So I’m afraid marshmallow filling for my whoopie pies is a no goer. Nowhere in Sheffield I have contacted sells Marshmallow Fluff. T K Maxx, who I have known to stock the Strawberry fluff, is out, Sainsburys don’t stock it, nor do Waitrose. I’m afraid it will be buttercream or jog on elsewhere I’m afraid. I’m disappointed. I may have to try to adapt something using actual real life marshmallows, we’ll see.
So its one week today. I’m nervous about the do. Especially now I seem to be booked up to my nose with meetings, court etc both on the morning of the do and the day after, and we are out for dinner the night before. When am I baking said pies? When am I freaking out? I’m none the wiser. Will have to skip a Tuesday Body Pump, or do a late night bake off I reckon, or early rise bake off. Either way, it’s totally doable. Eek! But it’s going to be fab. I really can’t wait to see what people make of it all. I know some people might think it a bit boring, I can see that being the case. It will be like a gay night without it being late at night and loud music. But the whole point we are trying to address is the need for people to meet people in a different setting. Since the Lions Lair turned vile, we lack a pub environment. I used to love the Lair as I always ended up chatting to people in their as it is a pub. Now we do have Affinity, but it’s less intimate. It’s a pub-cum-bar-cum-evening venue. I’d rather just a pub.
Anyway I digress into details, the minutiae. So here I am sat on the bed blogging before 9pm. And my bemoan is I have not watched Nigella. I know, shocking. And why? Because Pete played me. I got to watch Ina make souffles and apple turnovers. And the espresso ice cream and lamb stew episode. Then when Nigella came on he said can he choose now, and chose last nights The Apprentice. Now I will not watch that. I just can’t stand it. I do not have any ambition really to thrive in the modern business world simply due to the people you see on shows like that, pumped up twenty-somethings who fight to be heard loudest and longest yet say little of any significance. I would rather be modestly comfortable and surrounded by a modicum of sincerity than in adrift in a sea of pretension. I’m sorry, but that’s just how I roll.
But I have been spoiled this week. I’ve seen a lot of Ina, a dash of Jamie and then last night it was all rounded off by a big bowl of Nigel Slater. The only thing that could top it off was if Saint Delia or Jennifer and Clarissa were on TV. I still miss Jennifer, and her rings. It always amused me if they made a pastry dish for children. My word, the Americans must have been holding their breath when they first saw that, the contamination fear must have taken hold. The US media seems so keen to scaremonger about hygiene and health issues, they have been advertising adverts for stool softeners for years. I fear a corner was turned that can never be undone when that Dulco-Ease advert made it’s way onto our screen. Believe me if any woman sat around a table and confessed to me she was late as she had spent the morning have uncomfortable hard turds, she would never enter a restaurant with me again. She would be out of my life. There is candid conversation but even I have a line and that’s any discussion regarding brown issues in a place that may serve my salad with a balsamic dressing. I think that’s a fairly reasonable line to draw.
I tried the Nigel Slater speedy everyday roast chicken recipe tonight. It was sensational. I got my chicken, squashed it and broke the carcass, cut it down the centre of the breast and down the spine, and roasted it with lemon, garlic, sage, rosemary and thyme. 45 minutes on gas mark 7 or the equivalence (ten points to anyone other than Anne who gets that) and voilà, perfect moist roast chicken. Served with houmous (which I now pronounce “who moose” because Delia did so) Jamie style with a spoon of Harissa Paste to give it bite and a sprinkle of paprika, and green salad, it was a low maintenance Thursday treat. I think Thursday may be chicken night chez Adam and Pete, as last week we had a whole roast chicken but Nandos style. Nice high protein meal on a day that starts with Body Pump. Body Pump was ok today, but bad choice of songs. Squats to Republica’s Drop Dead Gorgeous was just crap. Low motivation music.
Right, getting back ache and tired beyond belief. Tomorrow may be blog free due to work, Body Attack, Body Pump then a night on the tiles avec Pete, Amy and Craig. I intend to be pretty merry. Look out for a dancing fool in skinny Levis. Which top is a disputed issue between Pete and I. Damn us for buying matching outfits. I predict a sulk off between the two of us. If I took the title of my blog and applied it to this blog, this is where the genius of Ina Garten is further displayed. One shirt, few colours, she would just look at Jeffrey and say ok sweetie, you’re wearing black, I’ll wear the olive green or denim. Simple, yet chic. God darn, I love that woman. She feeds my soul daily.
But I truly must leave you there. I have belly ache from too much chicken, it’s only my soul that could take any more feeding. I blame Nigel Slater for being too lovely. And making too nice a chicken dish. And for having too aspirational a kitchen. But we have the same measuring jug. That gives me hope. Now I just need the square footage, and I can work on the rest of the kitchen.
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