walking to work, and consuming slightly less pies and ale, the Wii now reckons I weigh less than 15 stone. Still overweight, but at least no longer bordering on obese.

Without going to the gym (ever - I've never even stepped foot in one), or consciously dieting I've lost over a stone and a half. I still get two sausages with a large portion of chips from the van that parks outside Slippytowers every Saturday. I still eat bacon sandwiches for breakfast every Sunday. I can demolish a packet of gingernuts before the first crumbs have had time to hit the floor, and have become quite keen on melting marshmallows and/or chocolate to glue together cornflakes or rice crispies, and then eating them before they've even set properly.

Yet I'm losing weight....

To try to get it into perspective, I've tried to visualise what the 24lbs/11kg I've lost actually looks like, so in true (not a real) Dr. Gillian McKeith style, I have lost the equivalent of...

A 24 tinned crate of ale. I'd rather it was Broadside, but they only do that in 4 packs, so it would be 6 of those.


Or, 32 packets of mucky Richmond sausages.






The thought of not having 384 low quality sausages secreted about my person makes me feel very positive, and I think I still might like to lose a few more. I don't even have to do any thing different - just carry on, and let nature take it's course.

Talking of which, would anyone also like to see a picture of my poo?



Thought not.....

Marmite

Hoorah I'm home, and what better way to celebrate than some Marmite on toast?

I'm very much like a jar of Marmite, not because you either love me or hate me, but because I smell of yeast and have sticky brown residue around my rim....

Only joking, but I do love Marmite. Everyone should. Unless they hate it, which is kind of ok, as long as you have a strong opinion one way or the other.

Marmite - I'm kind of indifferent is not an option.

Love it, love it, love it. Missed it, missed it, missed it.

We couldn't even get decent toast, let alone the yeasty goodness that goes on top.

But perhaps more important that the actual Marmite itself, is how it is prepared. This is a contentious issue, and I'm sure Mrsslippy will disagree, but here is how to make perfect Marmite on toast.

Firstly, the bread. It must be white, and it must not be plastic pre-sliced rubbish. A quality split tin or crusty bloomer it must be.

The bread should be sliced to a thickness of no less than 8mm, but anything up to 20mm is acceptable. Any thicker than that and it may not fit in the toaster, or will be still too cool on the inside when the outside is cooked.

It should be toasted for just long enough to have taken a golden colour all over, but with definitely no carbonisation. Think polished oak, not mahogany.

On removal from the toaster prop one slice up against each other to cool for around 30 seconds, as if building a tower of cards. If you butter it straight away, it will be too hot and all the butter will melt. If you lay the toast flat to cool, the steam will make the underside slightly soggy.

Butter.

Not spread, or marge, or Olivio.

Proper, harden your arteries and lift your cholesterol, butter.

The butter should be kept in a cool, but not cold. If used straight out the fridge, it will be too cold and you risk damaging the delicate golden surface of your toast. If at room temperature, it will melt too quickly and the toast will go soggy. It should be firm enough to slice, because that is what you will need.

A slice of butter.

From a standard 500g packet of butter you will need a slice around 4mm thick for each piece of toast.

Drop this onto the middle of the toast, and smear, not spread, smear the butter in no more than four strokes of the knife. You are not trying to create an even layer from edge to edge, but to have ridges that you can sink your teeth into, and little bare patches that remain all crispy toast.

Now, and only now can you open the Marmite.

You will need enough to cover the knife blade half way along.

This should now be applied to the toast it the same manner as the butter, in a 'drop & smear' manner, so the toast is a marbled brown and yellow slab.

The resulting affect will be toast heaven. Crisp on tyhe underside, and fluffy in the middle.

The top will have small crunchy bits to it, thick dollops of Marmite, little pools of melted butter where it has been spread thinly, and lumps of cold hard butter where it is still in it's sliced format.

Absolutely perfect.

Serve with a steaming mug of tea, and settle back to watch TV. The Sky+ has only 4% left on it - I guess Slippy Towers will be mostly catching up on missed shows this weekend......

Deep Heat and Root Beer

I went to bed slathered in Deep Heat last night, to try to ease the discomfort in my lower back.

I love the smell of the stuff - it reminds me of Root Beer, which left me in nostalgic mood as I drifted off, thinking about my childhood Saturday routine of food and football with good friends.

Start by meeting Mumbage, Soxie, Hunty and Plum to catch the Number 1 bus into Norwich. Straight to the market to purchase cockles & mussels alive-alive-o (well cooked actually). In a pre-curser to the Yo-Sushi style so favoured by young trendies today, you just ate tiny plate after tiny plate of salty mollusc's, then just paid for the number of plates consumed.

Next JJB Sports to peruse the sporting regalia. Careful with that snooker cue display Stoxie!

Onwards to Jarrolds, this time to tit about on the latest fitness/sporting sensation, the Trimball!


Anyone remember this baby? The idea was to bounce in an orderly fashion, and get fit in the process, unless you were a Cringleford lad. Jarrolds had a demo model, and the idea of the game was to do the best 'Platini'. That is, whilst completed un-impinged by friends or other shoppers, fling your arms in the air, shout 'PLATINI!!!', and dive headlong into the display in the style of cheating UEFA boss Michel Platini.

Stoxie was by far the best at this, and in recognition of this fact it was added into his already massive full title.

Richard Stoxie striker Nery Alberto Pumpido on the Trimball

Which was more than often shortened to simply 'Baller', or 'ohh laa laa le balon'

Legging it out the shop, it would then be time for a pre match McDonalds.

Huntys favourite game here would be to ask for a Coke with his meal, to which the sales assistant would have to say 'It's McDonalds cola, is that ok?', to which the stock response would always be 'No, it's not. I'll have a Root Beer'

Every week.

Standard food was a Big Mac, complete with mucky gherkins. None of us ate the gherkins, but we never asked for one without them, because they were required for the next 'lucky routine', which was to fling than at the ceiling in Mucky D's and see if you could get them to stick. We thought we were so funny, but if I saw kids doing that today, I'd probably get the urge to smack them upside the head.

If you were lucky, there was a kids party on with yellow and green balloons that you could nick to take to the football with you.

If you were unlucky, they were attached so firmly to the light fitting that the whole thing came out the wall, and you would be legging it out of another Norwich establishment.....

Happy days and highjinks...

It's a shame you don't see Root Beer at McDonalds any more, or even McDonalds cola - they've gone all official Coke.

And don't try eating the stuff to see if it tastes the same, because it doesn't, although it does leave a pleasant tingling taste on the tongue.

How do you eat yours?

Creme egg fans have only got a fortnight left to stock up before they disappear off the shelves for another year, and I for one will be glad to see the back of them.

I've not got the sweetest tooth in the world, as regular readers will attest, I much prefer crisps. I'll eat chocolate if it's put in front of me, unless of course, it is one of those ovoid goo fests.

Far too sickly.

Hot cross buns are a seasonal delight that I'd quite happily eat all year round, but if someone brings a box of Creme Eggs into work, then thanks, but no thanks.

I used to, and my earliest memory of one is also a bit of a confession.

When I was 7 or 8, I shared a room with my older brother, and one year we must have been given a Creme Egg each by someone.

Not wanting to eat my own yet, but curious as to what that yolky stuff in the middle actually tasted like, I decided the easiest way to find out was to poke a hole in big brothers, and drink out the yolk like some sugar crazed mongoose.

I peeled away a tiny corner of foil, and tried to pierce that chocolate chunklet with a paper straw.

No good.

Needed something firmer.

Pencil - too thick. Safety pin - too narrow.

Then I spotted it. On the floor, our recently finished game of Cluedo. There was a little metal dagger...

Only this looked a little weedy too...but the... what's that? The lead piping! Perfect diameter, and if I held the tip against the radiator for a couple of minutes I could heat it up enough to melt a hole in the chocolate, snaffle the innards, then melt the hole back up again.

Hole successfully made, I was back with the straw, but that gunk was just to thick to suck out. I'd have to use my poisonous board game accessory as a soldier.

So there I was. Dipping a piece of real lead (this was pre Health & Safety Law), into a Creme Egg and sucking off the goo like a chimp poking a stick in an ants nest.

So do you want to know why you once had an almost empty Creme Egg Simon?

You want to know who killed it before it had a chance at life?

It was your little brother, in the bedroom, with the lead piping.

Maybe that's why I don't like them now. Not the fact that the first one I remember probably gave me lead poisoning, but that not since have matched up in taste department without that heavy metal tang.

I'm not greedy

Oops.

I called into the boozer on the way home from work for a swifty, and that was absolutely fine.

But my downfall has come through the cockney gabble of Terry the Fossil.

Show off bastard had got some slowly roasted ribs in the oven, which he'd marinated and cooked using mine own special recipe.

I'd already received dinner instructions from mrsslippy, who had texted me to ask for some sausages, but due to some weird predictive text nonsense, she would like me to 'cool them'. They are mrsslippys 'special sausages', so I'd need to sort myself out anywho, and right now, I would kill my own mother (sorry Mum - the blood lust will pass!) for some Chinese Ribs.

Time check - 18:45. Mrsslippy E.T.A. - 20:30. Plenty of time to sup up, nip to Chinky, and be home with evidence disposed of, and sausages in the oven for her return home.

Go.....

Only problem was, that I kind of go into autopilot mode when I get to the Chinese, so out came the usual spiel that will procure enough deep fried/stir fried/special fried goodness to feed us both, and the cats for supper, breakfast and dinner, and still have enough left over to feed the birds.

Ribs, sweet and sour chicken balls, sticky shredded chili beef, pork fried rice, chicken and cashews, crispy seaweed etc..... I may have over ordered.....

I think the first clue was the fact that she gave me two bags. One with my free bottle of coke and a bag of prawn crackers for spending shitloads, the other containing my food.

The bag with the food weighed considerably more than the 2 litre bottle of drink, which by my estimation means I've bought 2.5-3kg of the very best Chinese takeaway Chinton can offer.

Second clue was that there's not enough space on the kitchen worktop to open everything. I think I may struggle to consume this and hide the remains before mrsslippy gets home.

So I best crack on. First helping gone, it's back into the kitchen for seconds.

And pop mrsslippys sausages in the freezer. I'm sure that's what she meant.

HESTVS BLVMENTHVS

Heston's back, and he's gone all Romanesque. I'm hoping he serves hors d'oeuvres a la Monty Python's Life of Brian snack seller at the Colosseum.

He's promising a feast fit for Caligula. That'll be feasting on a horses cock then...

..raw...

..and still attached...

..and twitching and throbbing...

..yum.



Tonight's guests include;
Danny Wallace(presumably still in 'Yes Man' mode, Greta Scatchi, and the posh(er) one from Armstrong and Miller - you know - the one that flogs Pimms, and rent-a-loon in loons, The Marquis of Bath.

Well the hors d'oeuvres aren't a kick in the arse from larks' tongues, wrens' livers, chaffinch brains, jaguars' earlobes and wolf nipple chips.

Nipples are on the menu. Pigs nipple scratchings. You dirty bastard. You're at it again ruining a perfectly good pub snack. I like pork scratchings, even when they're still bristly, but if the nipples were hairy, then that'd be just wrong.


Starter, calves brain custard, which at the moment he's mixing with Thai fish sauce. The one that really stinks (but I like). Strangely every unsuspecting member of the public that he cons into tasting it immediately bokes it back. Can't imagine why...

Under the belief that it's the fish sauce that's ruining the tasty brains, as it's not 'proper bo' , he's off in search of some mackerels guts to ferment, as this would be 'authentic'. We're also reliably informed that Worcester Sauce is made from fermented anchovies. No it's not, they drill for it round the back of the Cathedral, just like there's a HP Sauce well just behind the Houses of Parliament.

As if we'd put rotten fish on a nice bit of cheese on toast!

Main course is a Trojan Hog with sausages for intestines. Could be safe to eat, but who knows how he plans to defile it yet...

Just so we can be sure that the 'intestines' look realistic, we're treated to the sight of a real pig being gutted. Unnecessary. Thank god I've already eaten.

And how do you boil a whole pig? Why 24 hours in a hot tub of course! I think he's taking the whole Roman Bath thing to extremes. Danny Wallace just said on Twitter that he believes he's one of the few people in the world to have eaten a pig cooked in a Jacuzzi. I'm sure there are several people out there who've had a gobble on Michael Winner...

Then with the aid of an endoscope he's stuffing a hollowed out spit roasted pig with the rankest sausages you've ever seen, all lubricated with some yellow/brown fluid that looks suspiciously like faecal fluid to me. I really don't want to see them slop out onto the table.

OH MY GOD...that is gross.

Dessert will be ejaculating cakes. The Romans had some kind of phallic pudding that jizzes fruit juice and saffron custard, but what he says he really wants is a 'bubbling' effect, rather than a grand spurt.

Heston, you've spent too long standing in front of an industrial microwave if your spunk gun doesn't so much shoot, as bubble out a frothy love custard. There's something seriously wrong with you.

A center piece of a statue with a gigantic cock is brought out followed by....



Chocolate sponge bell end!

Nice!

Danny Wallace is well out of his comfort zone, and who can blame him with the batty Marquis of Bath marvelling at the tables centre piece, and contemplating what he would do if he had a 2 foot cock.

'Pour your juices into the hole' says the maitre d with no sense of irony whatsoever.

And what do they like most about it? It's got space dust in it. You can't take credit for that, you can buy it in the corner shop for 10p.

Yep, Roman Heston is just as bonkers and sex obsessed as he has been in other time periods, and is a master of showmanship, but that food had better taste good, because once again, the ingredients are just plain wrong.

Heston Bloominmad

Tonight sees the latest instalment of Heston Blumenthals series of bonkers food as the culinary clown prince goes all Tudor.

The Christmas special he did was incredible, but edible gold frankincense and myrrh not too easy to replicate in the home kitchen.

The Victorians gave us absinthe and dildo jelly, Medieval England had edible tableware. What can the Tudors give us?

Bring it on!

He’s promising extravagant, flamboyant an spectacular, but can he deliver?

I’m already a little put off my own dinner by what’s on the screen, but at least we won’t be eating Cilla Black, or at least I hope not. There’s some imagery I don’t want to get into, especially not with the equally unsavoury Kelvin MacKenzie.

First off, he’s making Butter Beer in St Albans. It reminds me of the warm cider you get at the Cambridge Folk Festival. Warm, sweet and acidic, with lumps in it. Vomit in a glass. Bleugh. Pint of Broadside please landlord.

Starter - more wobbly food, frog blancmange. You dirty bastard. He’s in a Chinese kitchen in New York learning how to prepare them. I don’t think we really needed to see them get their heads cut off while still alive. As anyone who knows me will confirm I’ll eat anything, but I’m not convinced that I really want frog blancmange, although it does look very pretty with the deep fried frogs legs on lily pads.

Next, Cockentrice. A mythical creature of half pig, half capon. Easily confused these Tudors. You’d think you’d notice it just two animals sewn together. Think manbearpig from South Park, or The Beast of Royston Vasey.

“Isn’t that just a cock with the head of a pig?”. “Yes - It’s Kelvin Mackenzie. He used to edit the Sun”, I thank you…

Unhappy with the simplicity of this, he’s gone to a taxidermists to experiment with proper animashes, but is just fucking about with soft toys, which mrsslippy finds most disturbing. There’s fluff everywhere….

Cockentrice finally on the table, and as great as to looks, there ain’t a lot of meat in it, and as mrsslippy quite correctly points out - it looks like spam. Even Kelvin is finally happy. Fuckwit.

Dessert is a pudding. Rice pudding. I don’t like the stuff at the best of times, so what crazy twist is he going to put on it? If he’s using ‘special milk’ ie anything that doesn’t come from a teat, or the teats of a person, then I’m turning it off.

Nooooo - he’s defiling a sausage skin by stuffing it with rice pudding! If you gave me a sausage filled with that muck I’d punch your face in.

Fuck me it gets worse. He’s decided the sausage skin is too difficult to peel to get the goodness out. He needs something sausage shaped that is waterproof and lubricated…..

You guessed it.

You filthy fucker. He’s cooking rice pudding in condoms then trying to pass it off as a sausage. No wonder everyone in his restaurant got ill. The man is sick. Seriously sick.

All in all it’s all done with smoke and mirrors. Looks impressive, but is it style over content? Probably.

I’m off to dig the pistachio ice cream out the freezer. I might roll it into little balls and smother it in chocolate sauce so I can pretend it’s peas and gravy, but then again, I’ll probably just eat it out the tub.

Crispy Chinese Duck

I've been experimenting with various recipes, and through bastardising and amalgamating them, I have managed to create a fantastic recipe for authentic Chinese crispy duck. If you've ever wanted to create this dish in your own home, but thought it impossible, here's how in 24 easy steps.



1) Go to Tesco's and buy some duck legs, don't bother with with a whole duck, they're really expensive, and legs are on offer at the moment. You'll also need some star anise, cinnamon sticks, spring onions, cloves, root ginger, szechaun peppercorns and shaoxing rice wine, the latter of which can be substituted for dry sherry. If you have no Peking Duck Sauce at home, buy some now also. I already have some at home, it being part of my Valentines Day hamper from mrsslippy.

2) Forget to put the sherry in the trolley so you can dash back through the supermarket to get some, and bump into a work colleague, who will ask why you are in such a rush to get home with a bottle of 'own brand sherry'.

3) Once home put the duck, a couple of cinnamon sicks, 4 star anise, a teaspoon each of the peppercorns and cloves, a few slices of ginger, and a couple of spring onions in a dish, then pour a couple of glugs of sherry over the top.

4) Take a big swig of the sherry 'for luck', and remember why you never drink the stuff normally.

5) Cover with cling film and place in the fridge.

6) A couple of hours later return to the fridge and get out a lemon, a bottle of quality gin (Bombay Sapphire works best, but Plymouth or Gordons will do in an emergency), and a bottle of tonic water. Make yourself a large G&T and go and watch TV.

7) Once consumed, repeat stage 6 until you are either bored of TV, or G&T. I have a strong tolerance for both, so suggest around 2am. If you're not confident in the kitchen, or in a hurry, you may prefer to stop this stage earlier. This is ok, and will not affect the quality of the duck.

8) Go to bed.

9) First thing in the morning (or around 10.30, whichever is more convenient), return to the fridge and give the duck a curious look. Leave it where it is and make some fresh coffee, then return to bed to watch the remaining hour and a half of Soccer a.m. If you want to follow the recipe to the letter, I suggest rewinding it to the beginning on Sky+, and then just fast forward through the adverts and shit bits - you should find you've synchronised by the time it finishes.

10) Go to your local Chinese supermarket to procure some of those little pancake things you use to wrap duck in that Tesco's doesn't seem to stock. Whilst there, don't forget to pick up a few packets of weird shit to experiment with at a later date ( I have some frozen purple yam, and tamarind amongst other things). Also remember to peer bemused into the freezers at some of the frozen/dried fishy things that you definitely won't be buying.

11) Once back home again take the duck, still in it's marinade and put the whole thing in a steamer.

12) Next, add a healthy portion of live Premiership football. I recommend using Man U 1 -4 Liverpool. It's very sweet - possibly too sweet for some tastes, and it is very difficult to get hold of, but well worth it if you can find some. If you find it bitter, get over it. A little bitter seasoning to your season isn't going to ruin the overall result.

13) Remove yourself from the sofa, and remove the duck from the steamer. A football match + interviews + highlights should be long enough, but if you don't have a game to hand, you can always use any of the Star Wars films, or a couple of Star Trek TNG episodes. If you cannot find any of these, you could try watching a clock for 2 hours, but it will be fucking tedious.
You may also find a large portion of battered sausage and chips from a van parked outside your house may help with the preparation process, although seasonal and regional availability may vary enormously.

14) Allow the duck to cool for long enough to realise your laptop is broken. It needs to be completely cooled, and dry (the duck that is, not the laptop). It may help if you cannot even get the laptop to boot in Safe Mode, instead just cycling though a loop of 'A disk error has occurred. Press ctrl-alt-del to restart'. This will allow you plenty of time to try and Google the error on the tiny screen on your smartphone, finally coming to conclusion that your hard drive is completely fucked.

15) Go and buy a new laptop. If you can pick a day when your local team is playing at home this will really help the ducks cooling/drying time. If you can't achieve this, just make sure that the sales assistant in PC World is first not interested in speaking to you, then once he's realised you want to buy something, will not stop trying to flog you extra's that you do not need.

16) Plug in and set up new laptop. Get frustrated by the helpful user guides that it insists on showing you.
"Stop it new computer - I know what I'm doing, just give me my internets back!"

17) Get pissed off because although you're not the best touch typist in the world, someones moved the fucking Shift key so you keep hitting \, and where's 'delete' gone? Also, be pleased that it now has a numeric pad to the right of the letter keys rather than just along the top row (always missed having one when playing Warcraft, maybe I should reinstall it on this machine? Maybe not...), but again a bit pissed because it means all the letters have moved slightly to the left to accommodate this.

18) Install Firefox, and be saddened that all your favourite add-ons are now missing. Fix the ones that you can remember, and restart the laptop.

19) Go back to the kitchen and fill a saucepan with oil, and set the gas ring on full. *SAFETY FIRST*- ensure your significant other is out of town on a hen/stag do so they cannot;

• Question why you are deep frying food when you've been moaning about your weight.
• Ask whether it should be bubbling/spitting so ferociously.
  

20) Carefully drop in the duck, then stand well back. Meanwhile, finely slice some cucumber, spring onions, and get the Peking Sauce out the cupboard.

21) Wrap your hand/arm in a damp teatowel so you can safely approach the saucepan, and fish out the duck. If it's been in for 5-6 minutes it should now be a chocolate brown colour, with crispy skin.

22) Smear the sauce on the pancakes, and roll up the filling. Be pleased with the result - it truly is fucking lush, and tastes just like the real thing.

23) After you've sorted yourself out, and shared some with your cats, remember to save some for your significant other, who may sulk if you've made duck and not left them any.

24) Return to your new laptop, and consider the prospect of having to reinstall everything that you either enjoy or rely on. All those passwords, all those applications, all those bookmarks, all gone. Have a quick blog to get it out your system, then go and make a G&T, you're going to need one.

But at least you had a nice dinner.

Crisp Wars Part II

Following my crisp extravaganza on Thursday night, my challenge for today has been to procure the missing three flavours from the Walkers 'Do us a Flavour' challenge.

I've already done Builders Breakfast (eggy), Chili & Chocolate (wrong), and Onion Bhaji (rather good). As they were the only three bags in the pub, I stopped there. A trip to Tesco has relieved that they come in multi packs, so I could get the other three in one fell swoop, so sweep and swoop I did.

As mrsslippy hadn't tried the first three flavours, it seemed only right and scientific to buy a multi-bag of them too, so we now have twelve bags of six different flavours, three of which I've tried already, but all new to mrsslippy, so I suspect they're all gonna get opened.

New ones first....

Fish & Chips

I think they do smell distinctly fishy. The bag smells of a chip shop, but to me they taste too damned fishy. It hits you at the back of the throat -if anything it's more like crab meat - but not fresh white meat, the mucky brown stuff that's been sat too long on a ready made sandwich selection in a seedy Cromer pub. Mrsslippy likes them - she used to like the 'Fish & Chip' snacks you could get in the tuck shop 'back in the day' (now they were good). But not for me - the rest of the bag, and the other full one are hers - to the victor the spoils, and spoilt they are.


Crispy Duck & Hoisin
The bag smell like when they bring out the crispy duck course at a Chinese restaurant, so that's a good start. And they're crispy - funny that, being crisps. The taste is definitely more hoisin than duck, but it's still a very pleasant taste. I think I'd prefer them if they were more ducky, and came with a sachet of hoisin sauce to dunk them in.
Like Salt 'n' Shake, only Duck 'n' Dunk. How many other crisps would benefit a little sachet of flavoury goodness in them. Those awful Fish & Chip would have been better with a sachet of Tommy Sauce, as would the Builders Breakfast. I'd buy them, maybe I should get on the blower to Walkers, they're missing a trick here..
Anywho, I like them, as does mrsslippy, but she prefers the Fish & Chips. I feel a stewards enquiry coming on.

Finally, Cajun Squirrel
I've never eaten squirrel, Cajun or otherwise, so I don't really know what to expect here. The bag smells like Walkers Roast Chicken, which as by the general rule of meat flavour potato products, taste fuck all like chicken.
So what do they taste like? Well, certainly not chicken...Probably the closest thing that I would imagine comparing them too, and something that I know may taste of squirrel, as it has been known to eat them.

Cajun Squirrel crisps probably taste like the gusset of one of Beth Ditto's spandex leotards, and give the option, I think I know which I would rather consume. They're fucking rank. If these things win and go into mass production I'm giving up crisps for ever. Mrsslippy can't stand them either - they are eliminated! Even Busta won't try one, and he'll nick the beans from a Chili con Carne, and the jalapenos from a Hot 'n' Spicy pizza.

So one definitely out, but a split decision over the qualifier for the final.

However, I've just asked mrsslippy if she doesn't find the Fish & Chip ones a bit 'crabby'. The face has curled up, she's had another to confirm my suggestion AND THEY'RE OUT! FISH AND CHIPS HAVE THROWN IN THE TOWEL!!

So it looks like we're all set for an Onion Bhaji vs Crispy Duck & Hoisin final, but not tonight - we're crisped out, and I can't face the Builders Breakfast again today - I was belching egg and smokey baken all evening on Thursday, and I'm not ready for that again yet.

So the final comes another day.

But will it be a final of Kings, or is this just the F.A Trophy of the crisp world? Certainly, the official winners will join the echelons of Walkers flavours, who were once the top dogs in the crisp world, but can they say they still are? They even have their own breakaway Premiership for their Sensations range, so can new flavours ever be Champions League quality?

How would they fare against the rest of the crisp world.

We have Pringles. Strictly Bundesleague. Uniform, predictable, dependable, but ultimately synthetic and unsatisfying.
Kettle Chips. Serie A. Exotic, overpriced, suspicions of style over substance, and once opened, you don't actually get that much for your money.
Mccoys. Scottish Premier. Stodgy, reckon they're really good, but only have 2 decent teams.
Seabrookes. La Liga. Always a pleasure, but ignored as not a threat. If left unchecked have notions of world domination.

They're going to be a very little fish in a big pond full of potatoes

Whoever wins this (clever) bit of marketing will have their 15 minutes of fame,but they'll never be a Champion, let alone a World beater. I suspect that along with all novelty gimmicks brewed up in a test tube, the world will recognise it for the abomination on nature that it is, and they will disappear back into obscurity.

Anyone remember Hedgehog flavour crisps?

I still love crisps

Despite my protestations yesterday about feeling fat, I did very little to relieve the predicament to day by stumbling into the pub on the way home. A couple of pints should have done very little damage, particularly if my theory about beer being calorie neutral.

No, my downfall came, as it so often does, through the magic of crisps.

As I've mentioned before, I love crisps, as only an Englishman can. The Americans call them chips (wrong! chips come with fish you fuckwits!), and the rest of Europe (as in us and them, not as in America is part of Europe), call them variations on that too. Google 'crisps' and the top hit is this

Did you follow the link? Yes, it's sad but true, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, when you look for crisps, all you get is potato chips. You ask for them anywhere, and what you get is a bag of ready salted crisps.

But if you ask for ready salted crisps in England, what you get is plain crisps.

Plain.

Plain as in dull and ordinary. Because in the UK, oh lordy, we have fancy crisps. From the traditional Cheese and Onions, and Salt and Vinegars, we have all sorts of gourmet flavours, like Sweet Chilli, Salsa and Mesquite, Pickled onion.... the list goes on.

Our proud nations love of crisps, and exotic flavourings has led to Walkers launching six new flavours, proposed by the general public, with the most popular becoming a permanent flavour. And tonight, I saw my first selection of said bags, and in the interest of science decided it was probably a good idea to sample them for the rest of mankind.

The Robin Hood only stocked three of the six, so my plan was to have a bag there, and bring a couple home to test with mrs slippy.

First up, Builders Breakfast;

This was an easy first option, as Bill and I often talk food, and have several plans up out sleeves for creating wonderful gastronomic variations on the 'full English', which I shall not discuss here until I have patented the - but trust me, they will be fucking lush.
However, back to the crisps. The bag has a picture of a plate of Sausage, Bacon, Tomato, Egg, and Tomato Sauce on the front, yet the back claims it tastes of Bacon, Egg, Toast and Butter and Tomato Sauce. Where's the fucking sausage? Don't wave a sausage at me only to pull it back once I'm salivating! Opening the bag produces an aroma of Tomato Sauce crisps. Not tomato sauce. Tomato Sauce crisps (remember the old Wheat Crunchies? That smell).
They initially taste of Smokey Bacon Crisps. Again, not bacon. Not even smokey bacon, but Smokey Bacon crisps, which as any connoisseur will tell you, taste fuck all like actual bacon. Then the egg hits you. An acrid sulphurous taste at the back of the throat that tastes like someone has farted in it. And not just any someone, a builder who lives off Smokey Bacon crisps.

I ate them all, in the pursuit of knowledge, but suffice to say - not a good thing, and where the hell was the buttered toast in all of that?

As said, I was planning on getting the other two bags to take home, but Bill scuppered that by buying them and laying them open in my face. What could I do? So next up is...

Chocolate and Chili
We're led to believe that this is a 'good thing' as Mexican do it.. But does it belong in a bag of potato based beer accompaniments?

No.

The bag smells vaguely of cheap chocolate, and that's the taste that you get when stick one in your mouth. Then an aftertaste of Tabasco sauce. There's no sweet zing, it just tastes weird. Take a crisp, dunk it in the cheapest hot chocolate drink you can find, wave a bottle of chili sauce near it, but not close enough for it to actually pick up any flavour, then eat it.

Then stop.

I couldn't be arsed to eat more than a few, and I love crisps. This cannot bode well...

Next Onion Bahji
The bag smells of onion bahjis, and nice ones at that. They taste like onion bahjis. Not cheese and onion (which again, tastes neither of cheese nor onion), or pickled onion, or some cheap curry imitation. These really do taste of onion bahjis. I think I'm in love. Or at the very least have food based crush.

Of the first three competitors, we have a very clear front runner,but still on the horizon, or hopefully Tescos, we still have;

Fish & Chips
Cajun Squirrel
Crispy Duck & Hoisin

My hopes are high for all three, and once I have procured them, I shall spread my recommendations, and organise that must be the most eagerly anticipated final of this year. We already have Onion Bahji as a deserved semi-finalist, but who will they play????????

I can't wait to find out.

I feel fat

I feel fat today.

It's probably because I am fat.

Not 'a bit overweight', 'tubby', 'chunky', or 'big boned', just plain and simple fat.

Sat in bed with laptop on lap (where else should it be), my line of sight is distracted by my belly hanging over the front of it, and what really peeves me, is I don't believe I deserve it.

But I know it must be true, because I was spammed at work by official Trust email offering 6 week 'healthy lifestyle' courses to people with a BMI of greater than 27. This basically means that even if I was a stone lighter, the health police would still reckon I was fat enough to need help.

I've always had a somewhat cavalier attitude to health and fitness. I enjoy good food, a good drink, and up until recently, a good drag on a fag. My weight has steadily increased since reaching adulthood, but I never considered myself fat, just a bit of a big unit. My diet used to consist of comfort food and booze - I could quite happily have a Super Sized Whopper for tea, call into the pub for 4 or 5 pints and a couple of bags of peanuts, then stick a pizza in the oven when I got home without batting an eyelid. I didn't pile on the weight, and had stuck at around 15 and a half stone for a few years.

And contrary to popular opinion, I'm not completely averse to the concept of exercise, I used to quite enjoy it, and really it's been problems with my back that put pay to that on a regular basis.

In all, I was quite happy with my lifestyle, contentedly accepting middle age spread with a pint of Broadside in one hand, a bag of dry roast on the table, and a tab on the go. I only really cared whilst on holiday an Borneo last October. Not for how I looked, but for just how fucking exhausting it was trekking through a humid rainforest carrying a few extra pounds and lungs full of shite. I was sweating like swine in a sauna, so had to carry around extra water, which in turn made it more effort to do anything.

I survived, and had a very pleasant Christmas eating and drinking what I damn well pleased, but with a niggling worry in my mind that in April mrsslippy and I would be off to The Amazon for more of the same, and I would prefer it is it wasn't quite so knackering.

Now despite being offered the chance of a six week course instructing me, I think I know what needs to be done. It's a simple balance sheet that doesn't balance. Fuel in is greater than energy expenditure.

I need to either eat/drink less, do more, or a combination of both.

The Slippymark Diet. I shall patent it. Eat less and do more you greedy, lazy fucker will be my mantra, and the title of my book. And that will be all that needs to be printed, because in essence, that's all you need to do.

So I decided to quit the fags, cut the booze, eat a little more sensibly, and maybe even try a little gentle exercise. It wasn't a New Years resolution, or some kind of mid-life crisis (although fuck me - it is creeping up..). I just thought I might feel a little fitter in the jungle if my lungs worked and I was half a stone lighter.

But I'm not.

The most I've been to the pub is twice in a week - more often than not it's just been the once, and I've not bought any peanuts. I've had the odd G+T at home, but not come anywhere near 21 units in a week (apart from Matts staggers where I did that in a day), where as normally I would have hit that by Wednesday...

No Burger Kings. I take a packet lunch into work, and don't graze on snacks and cakes, or mmmmmmmmmm.... pasties. In the evening I eat the same as mrs slippy most nights, albeit slightly bigger portions, and because she's eating sensibly too, there's definitely no saturated fat or hidden sugars.

And when it's not pissing it down or snowing, I've been walking to work and back, enjoying the hilarious but wholly inappropriate Collings & Herrin podcast.

Yet far from being half way to losing half a stone, I've actually put over half a stone on.

And that's what's not fair. I know that when people quit smoking, they generally put on weight, but that's because they comfort eat, and I haven't been!

So if the fuel in is less then surely I am less active? But I don't think I am. Perhaps the exercise I am now missing is a trip down and up the stairs again every time I popped out the house for a fag? Or the act of lifting one hand to my mouth every time I'd have a drag?

I've met people over the years who when questioned about exercise respond with 'This is the only exercise I need', whilst tipping their hand in front of their mouth as if drinking an invisible pint. So maybe that's it? Maybe, for me, beer is like celery, only better. More than just calorie neutral, boozing does burn fat?

Or maybe it's just my destiny to be a big bastard. I'll ponder it further over a glass of water...

Evil Mastermind or Masterchef?

Never in the field of entertainment have so so many scallops bravely laid down their lives for the sake of television.

After innumerable dishes by some of the finest (and worst) amateur cooks in the country, we have a winner who doesn't strictly come from this country anyway. Suspicions are that he comes from New Zealand, but if you listen closely he gives himself away. He's from Mongo.

The 2009 Masterchef winner is none other than Ming the Merciless.

After being impaled on an Ajax war rocket, rather than dying, he relocated to Dorset with dreams of opening his own fish restaurant, which is no doubt part of some insidious plan to take over the earth.

If I were Rick Stein I'd watching my back. Already established as the nicest fish chef in the UK, Ming no doubt plans to supplicate him, enabling him to appear on every TV show going, a forum from which he will use to indoctrinate us into eating fish, which he will somehow genetically modify to fill us full of his mind control drugs.

But I'm not fooled by that 'butter wouldn't melt' smile and proclivity for the waterworks. The man is pure evil.

Take for example his starter. Rabbit and nettles. A cute little bunny rabbit, trimmed into tiny pieces that the worlds greatest vivisectionist would envy, then serve it on a bed of nettles???

His main? Spider crab thermidor with mussels, foraged sea vegetables and a
side of chips. Crabs are evil. And foraged sea vegetables? Foraged? As in rummaging through bins and stuff? And chips? For fucks sake, you can't go on the Masterchef final and cook chips, unless John Torode and Gregg Wallace are already under your control....

They must be. If they were still human, would they shout like that all the time? Or spout the same bollocky superlatives every other breath?

Clearly they are facsimiles, automatons, gollums or other such zombies under the control of Ming.

And for dessert? Creamy lavender and blackberry mousse with honeycomb and
blackberry sauce. I haven't quite worked out what his evil plan is with this one, but then that's why he's an evil Mastermind. In fact, I'd expect to see him on that pretty soon. Either him or the girl from University Challenge, who is also clearly not of this earth.

I'm going to miss Masterchef now it's finished. Ming has clearly cast his spell on me, and despite the shouting, even Torrode and Wallace will create a (large) void with their absence.

True, the best bits are really the opening rounds where you try to guess who will go through before they even pick up a knife, and be amazed at some of the shite that some people try to pass off as food.

So well done Ming, you've been a joy to watch, and a deserved winner (even if you did do it with mind control. And at least smuggy bignose or beardy can't shave properly didn't win.













Mat Follas - Deserved Masterchef winner 2009

What do you want for tea? I want crisps!

And cider.

Those cheeky scamps the Kaiser Chiefs may have penned an iconic line that captures the ennui of happy slapping, hoodie habitating Generation X-boxers, but the desire to 'do nothing' is nothing new. I've been doing it for years. I never cease to amaze myself at my ability to simply not be bothered.

I returned from work enthusiastic about dinner, and whilst undecided as to what to cook for myself, was keen to whip up an omelette for mrsslippy whilst I pondered the contents of the larder. Yes, I know that's not the pinnacle of cuisine, but she's on nights, and that's what she wanted. She left me lying on the sofa with Busta, watching Rick Stein search his family tree.

Dear reader, I must confess, I fell asleep, and during my 30 minute power nap, Stein had morphed into James May.

As my addled brain tried to understand what was going on, the only thing that was apparent to me, was that he was drinking cider, and that was clearly A VERY GOOD THING

Thoughts of lightly poached eggs with some crispy bacon over some toasted bagels with rocket went skyrocketing out the window.


I should have some cider.


And what would go best with it would be some crisps.


I was sure we had some cider somewhere - god knows we have everything else (except red wine, much to my chagrin on Sunday when we were forced to open a Rose - my badmin)

The larder contains booze of all varieties, and also the 'Bag of Bad', a lucky dip of general snackage. A quick rummage produced a bag of Salt 'n' Vinegar whilst I searched for elusive cider. Bonus! I found a pear cider -nice- but unfortunately my crisps did not even survive the opening of the bottle, so I grabbed another pack to take back into the living room with me.

My cider is lovely, but May is no longer drinking it. While I've been bumbling around in the kitchen, he's got his chemistry set out and appears to be distilling a magical clear substance.

Suddenly, I'm inspired again!

Captain Slow has made his own gin! And my god that looks good.... and what would go really well with one? Why peanuts of course!

I have some delicious chilli ones that mrsslippy got me for Valentines Day (along with some pork pies, Fudge Brownie Milkshake, and other such niceties)

So what do I want for tea? Crisps and peanuts, and if that seems too lazy and lacking in my '5-a-day', I am about to go and slice a lime. And who knows, it's Masterchef after that. I may be inspired again. I wonder if anyone will cook with Tequila? Because there's a bar of 'Green & Black's' dark chocolate staring me out that would go really well with it.......

It really is cool to do nothing.