tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52929027917776141202024-03-14T07:45:23.724+00:00Mike Gets CookingBasically, I'm a dad and husband who cooks. My three boys have long left home but nevertheless, they do appear from time to time, open the fridge, the cupboard where they know cake will be and...wait for me to cook stuff.
I just try to make sense of it all and create meals that don't take forever and are edible. Result.Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-62790978691868882602013-03-23T15:52:00.000+00:002013-03-23T15:54:58.626+00:00The incredible shrinking stuff. Not for girls, though.<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="280" 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wdUPa/wrBrGAAC51J3Pc/wDHv4/zO2OzcTb2Fo2EPe4nRoYOuapjLDbxuezrf1HqXbqeV5ZsKenpqVjiACc3HK5LrDMk5uO115f7aM5dHTRvlk0MbbNYy+viSnJozsRYk20Tl/k+ap/W15fHEQ3BSteQSBbD4jxY2/B8+isGkpGRNDI2tY1ujWgAD0V8aJWbzZ4M7kntuRTlzk9zby1jscznFxANw2+jGGws0aZAE7lS+KINADQABoAuV1lbYxUVhGWUm3lhERdEBa7j1OXxENFyCDbrbX81sUQHzz/YMME0kdZdjvEJYHF7GGI5hwLcybm1rjRS2k5djfGzw42GMOLhheMLicsidXd722Vl8V4RDUNDZ42vA0xDTyUTqOQzE7HQymLU+E4l8ZPdh/MWKw2aeWcxNleoSx4ZpKvluwbGC3ATcQvw5Oz94SZkdLX3Wmo4aiie50Mhj96zmFnisJ0u7CTYjtmbBbitNa0NZPQyOLTlJTyNcMujDl81j+9cbpLSufTSNFv1zA2+Y1Ohy6m3RZ8Sjvwba9XYouO0l7PDOJ58rInB00TJYyCcVOSCAOrTe3kbKe8v8bjq4hJG7EN9iDuHDYhRninD2VAxR2s4AGwADr53Dhk45KJ/o9Rw2Tx6e5a7J4cLg2z94a7k9r7q+OoeN9x2adR6Yron49n8fBcq4vbcEFQGH2mMw2kgkEv3GWcD3BNu62/AeeaWchji6GT7sotfydoVbGyLezM1ug1EFmUGeutgvp8Tb4T0P8CtTxuAVVDPG8Xd4b3NywkPjvgNuuID591K/CZICWlRwyCOcxuA/WHFmbDQtdfqo1Fe3UjNTLfpZQjTceYCwCttzNwk01TLDsHEsOl43Zs/h6LVOGSxG04lyyVwKAqcEZOZQLF0UEmSVYnsRrC2rli2lhxesbhb6SFV0FKPZlPh4pTXvZxkbkbZmN1r9RcDLyVlTxNFdqzBn0UiBF6h54REQHi4zw1lTDJBIPckYWm2ovoR3GvooIzh/E2gUrYIyGWDasyAMczQExZux21HUaqyEVc6oz5O4zceCBx+zVjgHT1VQ6W2bo3iNoP4W2Nh5klb/l/lKlpM4Y7yG95XnHIb63ec/kt6ilVxXCIc5PlhdNXDjY5mJzMQIxMNnNvu0nQruRdnJEeGez+CGobP4tRI5hBaJJnGxG5IsXA9DkpciKFFLglyb5CIikgIiIAiIgC1vFeBwVAtNG13cgX+a2SKGshPBW9f7OJIiX0FQ6I64CSW/I3Wrqf7UpR/9iJ1Qy+T4z8I3DmNFj2uMuqtxYsqJaaD42Lo3yXO5WVBxKmkuacRCW1nROYGSAHbC4X+RIWJqOKWIhzWxTDVobhPlh8s7hTfi3LFLUj9dAxx2cBhcPJwzCh/EOQZoXNfRSl+EZxzvcbkXsQ6/umx+iolp5LjcvjqN85wzW8J47NROwzAyQX92VuboxuHDdozzCknFYm1TBJC4YhmHDe+o7XB3UVl4k3H4M0Rp6i+bHkBj+8b+/TK69NNUeCccV8Opb0HW3RI27dLLLMWep7S9/D/ACebjtKyqLY6ljmyx3a2RpsQNsjqorzBymYWCSFzpGtbd4da46uaANO2qtNvhVbD1sL2yc3cWO4Wn4hRSQAH/EbcC9gDbYHYfkonXhZW6Ko2b4ZThCwrFreW4Js8LonEZFgAF8viboTc7WKr+ogcx7mOFnMcWnzBVJcnk6llYWVBIC33IV/7SpLfth+Rv9FoVIfZxEXcTpANpC70axxP0Xdf1I5n9LPpBoyWUReoecEREAREQBERAEREAREQBERAEREAREQBERAEREAREQGs45wGCrYWTxh3R1hiHk7UKt+O8s1VJZkDhNF9kS5Pb2bJlcfhKtteavpRKwtO+h6HYqudUZ8ncLHEpmk4hLSuD5YJAQM3DNtjqCRkPI9lO6Guhq4rsLXtcPebcEg9CNiCvHLGWktcMwSCFrzwiLxPFYDFJb/EhPhu9RbC7ycCDuqo1uPyiyUlL4ONXTGB5a7NjtCT+f8AFV/ztTFtU4/tGtd+bTb/AGj5qz6h/wCkRGGUATgEscAcM4aLm33Xi1yy/cXGkS45w51TTtDQTNES5uKwLhmHN8zt3aOqothh7cFtU/cr86LiuRN1gNus5oZgKyPYdwzHUzTkZRRhjTtikOfrhb/3KuJTYL6H9mvAjSUMbHi0kl5JP8z/AIQe4aGj0WjTxzLJnvliJKkRF6BjCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiLxDh48fxvEkvgwCPGfDAvcnw9MWWpQGu5k4fceK0Zj4u46+n5KNqwXNuLHdQWtpzG9zDscvLb6LlnUWKKnbJI1rnObndr2EBzXWNi0kEXzI00cVp+L07oJXhwObiWkDYnb+C2K2lPUeOPClAdcWBIzJ6E/vVc4KSwdqTTyU5zDwm02OMWjlJPZr9XtHbO48+y009mEgbKzOM8N8NzoXEmN4GHctzs0/wCYHfeyrGKjkkl8JoxPLi2w6g2J7DJYHBp4ZrU00efNxAGZJAHmTkvrCBtmtB1AAPyVIcB5Wkkno4jS+G2GXHLMHtfjDbONzrmWiw6FXktmni0m2Zr5J4wZREWkoCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiIgC0fMfD8Q8UfE0C4/D/JbxYIQFfL08PD8YLGYyNBY2v1upgzh8QJcGNud7L0AW0XODrqK64xyFPV1HjOnfBdoa4MN7gX+Gxy13Up5d5UpaNmGGMYiLOkf7z3/wCZ37hYLeooUIp5Dm2sHXFC1t8LQL62AF12Ii7OQiIgCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAiIgCIiAIiIAuE0gaCToP6C5rjIwEWO6A8buJNDMZBGmRLQc9My7Dsd13RVbSAbjMXtcHKwJ+EkH4hodwutlAA2wc69wcfu3y0yw4dztusvoWm+IlxLcJJw7G98NsN9NvshAdjatpvnobf+On+5o9U/S2YXODgQ0Em3QX/gfkvE6nax8LBoXOd6sYANMrZA26hesUbcJbnYsDP9Ivb/AMigDK+M6OBF7XBBBNr5EdlzNSz7w/q//qfkuuaia69yRi1tbMWALcxoQBpn3XF/D2Ek5guv0PxWJyIttv1PVAdprGfeG310XW+uaACQ6xbcG2Xwl1vOzSjKBobYFwzBBFriwtllbS40WTRDLM2DMOH3bWtbUi/TQ7BADXNGtwQHXFrkYRc3tcXsu6GXENCCDYg2uD0Nsui6RRNtYku+K5NrnFrewt8l2wQ4Ra5JJJLja5J3NgAgP//Z" 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<b>You know what they say. Wagon Wheels aren't as big as they used to be.</b><br />
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<i>'Ah well, that's what they say,'</i> returns the argument,<i>' But you were smaller then, weren't you?' </i><br />
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As if that makes sense. The logic behind that would appear that the scale of my foodstuffs decreases as I incrementally increase.<br />
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Weetabix are still the same size, in my eyes, they still taste like loft insulation and still have the capacity to soak up milk at a rate of half a pint per twenty seconds. In fact I've often wondered why the relevant authorities haven't considered a nationwide bank of Weetabix to be distributed in times of potential flooding, a bit like salting and gritting roads. We would all sleep a little more soundly knowing that it could rain as much as it likes because we have crates of breakfast cereal on standby with the capacity to soak up phenomenal amounts of river water and discharge. I mean, do I have to think of everything?<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This may well be old news, but I do think it sad that we seem to accept the dwindling size of food items</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">without so much as as blink.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">No stiffly worded letters to MPs, no blockades of supermarkets, no sit down protests outside the village hall. Nothing. It seems we have just got used to it all and accept with crushed acceptance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For example: Yorkie bars have been slimming down a damn sight faster than I have in recent years. Once upon a time Yorkies seemed to be the size of yard brush heads. Vast lumps of indigestible chocolate that could only be tackled efficiently with the spare toollkit in an Eddie Stobbart truck. Hence the whole trucking image thing<i> 'Not for Girls...' </i>stuff.</span><br />
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<img 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" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Three years ago they had shrunk from <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">68 grammes to 64.5 grammes. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">Back in 2002 Yorkie bars were as big as 70 grammes, so the bars have decreased by around 8 per cent in just eight years. There's fewer chunks, I suspect, because something in my head says the word 'Yorkie' was spelled out before, chunk by chunk.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And Aeros - those lovely wispy, airy, minty, frothy morsels have lost ten per cent of their body weight in recent years. Something I could do with, but as you may have gathered chocolate is one of my things and something I've jabbered on here endlessly about.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't get me started on Fry's Turkish Delight. Have you seen the size of that recently? There are bigger dog biscuits. That hasn't shrunk, it's been savaged.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, they not alone. Other chocolate bars have suffered similarly as have various other items, food and non-food.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Birds Eye original beef burgers with onion: 16 pack, now 12, price increase; Walkers Cheese and Onion Crisps: 34.5 g now 32.5 g no increase; Finish All in One Powerball Dishwasher tablets: 28 now 26. On it goes; bacterial wipes, furniture polish, take your pick.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And the alternative is? Well much higher prices I guess, but even so some prices have risen and packs have got smaller.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not sure which of those I dislike more: rising prices or shrinking.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Would it be commercial suicide just to keep hiking prices up? Would we </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">just appreciate that rising costs have to be met somewhere by someone at some point? Do we notice less if our furniture polish has 42 available squirts and not 50?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I do think shrinking is generally less </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">noticeable</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> and somehow, we persuade ourselves that it's OK. At least we</span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">'re still getting our </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">favourite</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> product.</span></span><br />
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<img height="320" src="http://cocktailsg.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/beer-pint.jpg" width="227" /></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">We've seen how awkward the pricing of something is just this week with George Osbourne's budget and his </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">magnificent</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> gesture in shaving a penny of a pint of beer.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">If I'm going to save myself a tenner on a night out tonight at the Dog and Gusset, I'm going to have to shift enough beer to cause a head injury, let alone a hangover.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Five pence, I aint gonna notice George. Thanks for the offer, </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">appreciated</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> and all that, but you may as well have kept the cash and spent it on useful services. It looks like the NHS to start with, could do with whatever loose change you have, George. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Oh dear. There's no easy answer is there? None. I may as well stop painting my protest placards because there really isn't a point. We're just going to have to keep on keeping on putting up with shrinking because the bottom line is we can't keep bashing business. The companies that make all this stuff employ us too. And </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">whether</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> you think it's more to do with </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">profiteering</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> and shareholders the fact remains that these </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">companies</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> can't soak up all costs forever or risk shedding jobs. There is a whiff of Catch-22 to all this.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">As for Wagon Wheels, well the size of the biscuit varies across the world. It's quite a bit smaller in Australia, for example. But here, it's barely shrunk at all. A slither. So me getting bigger and the biscuit barely changing at all, is probably the truth of it. Who'd have thought it.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;">Memories</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> can play tricks, after all. Wish I couldn't </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">remember</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> the Milky Bar Kid. What a clown.</span></span></span>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-5842777502998968972013-02-12T16:39:00.003+00:002013-02-12T16:49:29.229+00:00Yorkshire puddings in a brownie pan? Whatever next.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I've been lurking in the kitchen again...smells really good from where I'm sat. Honest.mikegetscookinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00103021982626807358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-25055917108147768942013-01-29T14:48:00.000+00:002013-01-29T14:56:17.301+00:00One rasher of bacon and half a tomato. Now what..?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisf5-aAAlQ3WYFPHMnSOgOQga4zqfF6oJBP2srjTk4W53iUwGxsfPt7nSdua7VvV7teCoHpWqot_Hjugg-H9MHgae2Z_0GaB2oqGW7g537S1awbVYwmXEtUhV_3z9K7G7l6VAEZGa9ZbI2/s1600/Christmas-pudding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisf5-aAAlQ3WYFPHMnSOgOQga4zqfF6oJBP2srjTk4W53iUwGxsfPt7nSdua7VvV7teCoHpWqot_Hjugg-H9MHgae2Z_0GaB2oqGW7g537S1awbVYwmXEtUhV_3z9K7G7l6VAEZGa9ZbI2/s320/Christmas-pudding.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<h4>
Christmas pudding. At Easter...? Ermm...</h4>
<br />
So anyway, I was having a rummage at the back of the fridge and guess what I found. Christmas pudding. Checks calendar; end of January. <br />
<br />
I try to keep rummaging to a bare minimum these days. When I feel the urge to rummage, it always goes horribly wrong. The freezer is my worst offence, apparently. I tend to put stuff in the freezer where there is space. This, as all sensible freezer users know, is a serious lapse of judgement and needs to stamped out vigorously.<br />
<br />
The conversation usually moves around this area.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
'You've put a loaf of bread in the middle draw!'<br />
'Well, yes, because there was space there and the bread draw was full...'<br />
'You can't put bread in the frozen veg draw, halfwit...'<br />
'But as the bread draw was full I thought...'<br />
'Well move things around in the bread draw then and make some space...!'<br />
'But there is space in....'<br />
'And there's a pack of mince with the frozen fruit...I mean...are you deliberately dense...'</blockquote>
You get the idea. Logic is a troublesome thing when rummaging takes hold. It's at least comparable with my inability to stack the dishwasher. But I've droned on about that before on here so there's no point in raking over old ground. Anyway, I try to forget these things because you certainly can't rationalise why you can't (apparently...) put forks upside down in the cutlery box, thing in the dishwasher. Or knives. Or spoons. And why are there always less teaspoons to come out of the dishwasher than went in? The airing cupboard is another source of significant irritation, but I'm moving off the point.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Christmas pudding. In January.</h4>
<br />
<br />
So, moving a pack of cheese in the fridge, carefully to one side which was a risk in itself as the cheese was off limits and not housed in the bottom half of a plastic box reserved for cheese and cheese-based products on the top shelf, there sat a small black plastic bowl. And in the bowl, a morsel of Christmas pud.<br />
<br />
It's been there, languishing in the cool of the fridge for a month, hiding behind a marmalade jar mostly, but latterly, as we've just heard, a block of escaped cheese. Now the reason why there's a bit of pud left when it was only a bite-sized thing in the first place, is because only my wife likes it in our house. She helps herself on Christmas Day after a drizzling a drizzle of rum from a bottle that was bought when Lesley Judd was still presenting Blue Peter at a guess. She's the only one to like rum too, so the bottle is probably a hand-me-down.<br />
<br />
I've tried to like Christmas pudding. We've tried to be grown up about this - me and the pud - and air our differences, get hang-ups out in the open, talk it through sensibly, to no avail. There's no meeting of minds. I can't stand the damn thing, full stop. And for reasons I can't explain, my wife never thinks of cracking open a tin of Ambrosia and enjoying the last remnants. She seems programmed to only eat it within a narrow window, late December.<br />
<br />
Easter will come and go and I bet you anything that fruity concoction will still be there, shuffling behind pots of jam to avoid attention.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2364ogpO2Nc9RbGX73fb01JorbL-1QMo77eCK9eWNZhU4oh6WTWTVy-WJ5NMx7faId8MKLE97AfDYXEOy0UDMuwv__EeNJELQgo-NEO60KAEh8KWQTo2oMS7-OMMluSDJiO_UP4p82hqZ/s1600/rasher.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2364ogpO2Nc9RbGX73fb01JorbL-1QMo77eCK9eWNZhU4oh6WTWTVy-WJ5NMx7faId8MKLE97AfDYXEOy0UDMuwv__EeNJELQgo-NEO60KAEh8KWQTo2oMS7-OMMluSDJiO_UP4p82hqZ/s320/rasher.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h4>
OK. Now what..?</h4>
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<h4>
Food waste. Why not, will not.</h4>
<br />
Anyway, this all begs the question of what to do with scraps and bits? We heard just last week on TV news about the staggering millions of pounds worth of food that never makes it to the plate either because we buy to much or because the supermarkets deem that carrot to be too ugly.<br />
<br />
I do try to be careful as I am the food shopper in our house. I try not to buy in excess and I hate throwing away odd bits of food just because it's an odd bit. A chicken carcass never leaves the premises until it's released its chicken stock. I've just had to throw about a third of a cucumber away because it was on the verge of composting. Heartbreaking. Seriously, I have a real problem with food waste. I buy 'value' range of veg from supermarkets just to make a point. I'm happy, delighted in fact, to buy a bag containing carrots of vastly different sizes and shapes. As I'm chopping them up most of the time, who cares? I buy mushrooms that just been plucked from their composty, soiley beds. Why? Because I am also happy to buy oddly different sized mushrooms that I trim myself in a second or so, because I'm clever like that.<br />
<br />
So. Odds and bits. I'm thinking of throwing this one open, as they say. Let's attempt to get sense to apply here. That day when you find two rashers of bacon and three mushrooms left or half a can of baked beans in the fridge.<br />
<br />
What do you do? You know what I'm talking about, we all find one tomato or slightly off-perfect pepper.<br />
<br />
What do you do with the odds and bits that - I'm really sad to say - many people would simply dump in the bin to avoid the question?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfvmkzoackPAHEVvK1YbFeiv58nUuTaNDPZleQAM06hEYx96pp3XNgIpi830ikk5j0WqC4HrWGKLlK3ssBqCl2lNjb4pRIcsDjgOD1Hfp2nhr-QCg4hITkiq8DRejgKFTvSIDkDI3G5Qm/s1600/mushroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfvmkzoackPAHEVvK1YbFeiv58nUuTaNDPZleQAM06hEYx96pp3XNgIpi830ikk5j0WqC4HrWGKLlK3ssBqCl2lNjb4pRIcsDjgOD1Hfp2nhr-QCg4hITkiq8DRejgKFTvSIDkDI3G5Qm/s200/mushroom.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not 'mushroom' for this in your meal..?</td></tr>
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<h4>
What do you do..?</h4>
<br />
It seems a trivial matter this, but it's not really. It matters a lot. When so many people struggle to put a healthy meal on the table or eat at all - please, I'm not trying to be overly melodramatic - then we really should all take a minute to think before we chuck. <br />
<br />
If you'd like to comment here, that would be great. I've not tried anything like this before, but I'm interested in what you have to say. Or you could continue the chat instead on my Facebook page at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/mikegetscooking" target="_blank">mikegetscooking.</a><br />
<br />
As for the Christmas pudding. Well. It looks rather relaxed to me knowing that, unlike the hapless cucumber, it's the SAS of foodstuffs and can hang on in there surviving low temperatures without a second thought.<br />
<br />
I could mention this to my wife, of course, but she'd accuse me of rummaging.<br />
<br />
Let's not go there. I think I'll go and reorganise the airing cupboard again. Just for laughs.Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-62921343550667842382012-11-30T10:39:00.002+00:002012-11-30T10:54:22.804+00:00Fancy a squeeze? Leaf it out, will ya?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4zmb52wPs1_ovxUi7P6AXeMXluJv7_xvrdg2-HsqPJ9QHPalndzQqSNTaEvEUJPlAVKBMDzMNdUKFqfz8947q9rJDlDl6csieMw02uAt5hZjpTyS3odGFTz-wtEf899uE_V4o3h08fz7/s1600/lemons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4zmb52wPs1_ovxUi7P6AXeMXluJv7_xvrdg2-HsqPJ9QHPalndzQqSNTaEvEUJPlAVKBMDzMNdUKFqfz8947q9rJDlDl6csieMw02uAt5hZjpTyS3odGFTz-wtEf899uE_V4o3h08fz7/s320/lemons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<h4>
<br />It's the time of year when grocers where I live start selling citrus fruit with leaves on. Odd</h4>
<br />
Normally, the tangerines, clementine, orange and lemon ranks are just piled as they are. Perfectly acceptable in appearance, but just as they are. But I've noticed more of this creeping in here. Outbreaks of leaf action in the Christmas run up. I'm sure that's quite commonplace in uber trendy urban areas where people buy sausages wrapped in brown paper, and say things like 'Ya it's all very villagey here, don't you think...?' but not here it isn't. And another thing. They're sold in boxes. Those shallow, flimsy, wooden boxes with printed adverts that I suppose name the grower or distributor or whatever, I can't say I've stopped to read one. But they do, I confess, look really nice and you always want to use them for something else later, put them in the shed and end up using said box to light the barbecue with seven months later.<br />
<br />
So what's this all about? Why must my clementine or lemon have leaves now and not all year? I can't pluck up the courage to ask one of the grocers in town, I mean it wouldn't be right, I can just imagine the look on his face.<br />
<br />
'Eh?'<br />
'Leaves on lemons. Why now?<br />
'Not with you mate...'<br />
'Why do you sell lemons with leaves on now and not in June..?'<br />
'Can't say I ever thought about it...'<br />
'It's just that it makes no sense, so I wa.....'<br />
'Neither do you mate.'<br />
<br />
And off he goes to rearrange his roast chestnut display, which you also only get right now, before alerting the authorities about some bloke who clearly needs professional support and is there any specific help available for lemon obsessives.<br />
<br />
Waxed, unwaxed? Don't ask me I've no idea.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Market forces</h4>
<br />
It's infiltrated the three-times-a-week market in town too. They've caught on. I had a quick look today.<br />
<br />
'Yer Granny Smiths a paarrnd. Yer tomarrtas a paarrrnd. Yer mushrooms a paarrnd. Yer lemons and clemetines with leaves on a paaarnd a paarrnd....'<br />
<br />
Or whatever. Last year I fell for it and bought a box. More clementines than I knew what to do with.<br />
<br />
They 're probably sold like that in certain supermarkets too, just not the ones I go to. There is a particular brand of supermarket that's 25 miles away from here, that doesn't normally cater for my sort. I needed polenta a few months back in its grain form and could only buy blocks here. As I happened to be (sort of) passing that supermarket at the time, I popped in because it was inevitable it would be sold there. Can't remember when I felt less comfortable. The mummies in there all had sunglasses perched on top of their heads and had children called Magnolia, Apple White or something, and there was certain sort of more mature lady who bypassed metal shopping trolleys and held firmly to her wicker basket. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=12345&catId=123&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_GoHYtJQ5K9oBPpvhjOehYPpUxKzzfx3QJrNw4CoOYZ-hVRCyQv4grfpGnu23-aGM7VFzIXiqlIQX3rBYes3EmME78UmQRCyujuuQhnkexaF6-0-Ybb5ZiFgtSN_sMXTLkH6yUVt7AkC/s1600/citrus+press.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Takes no prisoners. The PChef citrus press.<br />
Juice to the max.</td></tr>
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The staff looked sideways at me and seriously considered whether I ought to have a DNA swab to see if I was a suitable customer. As it happens I found the polenta by the hand knitted pasta and left before there was an incident.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Maximum squeeze from a citrus press</h4>
<br />
Anyway, the sort-of point to all this is that I seem to get through an awful lot of lemons, for one reason or another, so I suppose that's why I notice these foliage situations.<br />
<br />
I won't drone on about zesting anymore. Done that, been there. But I've a new friend in town. The citrus press. You see, after watching endless TV food programmes, I'm used to the idea of squeezing a lemon with one hand into the other, catching the pips. We have got a plastic roundish, spiky thing that sits over a container which you twist your lemon into. Useless. <br />
<br />
But I've just taken delivery of a PChef citrus press as in the pic above. Basically a half lemon shaped<br />
cup, as you can see, in metal. Good Lord. This boy takes no prisoners. This is the Marines of citrus presses, the undercover Seals Unit. Punch its solar plexus and you'd be the one with a sore fist.<br />
<br />
Half fruits are turned inside out before your eyes. Inside out. The end result rind, skin, whatever, is drier than a wash at full spin. There's nothing left. I've never seen such viscous juicing in a domestic setting.<br />
<br />
I have a cooking show booked in December with a host who is also into her lemons. She squeezes and turns the fruit - get this - inside out with her thumbs. Now that's serious. A woman with thumbs that can inflict that sort of injury isn't to be trifled with. I'll have to behave myself.<br />
<br />
<h4>
All lemon-ed up. Ciao for now</h4>
<br />
So now I'm fully equipped with my ever-present zester that never leaves my side and my Jackie Chan of a juicer, I'm urged to move into the big league of home-made mincemeat and - wait for this, a bright idea from my wife last night - home-made lemoncello.<br />
<br />
'Let's get some vodka at the weekend....it's dead easy, apparently...' Says she with enough home-made sloe gin and sloe vodka fermenting for Christmas to kill several armies.<br />
<br />
Lemoncello. Really? Me? Mind you, if word got out that I was into that kind of thing, maybe I could go to whatever supermarket I chose. Even pop into a cafe there, if they have such things, I have no idea, and buy a skinny something or other and bird seed drizzle muffin.<br />
<br />
Ciao bella. Oh Dear.<br />
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As always, feel free to leave a comment, join the page or have general chat up at mikegetscooking@gmail.com or find mikegetscooking on the Twitter malarkey and Her Majesty's Facebook. I thank you.<br />
<br />Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-10765344341750481602012-11-27T10:46:00.000+00:002012-11-27T10:54:04.665+00:00Feta Zesting. Looking for a pizza the action<h3>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Feta Zesting. Try to say that quickly. Go on. Give it a go... </span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Zeta Festing...? What's that? I know...me being a silly again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh Dear....where does the time go...? Lapsed on the blogging front of late and my excuse is 'time issues'. Hmmm. Anyway...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I haven't stopped working, cooking and trying out new ways to get the best from the kit around me. If I'm going to invest in high-quality kitchenware, then it had better damn well work for a living and be prepared to get out of it's comfort zone.</span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Low fat, not as much cheese as usual pizza action</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The<a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=35039&words=zester" target="_blank"> multiplane zester.</a> It's job description is: </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="Body9" style="background-color: white; color: #584632; line-height: 16px;">Sharp stainless blades quickly grate foods. Easy-grip handles adjust to easel and extended positions. Non-slip feet keep them steady. Includes storage covers. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #584632; line-height: 16px;">Makes quick work of zesting fresh citrus fruits — one swipe removes the zest and leaves behind the bitter pith.</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, frankly, I'm more than happy with it's citrus action, which is well documented on here, but I expect more commitment. Watch the short vid I made and you'll see and hear what I mean....</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the way....just thought I'd say, remember to make a comment if it takes your fancy and join the page. Follow mikegetscooking on Facebook and twitter, yes OK, I'll shut up now. </span><br />
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Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-71126496920914752572012-10-22T12:27:00.000+01:002012-10-22T12:29:37.528+01:00Brownies, cookies and a whole lot of whisking going on.<h3>
</h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Brownies and whipped cream given a good pampering, thanks to </h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Pampered Chef. Ridiculously easy.</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaR4w3YZ3z-IGwwzSjzmdldybhjmUkY28AiH-sqH4eDS_3RIv3nLdeTtaVajgobQzp100-OUviIdyyLEIsZWq6QrubPRdW6n_-1bNu1x_-XKiOV6LGT29t4jP5IX0aH_8Xq84HX1PssdTR/s1600/Brownies+in+the+Pampered+Chef+brownie+pan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaR4w3YZ3z-IGwwzSjzmdldybhjmUkY28AiH-sqH4eDS_3RIv3nLdeTtaVajgobQzp100-OUviIdyyLEIsZWq6QrubPRdW6n_-1bNu1x_-XKiOV6LGT29t4jP5IX0aH_8Xq84HX1PssdTR/s320/Brownies+in+the+Pampered+Chef+brownie+pan.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Recording a Brownie blog.</span></h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzLxS9LLrOF_78ZU-74-itJPYgD61eHvbfgWQht7Nzjr5nnJar7OEXg9X85cQZrYYDqOgdVzfbUlb7pjy85SgYRS-itEBHlzS76sBFwZzb62bpO4g0M2b_Rdhc-NSzyIotzg2mE4WuJx-/s1600/Cookies+on+the+medium+round+stone.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzLxS9LLrOF_78ZU-74-itJPYgD61eHvbfgWQht7Nzjr5nnJar7OEXg9X85cQZrYYDqOgdVzfbUlb7pjy85SgYRS-itEBHlzS76sBFwZzb62bpO4g0M2b_Rdhc-NSzyIotzg2mE4WuJx-/s320/Cookies+on+the+medium+round+stone.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Cookie on the medium round stone that's clearly seen some action.</span></h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU3abKMhVll7GBHl12oKTiNXwWf3Bz91hEM6_UP7HNNrjehAoyR-0B6zeg_VPz4zEMKMImS0simiXKoSc8QQS6oct09yHmIA-IGa_cSDDkvgmGwbY75aOjTcIXvgWKN16m4_FeyODML_D/s1600/Brownie+and+cookies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU3abKMhVll7GBHl12oKTiNXwWf3Bz91hEM6_UP7HNNrjehAoyR-0B6zeg_VPz4zEMKMImS0simiXKoSc8QQS6oct09yHmIA-IGa_cSDDkvgmGwbY75aOjTcIXvgWKN16m4_FeyODML_D/s320/Brownie+and+cookies.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Brownies and cookies. And so easy, thanks to Pampered Chef</span></h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjcTgIoJP3qMq7xKDVCE1ax5Al9TqZQaF54oLCZnsBJwmfI1GxHH5Rf7QVG9HyR9f43yWsls2pr6otYXzr7UHRO1wITqFg2ZWgaP7kTFY6bvlhspFWDfq7SB4GXdrkz5MBm39lurD7vbZ/s1600/Whipped+cream+with+the+Pampered+Chef+Double+Balloon+Whisk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjcTgIoJP3qMq7xKDVCE1ax5Al9TqZQaF54oLCZnsBJwmfI1GxHH5Rf7QVG9HyR9f43yWsls2pr6otYXzr7UHRO1wITqFg2ZWgaP7kTFY6bvlhspFWDfq7SB4GXdrkz5MBm39lurD7vbZ/s320/Whipped+cream+with+the+Pampered+Chef+Double+Balloon+Whisk.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whipped cream with the Double Balloon whisk, faster than you can say, '...so shall we whisk some cream then with the Pampered Chef Double Balloon Whisk, thingy?'</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And below, have a listen to what happened...</span></div>
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="http://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F64344973&show_artwork=true" width="100%"></iframe>mikegetscookinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00103021982626807358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-9096919538734001442012-10-16T13:09:00.000+01:002012-10-17T19:58:06.365+01:00Whisking cream? I'd better tell the window cleaner.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal;">CRZC49JZJWW8</span></h4>
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<h4>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The smell of whipped cream</span></h4>
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You always know when cream is being whisked to a frenzy in my house. You can smell it.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This perhaps only confirms to you that I have finally lost whatever plot I related to, because as most of us will be aware, whipped cream smells of not a great deal. Even at a cream to nose distance it's not noted for any discernible perfume or aroma. No. I don't mean I can smell the cream, whipped or otherwise, what I can smell is the electric whisk thing with its viscous spinning blades.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It must be years old, this electric hand-held thing and frankly I reckon it's past its best. It's certainly been instrumental in the creation of dozens - maybe hundreds - of pavlovas as a whole battery of eggs has been converted into wispy meringue things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyway, what you could smell in my house is the electric whisk's motor. This thing is at full whack, the blades lashing through egg whites or cream at full pelt, spinning and spinning and the clapped out motor is getting hotter and hotter and so is my wife as she wrestles with ageing kitchen appliances. I don't do pavlovas or any other meringue jobs as a rule.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/1511710/images/1511710_METHOD5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/1511710/images/1511710_METHOD5.jpeg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now before I go any further, let me say right now that I have a solution to all this. A whisk that does not require mains electricity and is ridiculously fast at its whisking ability. Off the scale, in fact. <a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=18687&words=whisk" target="_blank">More later.</a></span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Electric Light work. No, not really.</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But for now, back to this electric thing and the smoke alarms are now wide-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to pounce at any time. They've just bleeped once to make sure they haven't forgotten what to do in such circumstances, are braced and ready for a damn good bleeping. The kitchen now smells like a mechanics workshop. You couldn't do this randomly without warning key services such as window cleaners, for example, because the vibration through the glass would constitute a health and safety violation and more than likely action through the civil court as the hapless window operative plummets to the ground. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://mostodd.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/89-galloping-gertie-1.gif?w=300&h=209" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" src="http://mostodd.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/89-galloping-gertie-1.gif?w=300&h=209" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not a laughing matter. Wobbling and equally ageing double glazing has now taken on all the qualities of those badly designed suspension bridges years ago that turned into huge skipping ropes when the wind topped a gusty 5mph and turned Ford Anglias and Hillman Imps into equally poorly-designed Frisbees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Any window cleaner that happened to call unannounced as a few egg whites were given a seeing-to could expect to move down his ladder quicker than expected in a froth of suds, buckets and taking a slap from a selection of flapping chamois leathers on the way down to the back garden. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We wouldn't hear his screams obviously because Ken Bruce is shouting his head off on Radio 2 trying to make himself heard over the phenomenal noise from those damned rotating whisk blades. The egg whites or cream for that matter after three or four minutes of this onslaught is still a flowing stream of liquidy stuff, refusing point blank to stiffen on command and certainly not while that flipping Adele is wailing from Ken's CD player. The smoke alarms are beside themselves and on the edge of their seats, willing this to go really badly wrong as they sense what could be smoke coming out of the back of the hand-held mixer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And still my wife is valiantly holding on to the mixer which has now gathered momentum and spinning around the bowl all by itself, squinting through the noise and now acrid stench coming from the glowing motor. The window cleaner, flat out on the patio, would by now have now stopped his fruitless attempts at rescue by banging on the patio doors and instead be dragging what's let of him towards the road in front, shedding scraps of chamois leather on the way, in the hope of attracting passing paramedics.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then, a breakthrough. Just as the loosened kitchen light fittings were about to abandon the ceiling, the egg whites/cream give up the fight and stiffen to acceptable levels after 20 minutes or so of kitchen carnage. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All quiet after a cream whisking</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then it's...nothing. That eerie stillness in the air that I can only imagine is the consequence of a hurricane that's passed by. All except the radio, of course which is still at 10 on the volume knob blasting out an old Moody Blues standard.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'...Nights in White Satin....'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The ancient electric hand-held whisk is slumped on the kitchen bench, throbbing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'....Never reaching the end...'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Although the motor stinks to high heaven, no actual smoke appeared from it and so the smoke alarms have retreated sulkily back to their comatose state, bleeping just the once more as if to make a point.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'.....Letters I've written...'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The windows and everything else for that matter, finally calms to a rest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'....Never meaning to send.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And yet all this is preventable. There really is no need for this level of misery just to create an acceptable pudding/ desert whichever you prefer to call it. </span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pampered Chef Double Balloon Whisk to the rescue</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is a readily available device, as I hinted earlier, that can solve this misery with one flick of its wire frame. <a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=18687&words=whisk" target="_blank">The Double Balloon Whisk.</a> For under fifteen pounds you can help save yourself and others from the ordeal as described. Now, I'd been told this device by other PCheffers, was a winner and would turn double cream into whipped cream in 10 seconds or less. Which obviously is ridiculous. And then I saw a video recorded - I guess - on a phone by Sally, a PCheffer and uploaded to the Facebook thing. It took seconds. So I bought the double balloon whisk and a pot of double cream. (Heavy cream, I guess it's called in parts other than the UK).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://www.pamperedchef.com/images/product/resized/1765_enlarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.pamperedchef.com/images/product/resized/1765_enlarge.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's a strange looking thing with the sort of face only a mummy whisk could love. Apparently although it looks like it might, in truth, be a small mobile phone mast, in fact its thin wires and strange shape is to '...maximise aeration for more whipped cream in less time...'</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #584632; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I whisked away full of enthusiasm and guess what? It didn't work. Well it did, that's not true, but it took about a minute or more and I was expecting miracles. I could simply omit this stuff but I try to be an honest chap - that's what happened.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal;">CRZC49JZJWW8</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All in the wrist action when it comes to whipping cream </span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I bought another pot and changed my technique. With the cream out of the fridge for a little over an hour and poured into a bowl out of the cupboard, I stirred rapidly instead of the up an into the cream whisk action I'd tried before. Everything about stirring like a spoon seemed wrong. And for a glimmer the cream was stubbornly liquid. And then after about 10, maybe fifteen seconds, the clouds parted, the sun shone and the cream thickened visibly. Transfixed by what I was seeing, I went to around 20 seconds and ended up with a mousse-like cream.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV9tr-LVhS0dMhVQQIrnr7MoQR9-IIGd2VWNdF93KNrPPLwDZeDvDFHA1LnHGfwqcGA5GWvFbWw-pnUuQwYvGDuF4q91bOfxMG5_4cZEV6_lcCx0Y4ysMABX-IkUMji26f_lRgEPgikQ/s1600/Snapz+Pro+XScreenSnapz006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV9tr-LVhS0dMhVQQIrnr7MoQR9-IIGd2VWNdF93KNrPPLwDZeDvDFHA1LnHGfwqcGA5GWvFbWw-pnUuQwYvGDuF4q91bOfxMG5_4cZEV6_lcCx0Y4ysMABX-IkUMji26f_lRgEPgikQ/s200/Snapz+Pro+XScreenSnapz006.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bizarre. I shall now try with egg whites to see if the same happens. And more cream to see if it was a fluke. But I see no reason why it would be. It's just a different technique to the one I'm used to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Try it my friends. Embrace the weird wires and get yourself fully aerated and whipped accordingly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can think of a few window cleaners that would be very happy if you did.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CRZC49JZJWW8</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>----------------------------------------------</i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>P.S You can always join me in the wonderful world of interactive social media thing, stuff by following me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/mikegetscooking" target="_blank">facebook</a> and twitter: both are mikegetscooking, or even YouTube for goodness sake. In fact I'd be very pleased if you did and then you'd maybe comment a tad here and there. Ta ta for now. </i></span>mikegetscookinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00103021982626807358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-66546872446966990372012-10-10T15:12:00.000+01:002012-10-10T15:12:45.310+01:00Warning: May contain information<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxn-pPlah3YhQQ0mGNEyRPu6HrGXHm4Qi71TBnaIk36htpEmtc_GtfU9ceKRN5k5ESrFkEheIa_kV-uXemColkgt2-VXcUBP64PdiaHnODiiNp4rMYlPqnei7XCb5E7n3KhgcDG9eJMUp/s1600/ASDA+fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxn-pPlah3YhQQ0mGNEyRPu6HrGXHm4Qi71TBnaIk36htpEmtc_GtfU9ceKRN5k5ESrFkEheIa_kV-uXemColkgt2-VXcUBP64PdiaHnODiiNp4rMYlPqnei7XCb5E7n3KhgcDG9eJMUp/s320/ASDA+fish.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>There's nothing funny about food allergies. Of course they can have dire consequences for those affected.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm just guessing now that it's the reason we see so many warnings on packets and boxes of foods these days. You need to know if nuts are anywhere in vision if you have an allergy to the things. That's somewhat obvious. Around 1% of Britons and North Americans are allergic to peanuts and other nuts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But it does mean that some of the wording on boxes, bags and whatever do seem to have gone off on one of late. I mentioned on these pages a while back about a box of lamb grills that was heading for a BBQ of ours that had the instructions, 'do not grill'. Odd when you consider that grill featured heavily in the job description of that particular product.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now maybe that's more to do with just daft language. The rest, I'm thinking, is more to do with a spin off of the warnings train of thought or arguably a rather literal interpretation of ingredients. The above picture is a classic of it's type, spotted by my son. A bag of fish fillets. The ingredients lists fish. Not such a surprise, in fact I would go as far as to say we would feel pretty cheated to open a bag of fish fillets only to find that fish was not the dominant component part. You can't really have a bag of fish that's fishless. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But closer inspection shows that that the allergy advice of a bag of fish fillets is a stark warning (exclamation mark) that the bag may contain fish. Just thinking this through, I know, but if I was allergic to the previously mentioned fish, what the hell I am doing with a bag of fish in my hand? </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.thisisbath.co.uk/images/localpeople/ugc-images/275774/Article/images/13366841/3189507.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://www.thisisbath.co.uk/images/localpeople/ugc-images/275774/Article/images/13366841/3189507.png" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you had the nut allergy pointed out earlier, you wouldn't select a bar of fruit and nut chocolate and say, 'Oh for goodness sake, they've only gone and put nuts in a bar of fruit and nut, haven't they? I mean how stupid, how dense do they have to be? Lucky I spotted that one in time...'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've got a bag of salt in the cupboard that 'contains salt.' I don't know what to say really except... good. Thanks for clearing that one up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are plenty of other bizarre twists of language out there when it comes to the obvious. And it's not just the food industry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For example: On a box that contained hair curling tongs. For external use only. I think you'd need to be fairly up to speed on advanced torture techniques or have unusual tastes in the bedroom to consider that electric heated hair tongs had any internal applications available. Hairdryer: do not use in the shower. I wish, I really wish I was making these up but sadly I'm not that clever. A bottle of dog shampoo: <span style="background-color: white;">Caution, the contents of this bottle should not be fed to fish.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Music/Pix/pictures/2010/1/28/1264699085042/Two-goldfish-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Music/Pix/pictures/2010/1/28/1264699085042/Two-goldfish-001.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So the warning is clear and obvious, next time the Labrador is a tad dank and in need of a spruce up, don't get confused with Tiddles the Goldfish doing several laps of his bowl with his tongue hanging out. Trust me: dog shampoo and fish food are significantly different.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My eyes have been itching of late and I know it's because I have to be careful what I slap on my delicate little face. It took a few years of frog-like facial expressions in a range of Mediterranean destinations to work out that I'm allergic to suntan lotions dripping into my eyes when mixed with a sweaty brow. I now use a suntan lotion for babies less than a day old and it seems to work. The rest of me is bathed in factor whatever, just not from the neck up.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fact that my eyes have been itching recently means that I'm going to stop now and head for the shower to check on something. Like most women, my wife's shampoo contains ground pearls, gold leaf, the extract from leaves only found in one acre of Brazilian jungles and so on. I strongly suspect she's got me something from the value range at Pets R Us again.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Something fishy's going on. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>mikegetscookinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00103021982626807358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-53780800074905019822012-10-05T20:45:00.000+01:002012-10-05T20:54:37.701+01:00Ketchup? Make mine brown any day.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img src="http://www.farwestchina.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/ketchup.jpg" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>No, seriously, I can't be doing with tomato sauce, ketchup, whatever you'd like to call that weirdly red thing.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But you're not really supposed to say that out loud. I get some very funny looks from those that are clearly major fans of the red stuff. I'm not sure what the look is; it's not pity, it's more bordering on loathing, like you've admitted you have a fondness for Dallas or doing something unusual in the bedroom with bananas. They just don't get it, they can't understand what your problem is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I only mention this because I heard, fleetingly on a newspaper review on the tele, that we're not buying bottled sauces like we used to. Can't tell you which paper it was in because I only caught a sentence or two. But what I did hear surprised me somewhat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We certainly haven't cut down or fallen out of love with bottled sauces. I'm a brown sauce kind of bloke. Now, I suspect no-one outside the UK will have a clue what I mean by brown sauce and it's a bit difficult to explain. I'll try in a minute.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A quick peek in my cupboard and there's Worcestershire sauce, soy, brown, the hideous ketchup and various remnants of various hot sauces. In the fridge a fish sauce, and I think that's it. No, hang on, salad cream and mayo, if you count them as sort of sauces.</span><br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hot sauce can be deadly</span></h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I like reasonably hot food, as in spicy. A chilli has to be a lip-smacker for me or it's just mince. I have been known to blob a dab of hot sauce on a range of stuff that's on my plate much to the disagreement of my wife who sees it all as...well, I'm sure what she sees it as, but it's certainly worth an audible 'tsk!' So stocking filler Christmas presents or a present from someone you get a bit of something for, for me will usually include at least one bottle of hot sauce. And naturally they've got welcoming labels such as ' Death Sauce' or 'Eternal Damnation Sauce' or Burn your Trousers if you Spill This Sauce.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've still got a bottle of unopened hot sauce I was given last year in the cupboard. Which reminds me, I'd better check the sell-by date. I've not bothered yet probably because I remember the other bottle that came in the set. It was allegedly a reasonably hot marinade in a bottle. So I got meat - can't remember what now - and did as per instructed then cooked said meat.</span><br />
<a href="http://www.herbcompanion.com/uploadedImages/Blogs/Herbs_in_the_Kitchen/hot%20sauces%20lined%20up%20on%20counter.jpg?n=7121" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://www.herbcompanion.com/uploadedImages/Blogs/Herbs_in_the_Kitchen/hot%20sauces%20lined%20up%20on%20counter.jpg?n=7121" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think my wife gagged on the first mouthful from memory and I have no recollection of what happened to my face for a few hours. Good Lord, it was hot. The sort that makes you go from dry to moist to wet through in under a minute. Hells Bells. It may well be the ideal cure for athletes foot, except that most of the good skin would probably go too after a smear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I couldn't bring myself to even look the other bottle in the eye and there it's sat next to a box of sea salt and it's infinitely milder cousin the Tabasco for almost a year.</span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>HP sauce on everything</b></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyway: Brown sauce. Any readers from outside the UK may be confused at this point so...how do I start. I guess the best known variety is HP Sauce. The original was invented in Nottingham and registered by Frederick Gibson Garton. That was 1895. The HP bit is a reference to the Houses of Parliament but the exact connection is a little muddled. For what ever reason, Fred made a bit of a hash of it, didn't get it to market by all accounts and sold his sauce invention to clear debts for £150 to Edwin Moore. Moore owned a vinegar company and launched HP Sauce in 1905. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://texturbation.com/blog/hpsauce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://texturbation.com/blog/hpsauce.jpg" width="202" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Basically it's a vinegar base with dates, tomato, tamarind extract, sweetener and untold spices. And I put it on too many foods to be honest. I suppose I prefer it over ketchup because of that spice element rather than the sweet taste of the tomato. But then, I don't like sweet and savoury together. Whoever first thought of putting pineapple on pizzas needs a damned good telling off. Or their ear flicked, or something. A Chinese burn.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Quite why bottled sauces are dropping in popularity with younger eaters wasn't made clear. Odd considering they must have the taste for tomato based sauces anyway as so many consume their body weight in fast food burger rubbish.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One one my offspring accused me recently of putting fish sauce in a chilli I was cooking, which is slightly bonkers and not something that would have occurred to me. Which makes me think. Maybe there are just too many sauces now. When I was a kid there were three TV stations to choose from. It was either Blue Peter, Magpie or nothing because BBC2 didn't start until early evening. Now with my Freeview Box (I can't be arsed with Sky) I can choose any number of 1980s repeats or gaze in a glazed state as a man spends an hour on the edge of his seat with excitement as he sells me some XXXXL fleeces in battleship grey or olive green on a shopping channel.</span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A saucy sandwich over the sink</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was tomato sauce, brown sauce and Heinz Salad Cream. Oh, and Lea and Perrins aka Worcestershire Sauce. That's it. We had yet to hear of soy sauce, fish sauce, salad dressings, etc and so on, and olive oil was sold in tiny bottles at the chemists which you dropped in your ear to loosen ear wax. If you were seen putting it on your salad then, you would probably have been bundled into a secret institution at Her Majesty's Pleasure.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So maybe we've found the answer. Too much choice. Choice can be good but it can chip away at what we had and cherished. Which doesn't mean we should stop and never move on. We're programmed now, I suspect for the new thing and long may that continue because so much of what has made our lives more tolerable or pleasurable or even just interesting is the result of that curiosity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The girlfriend of one of my sons eats ketchup sandwiches. In fact she favours sandwiches that, quote ' you have to eat over a sink.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If that's not a good reason for not buying bloody ketchup I don't know what is, frankly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
mikegetscookinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00103021982626807358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-35428931675926780832012-10-04T14:46:00.000+01:002012-10-04T15:14:27.054+01:00Zesting cheese and walnut whips. It's all getting out of hand.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="http://www.pamperedchef.com/images/product/resized/1107_enlarge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nothing's safe at the moment, from the zester</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I've got a terrible addiction. Actually that's not true. I've got several, but there we are.</b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Some I've already confessed to elsewhere on these pages. Chocolate for example. I'm a big girl when it comes to chocolate. I could eat the stuff everyday (but don't) - on a biscuit, wrapped around a chocolate bar filling or just a solid bar of it. Don't care. I worked with someone years ago who did clearly have an addiction to chocolate. She was eating it by the sack and had become a real issue for her, so whilst for me it's just a slobbering desire, we shouldn't forget that for some people, these things take over lives in a most unpleasant way. Eating a whole pack of Penguin biscuits plus a multi pack of Mars Bars nightly is at best, unusual I would have thought.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was prompted because on the tele last night I saw a piece about a young woman who shifted, I think, because I was only half watching, six litres of cola a day. She rarely ate anything but said nothing quenched her thirst properly other than cola. There was some extraordinary statistics in there; eating the weight of a four year old child in sugar over a year or something bizarre. I wish I'd paid more attention. A team of doctors got her off the stuff in the end but she was biting the walls on the way there as she came off it. She now eats three meals a day and - as they say - has a balanced diet. I'm full of admiration for people that manage successfully that kind of struggle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sweet childhood memories</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So this puts into perspective somewhat my 'desires' rather than addictions. I drink too much tea and coffee, but have never smoked, so in my head (incorrectly) one cancels out the other. Back to chocolate for a minute, I've rediscovered Crunchies; that honeycomb in a choccy coat is just fab. Well, it is at the moment. I've had fads. I favoured Mars Bars but haven't eaten one now for years. Snickers, or Marathons or whatever they're called this week have lost the appeal. And I do occasionally hanker after my youth. Whatever happened to Spangles? Not choc, I know, I'm just meandering. Aztec Bars. Sherbet Fountains. They were a yellow paper tube full of the kind of sherbet that once in your mouth turned your lips inside out and made your eyeballs lurch violently backwards inside their sockets. Inside the tube and hanging out of the top was a stick of fairly acrid black liquorice. Magnificent, they were. Can't remember the last time I saw one.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d2/Walnut-Whip-Split.jpg/170px-Walnut-Whip-Split.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d2/Walnut-Whip-Split.jpg/170px-Walnut-Whip-Split.jpg" width="157" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My memories are </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">whipped into shape</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For years I questioned the absence of a half walnut in the bottom of a coffee walnut whip. As a kid I hated the damned walnuts for being too bitter. Now of course with a shift of palate, I like them. Anyway. I was convinced a semi walnut resided there at the very bottom of the Whip. Chomping one a few years back the Whip was sans walnut. Disappeared. So anyway the conversation about the 'thin end of the cost-cutting wedge', 'how dare they abandon my childhood with such a dismissive attitude towards nuts', 'no respect for tradition, culture and heritage' rumbled on for months with me going increasingly round the bend.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All for half a damned walnut, I know. I'd lost it. The big questions of life were passing me by. Bear in mind this happened years ago, I'm since recovered, but as I said, the big issues of the day such as why was <span style="background-color: white;">Robson and Jerome in the Top 40 and which vindictive halfwits were responsible for buying the damned records, were not reaching my radar. It reached such a peak, I had to contact Nestle's/Rowntrees (I think) and demanded an explanation for their damned cheek. Around a million walnuts are used by the company every week on Walnut Whips and they've been a crucial ingredient since 1910. So in my eyes a walnut whip without a walnut is falling well short of expectations and fundamentally alters the description. In that scenario it's just a Whip. End of. Unsatisfactory.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></span>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whipped into shape</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'What the hell are you playing at woman...!' I bellowed down the phone to some hapless and admirably polite PR lady on the other end. You can see I was at the end of my tether, and I'm not proud, let me make that clear.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Turns out there was never a half walnut on the bottom of a coffee walnut whip. It seems the original vanilla whip did enjoy a half nut on the chocolate base, inside the mallow, and not on the top. As a marketing ploy, a walnut was later added to the top and the nut inside was removed not long after.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My childhood memory had let me down badly and I retreated, embarrassed to lick my wounds and hang my head.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Anyway. Back to addictions. Or as I say,'desires' because I suspect the word addiction is a bit strong. I can't stop zesting. I'm zesting everything. </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"> I've mentioned this before and I thought it was a phase but clearly not. It's sitting there smirking at me on page 17 of the new Pampered Chef catalogue. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> The <a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=35039&catId=90&parentCatId=90&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">Microplane Zester.</a> Quote: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><i>one swipe removes the zest and leaves behind the bitter pith.</i></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"> I'll say it does. No citrus fruit is safe in my house, or nearby supermarket for that matter. It safely gathers all the fragrant zest effortlessly which just sits, patiently, at the top of the zester, waiting for instructions. Try as you may, the revolting white pith is nowhere.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="200" src="http://www.pamperedchef.com/images/product/resized/1341_enlarge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The medium round stone</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;"></span></span>
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pampered Chef microplane zester multitasks</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I've become adventurous. Not content with fruits I've moved onto cheese - feta in particular. At a recent cooking show, I was making a pizza on the </span><a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=27281&catId=9&parentCatId=9&outletSubCat=" style="line-height: 16px;" target="_blank">round flat stone</a><span style="line-height: 16px;"> (medium round flat stone with handles to give its proper name) and I grated or zested some feta cheese on top. The point being I hardly used any cheese - so healthier - and my little zesting friend was more than able to cope with a cheese as incredibly soft and crumbly as feta. Small wisps of feta floated down like dessicated coconut. It was a win.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">The snag is of course it's done nothing to ease my appetite for seeing what else I can zest that was never intended for such treatment. And before you even suggest the heels of your feet, you can think again.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Now I've caught a whiff of childhood, I'm off to see if I can buy a pack of Munchies. Or Treets. I don't hold out much hope though.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">--------</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>Remember you can also find me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/mikegetscooking" target="_blank">facebook</a> and twitter at mikegetscooking, drop a comment and or join this page. I thank you and have a nice day, won't you.</i></span></span></span>mikegetscookinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00103021982626807358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-33243992032946705232012-08-31T16:34:00.002+01:002012-08-31T16:43:47.940+01:00You did what? Put mashed potato - in cakes? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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'For mash get - cakes and tarts and stuff...'</h4>
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Is it just me or is instant mash suddenly cool again? Or at least OK?</div>
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<a href="http://www.advertisingarchives.co.uk/assets/thumbnails/178/2/2e02a31b9bbdf373aa4d8a5fea82b528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="imageDraggable clicked2" id="grid-item_A_53139" rel="" src="http://www.advertisingarchives.co.uk/assets/thumbnails/178/2/2e02a31b9bbdf373aa4d8a5fea82b528.jpg" title="30558421" /></a>I vividly remember eating it as a kid. My mum was a keen advocate of new-fad labour-saving cunning-plans culinary-wise. We had both the instant mash dust and the granulated versions. Facinating to watch the dust transform into a potato tribute act. And with a blob of butter added as it gathered pace it was perfectly fine to eat, I seem to recall. Not sure if I'd say the same now because I haven't eaten it for years.</div>
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Look, I've got a craving now. It's always the same. When I write about stuff like this, I want a slab/portion/slice/blob of right now.</div>
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Vesta instant meals: 'exotic chinese curry in minutes'. Fab. I'll have you know it was the height of sophistication. Seriously. This was in the days when a glass of fresh orange was a starter on a restaurant menu, when Leonard Rossiter and Joan Collins where banging on about Cinzano on TV ads and the lady still loved Milk Tray. Convenience foods were sexy and this was long before the fleet of takeaways we have now down our high streets.</div>
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Why chop onions and carrots when you could boil a kettle and watch the veg reappear before your very eyes? Something in the back of my mind is telling me that the noodles in a Vesta Chow Mein had to be fried to crisp up? Apparently, you can still get the meals. Anyway...I digress.</div>
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Angel Delight. I could murder a bowl of that now, washed down with a lime pop from the Soda Stream. Now look what you've made me do. I'll be wanting a Babycham next. Or a Dubonnet. (Too young..? Ok. It was a sweet wine-based thing, ridiculously popular in the 60s and 70s among the smart set; bitter because it had a good dose of quinine in it. It was first sold in 1846 and the story goes the French Foreign Legion were encouraged to give it a good swallow because of the quinine and its protective qualities against malaria)</div>
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Instant mash </h4>
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I was watching the Food Network the other day, which I do when no-one else is around because they're fed up with me watching all the food tele shows. Some bloke in the States was making restaurant quantities of a meatloaf, burger kind of concoction - I wasn't paying much attention. But I did when I heard him say 'instant potato' which he chucked into the vast metal bowl as a binding agent.</div>
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I have a feeling there will be several people now shouting,<i> 'yeah...and...?' </i>but it honestly hadn't occurred to me. Breadcrumbs, yes, egg, yes. But not instant spuds. Maybe because instant potato - in fact instant food in general - has such a poor reputation in some quarters of my generation.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gluten free lemon drizzle - with spuds.</td></tr>
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But it is two thirds starch by dry weight, it would thicken and grab hold of what's around it so it does sort of make sense, I suppose. </div>
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<b>Slice of gluten free lemon and potato cake? </b></h4>
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I think I'm suddenly aware of potatoes taking on a more unusual role because my wife cooked a lemon drizzle cake this week, made with potato. Carrot cake, we're used to. I quite like it. But potato?</div>
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You see, my brother and sister in law paid a visit and she has to steer well away from gluten. Basically, 250g of cold mash takes the place of the flour and do you know what? You'd never know. It was fantastic. I had more than one slice which is the norm. We've never had to search for this kind of thing because this is a recent diagnosis and again, I wouldn't be surprised if this isn't all really obvious to those who have battled through lists of ingredients before. It must be exhausting to keep needing to check and check again. The rest of us have no idea how lucky we are.</div>
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Instant mash in a Pampered Chef style</h4>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=7976&catId=122&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">Deluxe min muffin pan</a></td></tr>
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Now this is coincidence, honestly, but I picked up an old copy of the Pampered Chef recipe book, <i>Season's Best,</i> and there, on page 8, a recipe for potato bites. Instant mash mixed with cheese butter and egg becomes a golden brown case in the <a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=7976&catId=122&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">deluxe mini muffin pan </a>as would pastry. I've never tried that and now I want to. Whether that's the power of TV, recipe books, a yearning for nostalgia or just my curiosity taking over, I don't know. There is a continued recipe for the case filling but really, I guess that could be just about anything you fancy, chopped up small enough. </div>
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I suppose the yearning to go shopping will take over now. I'll probably have to wear dark glasses if I pick up some instant mash until I've come to terms with my silly behaviour, I don't want the neighbours waving net curtains, but I also want to see if there's any Fray Bentos pies handy. Or Angel Delight. Gravy Browning. Bottle of Emva Cream or Stones Ginger Wine.. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I could certainly do something to a Pop Tart right now. And no I don't mean Cheryl Cole, I meant one of those things you put in a toaster, thank you. Really. Pffft.</span><br />
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<span class="Body9" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>By the way...please feel free to comment,</b>
in fact I'd like it if you did, about the bloggy stuff in general or
this bit, whatever takes your fancy. I'd quite like to know where I am
with your train of thought and if you've got suggetions. then get it off
your chest. Your ideas are just as valid as mine. And why not join the
page on the right hand side. That would be nice and appreciated at this
end. But if you'd prefer to keep it quiet then contact me at <b>mikegetscooking@gmail.com</b>, also that </span><span class="Body9" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>mikegetscooking</b> thing on <b>facebook and twitter.</b> You have a nice day now.</span></h4>
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mikegetscookinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00103021982626807358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-3799201361301977892012-08-29T22:41:00.000+01:002012-08-29T23:01:14.841+01:00KEEP CALM. It's only a school holiday.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0q7Ajr0nxMAOJSyjSAFiyqNuUEdrEd9DwDS_B_NNCz2gSk19w0H1lcyqx3dT5SuvrcWK44rCICgx1whQzjYGAuFVDwooP7CUS8AGfcLYVJH8AIWv-OOUfX5isdWz3r68M6HGlf9N7nsbQ/s1600/keep-calm-with-mikegetscooking-pampered-cheffing.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0q7Ajr0nxMAOJSyjSAFiyqNuUEdrEd9DwDS_B_NNCz2gSk19w0H1lcyqx3dT5SuvrcWK44rCICgx1whQzjYGAuFVDwooP7CUS8AGfcLYVJH8AIWv-OOUfX5isdWz3r68M6HGlf9N7nsbQ/s320/keep-calm-with-mikegetscooking-pampered-cheffing.png" width="274" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Easier said than done. Keep Calm, it's only a school holiday, who's he think he's kidding..?</span></h3>
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Drawing to a close; the dying embers. Now, my offspring sprung from school some time ago so it's not an issue for me. But it most certainly has been with the three of them.</div>
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We tried to go to the seaside a fair bit as we live not far from the east coast. Each boy was equipped with exactly the same swimming trunks in the brightest colour we could find, pretty much in keeping with the mikegetscooking philosophy - electric lime greens, vivid bright orange and so on. It made it much easier to keep track of them just in case one small boy decided to leg it down the beach just as my back was turned as I tried to explain to another why a recently caught crab the size of a 50pence piece with two remaining legs, now in a bucket, was almost certainly dead and unlikely to take part in any beach races. And that particularly stiff star fish that they hid in the car last time stunk to high heaven after a couple of weeks. And no, I didn't appreciate your mother blaming me for the smell with unfounded accusations of wanton farting, so I really would prefer it if this new exceedingly dead star fish was laid to rest where you found it.</div>
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The car for weeks was almost a permanent, mobile sandpit. No matter how much vigorous shaking of shoes, clothes and boys we did, sand dunes would slowly appear in the boot. But the boys were more than happy to spend hour after hour, digging a hole and filling it in again. Then digging another one. Repeat until time to go home, with a small break for a sand sandwich and a melted ice cream and the periodic argument at the application of sun creams.</div>
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<i>"Dad can't do it, he's useless...you got sunburn last time because he missed a bit. Or most of you. He doesn't rub it in..."</i></div>
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Have a brew and Keep Calm...it's nearly over.</h4>
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So mid afternoon it was down to the icecream booth when their mother would tell them they could have anything from the bottom lines on the ice lolly posters - mini milks etc, not the Soleros. They still talk about that now, particularly as it was a policy enthusiastically taken up and supported by all the other mummies in the 'group'. </div>
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We did, every now and again, go to a very well known holiday resort not far away and swim in the pool there and use the rest of the facilities. I don't want to sound ungrateful hence my reluctance to say out loud which park it was, but the pool changing rooms were always something of an experiment in whether it was possible to leave without catching something that would probably make you itch for a while.<i> </i>The floors of said facilities bore an uncanny resemblance to those glass plate jobs you see under microscopes. Always a potentially awkward GP-type chat.</div>
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<i>"And where did you take the children again, you did what with them..?"</i></div>
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Again, the (not-so now) boys recount that when the subject is raised.</div>
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Anyway...to cooking matters. I saw on the Facebook malarkey only recently that a mum/PChef chum was organising a Pampered Chef cooking show with her offspring. I'm liking this. Cook with the children, demonstrate some of the kit and how easy it is to use (childsplay etc...).</div>
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One lump, or two..?</h4>
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I was never a cook by any stretch but I started venturing into the kitchen because I wanted my boys to see me cooking. I didn't want them growing up believing cooking was exclusively 'womans work.' We bought them a toy kitchen, I remember, and a tea set. Now not all our friends got the idea. In fact I remember one dad being majorly dead against the concept. But the outcome is all three do indeed now cook for themselves to varying degrees and the eldest is probably a damn sight better than me.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Anyway I was half watching the Food Network on the tele today with Guy Fieri, and his five year old son wandered onto the set</span>. <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Accidental or a production decision, it didn't make much difference. It gave Guy the chance to point out the importance of kids connecting with food, enjoying helping to cook and taking - as he put it - ownership of not just the food but the experience. I'm all for that. Well...as you've heard me say on an audio post elsewhere on here, regardless of previous prejudice, the boys are coming forward in droves for food technology classes; it's the girls that are now lagging behind.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Anyway. My aim is still to get more men involved in opportunities such as Pampered Chef. It's ludicrous that more men are cooking than ever before and still we have yet to engage this market. I'm working on it behind the scenes with others and hopefully tangible progress will be seen soon. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">T<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">hese are seriously suggested as girls school shoes on a website</span></td></tr>
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That's quite enough of that for now. The point is, the school hols are almost over, a new start and the chance to keep calm and carry on with a few of the things we did with the kids over these past weeks - including cooking.</div>
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Still to finish - the collosal rows over school shoes...</div>
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<i>'God mum, they're like well lame, you're embarrassing. I can't wear them, like a freak, I want them' cos they're dench...'</i></blockquote>
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(Don't ask me, I'm just writing it down, but I suspect it's striking a chord here and there.)</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That hideous experience, plus the rows over uniform is long gone for me. Time passes. I could no longer get away with Mini Milks with my lot but at least, on the bright side, I no longer have to buy my twenty-somethings lime green swimming trunks. Or bury flippin' starfish.</span>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-86412410404459784082012-08-13T21:39:00.000+01:002012-08-14T09:56:32.362+01:00BOOOOMMMM!!!! That'll be a raspberry pip and a decorator bottle, then.<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
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<b>You just can't take raspberry pips for granted. In the wrong hands they can cause devastation.</b></div>
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At the very least they can kick-start a need to redecorate. This is a cautionary tale involving the <a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=16553&catId=122&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">Pampered Chef Decorator Bottle Set </a>and a pip. Rubus idaeus, is the red fruit we are familar with here in the UK and much of Europe. It's the native species of Rubus<i> </i>to Europe and northern Asia. I didn't realise until recently that black raspberries are grown in parts of America. Now whether this is all getting confused with what we know as blackberries, I don't know and I'll leave that bit to those that do.</div>
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I'm not a fan, to be honest. In fact, I've never been a fan of raspberries. Don't know why really, just don't like the taste. I've already mentioned before that meringue is a mystery to me so raspberry pavlova is about as far off my taste-bud radar as is possible. Perhaps because the perfume taste of the raspberry is a bit lame for me. I like munching raw gooseberries that are so tart you can actually feel your face turning inside out; the sort that push your lips back inside you mouth towards your tonsils as your eyeballs balance yet wobble on the outer edge of the sockets. Hardcore sour. I like that.</div>
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Anyway, back to pips. They can wedge in dental lapses and provide an unwelcome crunchy thing. Not the exact same example, but on holiday abroad recently I was reminded how used to seedless everything we have become. I was offered some uber-plump raisins to graze on, and duly did. Now, I got the shock of my life when the plump fruit went crunch in my mouth. I have to say I panicked slightly as I pondered the effects of eating a loose filling only to be relieved when I realised it was a seed. A raisin with a seed. Well...yeah...why not? It's just that we have become used to seedless stuff.</div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<a href="http://www.raspberry-ketone.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/raspberry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://www.raspberry-ketone.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/raspberry.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>So maybe our concentration in these matters is not what it should be. We've blanked pips from our memory. We take no account of what havoc a single pip can unleash.</div>
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<br /></div>
<h3 style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
Will Torrent</h3>
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Put this to one side for a moment as we focus on decorator bottles. Now, I haven't got any of these and suppose it's because I generally don't decorate my food. I might blob something or other here and there but all that fancy waving a sauce around isn't my gig. Again, as with meringues, I've jabbered on here about jus and other sideshows. Gravy I get and adore, but a teaspoon of blobby on my plate hardly seems worth the effort.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
To get me into all this, I should perhaps give these bottles a go. There's certainly no faffing about with bags and random nozzels. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
Quote: <i>'<span class="Body9">Three easy-squeeze bottles and writing, basket weave
and rosette tips let you decorate with different designs and colours at
one time. Perfect for icing, whipped cream and soft cheese...' </span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span class="Body9">Sounds painless.</span><i><span class="Body9"> </span></i><span class="Body9">Now at this time of year the PCheffers all get to hear about the new products for this season and in parallel there have been demos on how to create no-bake tarts by PChef's new guest chef, Will Torrent, using the new tart tins, decorated with the bottles.</span></div>
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<span class="Body9">So there's been a flurry of activity of late demonstrating how easy it is to do all this. My chum Carolyn told me about one such cooking show. Tart made, there was some raspberry sauce action to get sorted. So, in the bottle goes the sauce, the onlookers looking on, suitably enraptured. Squeeze. Nothing much happens, certainly not the carefully formed red trickle and at this point, of course, the penny drops. The pip. A damned pip. The bottle has fallen foul to the stroppy pip blocking the only available exit.</span></div>
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<span class="Body9">Now, I've had a kidney stone. In fact I enjoyed the mind-altering pain so much I've decided to have another. It's been sat there for a long time now. You don't know you've got one until it gets bored and decides to stretch its legs. When it does and you have to pass a stone larger than the exit facility, something has to give. Likewise the damn pip. </span></div>
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<span class="Body9"><br /></span>
<span class="Body9">Someone suggested having a cheeky squeeze over a bowl to free the intrusion. Mistake. Seriously. As I said, something has to give...</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<h3 style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span class="Body9">Fruit Casualty </span></h3>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span class="Body9"><br /></span>
<span class="Body9">BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span class="Body9"><br /></span>
<span class="Body9">The whole lot exploded. It must have looked like a scene from 'Casualty'. Screams, hysterical activity. Red splatters everywhere. One team member was caked in it, the wallpaper splattered, all the products on the table dripping - only the ceiling escaped the explosion of seasonal fruits.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<a href="http://www.ekogija.lt/images/uploader/av/564x564.g/avieciu-seklos-2-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://www.ekogija.lt/images/uploader/av/564x564.g/avieciu-seklos-2-1.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a><span class="Body9">Naturally those out of the blast zone roared with laughter, but we could all do with learning from this tale. We've become careless, lazy even. As long as I keep myself reasonably hydrated me and the kidney stone can call a truce. But if I let my guard down it will head south. The thought has just made me shudder as I recall a Boxing Day never to be forgotton as the last stone blinked in the daylight.</span></div>
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<span class="Body9">Watch your pips, gang. The little buggers have a mean streak when they fancy it. </span></div>
<br />
<span class="Body9">-------</span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span class="Body9" style="font-size: small;"><b>By the way...please feel free to comment,</b> in fact I'd like it if you did, about the bloggy stuff in general or this bit, whatever takes your fancy. I'd quite like to know where I am with your train of thought and if you've got suggetions. then get it off your chest. Your ideas are just as valid as mine. And why not join the page on the right hand side. That would be nice and appreciated at this end. But if you'd prefer to keep it quiet then contact me at <b>mikegetscooking@gmail.com</b>, also that </span><span class="Body9" style="font-size: small;"><b>mikegetscooking</b> thing on <b>facebook and twitter.</b> You have a nice day now.</span></div>
Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-64628254654981478502012-08-02T11:36:00.000+01:002012-08-03T08:58:00.065+01:00Sweaty? I'm throwing in the towel, Juan.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3>
‘I’m sweating like a fat lass in a club…’</h3>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, I’m not sure where I heard that, I think it might be a
Peter Kay line, but I’ll stand corrected. We do like to make jokes to cover up emissions
of a personal nature be they from armpits or twixt buttocks. It’s the former that is taxing me at the
moment.<br />
<br />
I’ve been quiet on here for a
while mainly because I’m several thousand miles away in Northern Cyprus – the Turkish
side. I also had to miss the PChef annual
conference which happens every year in Birmingham for various reasons, so I
have no insider gossip on that front to reveal.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This isn’t to say that I am in a non PChef zone right now,
because I’m not, as I shall jabber about in a minute.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The temperature here bounces around 40 degrees, give or
take. We are staying at a friend’s house equipped with all the usuals – fridge,
freezer, blah etc. And this is kit that really has to put its back into it to keep
anything from rotting within hours of purchase.
And you want to buy. As with some
many other countries the markets are amazing.
I’ve shifted more fruit and veg in the last few days than within six
months at home – water melons the size of unfurnished flats; and water, gallons
of the stuff. But we’ve been coming here
for a few years now so we knew – or at least I knew – that bodily functions
would be put to the test.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been cooking. Apparently that’s my job on holiday. In 40 degree heat. So here’s one example. I’m (loosely) cooking a PChef recipe of chicken,
chick peas, chorizo (Turkish sausage) pepper, chicken stock , tomatoes etc, all
bunged into one pot and served with rice.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dear Lord. There are
cooler blast furnaces. The sweat after five
mins or so of chopping reached crisis levels and I’d not cooked a damn thing
yet. That snake-hipped lad and his kitchen towels – Juan Sheet – or whatever he’s
called would need a pack of rolls never mind one flaming sheet. In fact I wish he’d been here because I wouldn’t
mind slapping his smug little face.
Anyone who can wear trousers like that needs to be treated with caution.
As the pathetic kitchen towels available to me dissolved on impact with my
forehead I had to engage some serious support.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With the start of cooking in progress, fighting for oxygen
and with a T shirt that now looked as though it had been taken out before a
fast spin, I went to the bathroom and got a hand towel which I plonked on my
head and wrapped around me ala Lawrence of Arabia. To cut a long story short, I
managed the meal but needed two such towels to cope with the onslaught of moisty bits. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Pampered Chef note: I
have been using a selection of knives, pink and green versions, stoneware etc
all resident in the island.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>‘A bit hot…?’</i> says my wife after a gruelling shower plus sit
down for half an hour with a white wine and soda, as her meal is presented.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I think I mentioned something about never feeling dry at any
stage and knowing now what a slug feels like.<o:p></o:p></div>
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‘You need to wipe your face,’ said wife or friend Bridget, I
can’t remember, I was hallucinating I think; I’d got locked in the Lawrence
zone by this stage and I think I saw
camels in the garden. Either way I plonked down in a chair looking I’d just
finished the 100 meters backstroke.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<i>‘I have been wiping my face…I’ve been using the hand towels…done
it before’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>‘You did WHAT!’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>‘I used the hand towels to…’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>‘I’VE BEEN DRYING MY HAIR ON THOSE..!’</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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I won’t go on, you can guess the rest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tensions were a little raised before because we’d not long
finished a chat on Skype via this very laptop with the middle son who was about
to head off to Italy for a couple of days of work.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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My wife is very big on sun.
Loves the stuff. A tan – whilst not
an obsession - is a summer must-have in her book.<o:p></o:p></div>
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‘<i>Do I look brown then Tom…?</i>’ she asked eager for confirmation.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>‘Yeah, you look like Lennox Lewis’</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, whether it was son suggesting that his mother closely
resembled a boxer or my comment about Fatima Whitbread, or my snort of laughter, I don’t know, but it
set a tone for the evening that climaxed in the towel incident.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are other tales to tell from here, but while I’m on
this theme, we went to a market which sold just about anything you’d like from
clothes and accessories to dodgy rip-offs. Tucked away was a small booth-come stall that
housed two young girls plus an older woman who was turning out what at first
glance appeared to be pancakes or crepes – except they can’t have been. That’s
because I watched the older lady roll out a ball of - I have no idea what –
with what looked like an inch thick piece of dowel rod. These now ‘pancake’ sized discs were lightly
filled with potato or cheese or meat or aubergine or any combo. They were folded and lightly rolled again
with the filling inside, placed on a hot plate which the girls cooked. Naturally these, whatever they were, were
blisteringly hot and tasted fantastic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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However…on the board behind the girls, written in white
chalk, that listed the options of meat, cheese etc., there was a ‘Sweat’
version. Even in this heat it didn’t
take much working out that the poor girls meant ‘Sweet’ and not the more
unconventional ‘Sweat’. Look, I’ll try
most things – I like faggots and gravy and I’ve eaten snails, but sweat
flavoured ‘pancakes’ are a whole new departure for me and not one I’m keen to
explore.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bridget pointed this out and had to visually explain the
error by pointing at her armpits. An
urgent search for chalk and the ‘A’ became’ an ’E’.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anyway…must dash, more later. There are some towels to wash, apparently. Some people are so picky. <o:p></o:p></div>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-11643446282378075932012-07-13T12:38:00.000+01:002012-07-13T20:59:03.442+01:00Mamma Mia! That's my idea of a cooking show, Benny, Bjorn, Agnetha and Anni-Frid.<br />
<br />
 <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vRoJ-RxZLWNLvwbUAZmllktN5gWS12D3H29JOdX-Dug-3TImc6QyK6AxJFmy5wno-9bMzF62ZUY2poYq-lv0h-PpdSHK61-KD26jvxf8WLnNItqUMPThcZPTmd7NmaGmwTLzSr8DdrA/s1600/abba+82.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" closure_uid_i1ufka="2" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vRoJ-RxZLWNLvwbUAZmllktN5gWS12D3H29JOdX-Dug-3TImc6QyK6AxJFmy5wno-9bMzF62ZUY2poYq-lv0h-PpdSHK61-KD26jvxf8WLnNItqUMPThcZPTmd7NmaGmwTLzSr8DdrA/s320/abba+82.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Picture credit: agnethannifrid.blogspot.co.uk</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
 <br />
<h4>
Gimme, gimme, gimme a plan after midnight</h4>
<br />
<i>"That's an hour and a half of my life I can't get back,"</i> I said, under my breath, after watching Mamma Mia.<br />
<br />
I didn't like it. I watched the DVD faithfully a year or so ago - whenever it was - after we given it as a Christmas present. My comments were not well recieved by the females we discussed it with later. It was made very clear to me that I was a typical bloke, an all round idiot, with no taste or idea what a good film is.<br />
<br />
Harsh, I thought at the time, particularly as all the men I spoke to agreed with me wholeheartedly, except they seemed to avoid the backlash. Clearly, Mr Scapegoat again. Can't argue though, that it was the highest grossing film in the UK in 2008.<br />
<br />
I've seen the signs before obviously: this male, female thing, Venus and Mars, the canyon that is the difference between the sexes, etc etc.<br />
<br />
I mention all this because I'm a home-alone tonight; my wife is out overnight at an Abba tribute show, which in the case of her group, happens to be a hen night. I'm assured the combination of hens and Abbas makes this just about a damn near perfect combo. There's a small fleet of cars going with watches syncronised for 4.30pm. There'll be a last-minute search under the bed/back of the wardrobe for feather boas, urgent shopping for plastic glasses and cursing because they didn't put the Cava in the fridge for long enough. And the fact that they only seem to have a measly one case of fizz. Per car.<br />
<br />
<i>"We're having a three course meal first,"</i> she said. Which I thought sounded a bit odd. That's a long time taken up and a fair quantity of meat and three veg to digest if the required dancing is to take place. <br />
<br />
<i>"DANCING QUEEEEEN, FEEL THE YEAAAH OF THE TANGERINE, OH YEAHHHH!"</i><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
I can see it now. Quiet, restrained, it won't be.<br />
<br />
I daren't over-quote the lyrics by the way. I bet there's packs of Swedish lawyers poised to deal with wanton copyright malarkey.</div>
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<br /></div>
<h4 style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Chicken Tikka, la, la, la, laaaa.</h4>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fedrest.com/chicken-tikka-masala1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" id="il_fi" src="http://www.fedrest.com/chicken-tikka-masala1.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Chicken Tikka, Chiquitita</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
 <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
So I did a bit of Google action to see what is normally consumed at such events. There was either no food or the ever-present 'finger buffet'. Greasy chicken legs flopping onto posh frocked laps wouldn't be a preferred option either, I suspect. Lilac feathers accidently dipped into mayonnaise might not be a good look by the time they're redecorated the favourite top only bought last week from Next.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
So I asked my Facebook, PChef chums for thoughts and theories. I tried to expand the notion and suggest what food you might serve at an Abba cooking show party. There were the Swedish suggestions of Dime Bars and meatballs. I like meatballs. I cooked some for tea last night, but I prefer tomato sauce and not the fruit jam thing as per Ikea. Wierd. Then there was smorgasbord, which after all is just a posher finger buffet isn't it? I like a few roll mop herrings myself, but there's a time and a place. Then came the suggestions that made me smile. Chicken Tikka (as in 'Chiquitita' - heard that before but it still made me snort a bit) Doughing Me, Doughing You (for the bread rolls) and Voulez Vonts (vol au vent, obviously). There were several that suggested an Abba cooking show home party was a real go-er.<br />
<br />
I think we're getting somewhere.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Cava, vodka. Bound to be messy.</h4>
<br />
The response to my request was - I think - entirely female at time of writing. It's odd how Abba connects in such a way with female audiences. They've sold over 370 million records and still sell millions every year even though they haven't collectively produced new music since 1982. Each member has continued to work with each other or individually since that time although, unusually, Abba never did officially spilt: they just stopped recording and touring. I very much doubt that the instigators, Benny and Bjorn realised the impact they would have when the started their musical careers aged 18 in the Hep Cats and The Hootenanny Singers, respectively.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bellsfishmongers.co.uk/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/x500/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/_/j/_jpb2163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://www.bellsfishmongers.co.uk/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/x500/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/_/j/_jpb2163.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Roll mops. Swedish enough for you?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
However, this is where I may differ from a significant number of the males species. I like Abba songs. There. I've said it now, no going back. They produced some technically fantastic pop songs. Much has been written about the extraordinary vocal range of the girls in particular which drifts across octaves alarmingly and which makes it very difficult for tribute bands to accurately reproduce the true sound. Sorry, but I like it.</div>
<br />
I have been to an Abba tribute show in the grounds of Lincoln Castle one summer and it was great. People brought picnics and sang rather a lot. That I can do but I wonder how many blokes will be at this hotel tonight as packs of over 30s women wade through the Cava starters and move onto the main course of Vodka and coke? Messy. Advice: When you hear gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight, check the Exits.<br />
<br />
Thankfully I'll be at home. Chicken Tikka sounds like a good plan, with a few herrings perhaps? Maybe I'll rethink that. I certainly wouldn't fancy doing an Abba cooking show though. No way.<br />
<br />
At least now I can watch my DVD of <i>National Lampoon's Animal House</i> without my wife saying," <i>Well that's an hour and a half of my life I can't get back."</i><br />
<br />
Venus and Mars. <i>Ahh , haaaa!</i><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><i> Remember, I'm always interested in any comments and feel free to repost on facebook or twitter, and please join the page - it's on the right side of this page. If you do repost, please drop me a line at mikegetscooking@gmail.com. It would be great to hear from you. - Mike.</i></li>
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</div>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-23244549930941380262012-07-09T20:10:00.000+01:002012-07-09T20:13:53.604+01:00I need to have a go at whipping something.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>I don't really do cream so I'm somewhat unfamiliar with stiff peaks.</b></h4>
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<b> </b></h4>
The runny stuff, the single cream is OK up to a point, but double whisked, fluffed-up cream isn't my number one choice. This is perhaps the reason why I have few whisks at my disposal at home. Apart from a flick around a gravy, I generally have no need for the things.<br />
<br />
<span dir="auto">Meringue is another mystery to me. Pavlova is a big hit in our usually male dominated house, so I can't even say it's a girly thing. I have tried it, but it's a deeply disappointing experience. You bite into it only to find there's nothing actually in your mouth except a blast of something that was probably very sweet. It just seems a bit pointless. </span><br />
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<span dir="auto">In fact, if I'm honest, puds don't really cut it for me at all. I'd have a cheese board or just an ice cream if an ice cream should be available. Any flavour. Oh and fruit salad. I make an excuse for chocolate though. My passion for chocolate is well-documented in these pages.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ocado.com/cmscontent/recipe_image_large/72212.jpg?AlQE" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="127" id="il_fi" src="http://www.ocado.com/cmscontent/recipe_image_large/72212.jpg?AlQE" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Pavlova? I don't really get it.</span></td></tr>
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<span dir="auto">Yet some people visibly melt at the very mention of meringue. I've noticed it prompts the occaisional "Oooh...ooooh" with a curious accompanying satisfied or expectant facial expression from those of a female persuasion which suggests I am totally out of my depth when it comes to egg white-based confections. </span><br />
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<span dir="auto">I might be wrong here but they so often appear to be the same ladies that go all peculiar when it comes to Baileys, which is another off my radar item. It tastes, to me, like the catch-all medicine that I used get rammed down me as kid that was a cure-all for whatever was ailing me at the time from chicken pox to runny nose. </span><br />
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<span dir="auto">But of course, it contains cream. So maybe that's it. Or maybe it's the emulsifier containing refined vegetable-oil which stops the cream and whiskey splitting that doesn't work for me, taste-wise. Whiskey or whisky, on the other hand are big hits with me. We've had an affair for many years.</span><br />
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<span dir="auto">Double cream, double the fun? Pampered Chef double balloon whisk time. </span></h4>
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<span dir="auto">Anyway. I'm getting off the point. I would like to get into the whole whisking thing because I think there could be something quite satisfying about it and it's prompted by a couple of events. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://dieline.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8345250f069e2011570e02e64970c-500wi" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://dieline.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8345250f069e2011570e02e64970c-500wi" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="172" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">One squirt or two..?</span></td></tr>
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<span dir="auto">One: I read some - no, quite a lot of - sniggering from women clearly up to speed with the whole 50 Shades of Grey thing and there were whisk references going on. It's a not a bedside reading item for me so I can only wonder what caused such sniggers or whether I had totally confused the messages. Maybe it was cream, rather than whisk thing...anyway.</span><br />
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And two: <a href="https://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=18687&catId=123&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">the Pampered Chef double balloon </a>whisk I saw demonstrated a bit back. It's a strange looking creature, if I'm honest. It looks like somone started making what a whisk should look like and got a bit confused having too many whisk-type metal bits, mid way. <br />
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Anyway the end result is maximum aeration. Loads of air after a moderate beating. It certainly made short work of the cream I looked at. After giving it a bit of a seeing-to, the female demonstrator had peaks all over the place. And in record time.<br />
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I want to join in the fun.<br />
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Taken us a while to get there; we've had a passion for sweetened creamy stuff since the sixteenth century. Maybe my not liking frothy cream thing was also driven by the 'squirty' cream that was a pudding staple in my childhood. Press too hard, one squirt and it was all over the damned place. And it tasted of what, exactly?<br />
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I could give a batter a batter. It's a possibility. But maybe I need to get over this whole whipped aversion, get a double balloon whisk, give it a go and see if I can peak.<br />
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I might even like it.<br />
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<ul>
<li>If you have any thoughts and theories, please feel free to comment. And
repost on facebook and twitter as you so please. You can contact me on
mikegetscooking on facebook or at mikegetscooking@gmail.com.</li>
</ul>
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<br />Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-19259676177800442512012-07-08T19:16:00.002+01:002012-07-08T20:59:33.670+01:00Curry please, make sure it's slim line.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img height="231" id="il_fi" src="http://wownesia.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/susu.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="252" /></div>
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<b>This is a tricky one and I'm not sure what I think. This is what set me off...</b><br />
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<b>'You've used the wrong milk again...how many more times. It's not my milk!'</b><br />
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My wife is now giving me that look that suggests I will pay a heavy price for this latest lapse in concentration at a time and date to suit her. If you lived in my house, you'd hear that quite a bit.<b><i> </i></b>Sometimes I forget, sometimes - I have to admit - I can't be faffed with swapping endless different sorts of milk about.<b><i></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><br />
I was making two mugs of hot chocolate and 'accidently' used semi skimmed milk in both, instead of one with skimmed milk. Skimmed is the fluid of choice for my wife. I should make the effort particularly as I am getting seriously fed up with others foisting their food and drink notions on me.<br />
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We both used to drink full fat. I can't remember when we shifted sideways, likewise I can't remember when we both dropped sugar. To go off track slightly, I used to work for a major organisation that sent a 'nurse' around occasionally for workplace healthcare. Now a colleague of mine, true to his agricultural roots, ate vast quantities of fatty bits washed down with Jersey milk.<b><i> </i></b> I haven't seen Jersey milk for years; not sure if you can still buy it. It's so fatty it almost stands up by itself.<br />
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Anyway, the nurse did all the relevant checks during one of her workplace visits and the test results seemed to suggest my colleague had been dead for several years, it's just that no-one had bothered to tell him. He was off the scale; such was the effect of the milk and all round meaty consumption. Except of course he was very much alive, in pretty sound health generally and was a little surprised to find out he was dead.<br />
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Suffice to say, he didn't change his diet, and is still on his toes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/76/Fish_and_chips.jpg/300px-Fish_and_chips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" id="il_fi" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/76/Fish_and_chips.jpg/300px-Fish_and_chips.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish and chips anyone?</td></tr>
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Now, I do try to watch what I consume. I'm not a great fast-food fan, except fish and chips. The whole burger thing leaves me apathetic. I do need to lose weight though, but that's more to do with not getting off my backside enough. I don't drink much alcohol really and I don't smoke: never have done, never tried it in fact, so I've no idea what that's like. It's my choice. I like choice. I choose to like choice.<br />
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So I'm starting to get just a tad frustrated by the increasing levels of 'skinny' and 'lite' in the choice put before me. No, not just before me, almost thrust upon me. Before we go further, when did skinny become a gastronomic option? I can't remember. Skinny. Odd. If I called someone skinny they'd probably be less than pleased. Slim, yes, not skinny. And yet if I want a coffee that isn't skinny I'm looked upon like a social misfit. Yes I know I'm getting paranoid and a bit silly, but I almost feel like I need to apologise in advance when I place an order.<i> </i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Can I have the chicken please...and I'd like the skin left on" </i><br />
<i>"Left on..?</i><br />
<i>"And a coffee.."</i><br />
<i>" Skinny..?"</i><br />
<i>"Just semi-skimmed, please..."</i><br />
<i>"So...you'd like skin, but not skinny?"</i> </blockquote>
And off she goes to tell her workmates to treat the bloke on table seven with extreme caution as he's clearly unstable.<br />
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It's a tricky one. We should eat responsibly. We eat too much fat. I eat too much fat. <i>I know I do. </i> I like cake and chocolate and biscuits. I like to be able to choose a fatty or a non fatty version: example, I prefer low-fat yoghurt. I like the choice, I just don't like the feeling that I'm wrong to like a battered sausage once every six months. But maybe I should? Maybe I'm the one that's wrong. Maybe choice should not be a choice after all. Food education is a serious matter not to be trivialised as so many people gain dangerous weight levels. What we do that will make a major impact, I have no idea. I'm not sure guilt is a great option though as it prompts me to eat another biscuit to take the guilty feelings away. I do think we haven't seriously tackled the issues of high fat foods sold cheaply or marketing to children. It all feels a bit token.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://klout.com/picture/topic/fried%20chicken" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="139" id="il_fi" src="http://klout.com/picture/topic/fried%20chicken" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fried?..not fried?</td></tr>
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I saw this recipe on the facebook thingy for 'lite' fried chicken. (I can't tell you how much I loathe the non-word 'lite'...anyway.) The reason why the 'lite' fried chicken was 'lite' was because it wasn't fried. So what exactly is the point of calling the damn thing fried? It was oven baked. But because we all secretly like fatty fried chicken, we have to call a non-fried chicken fried so we can say we haven't actually eaten fried, fried chicken. If I want oven baked chicken, let me choose that or let me choose a fried version: why call something what it isn't? We can't seem to make our minds up with messages mixed all over.<br />
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I was in a well-known national pub chain pub last night for a meal after a very long day left me too tired to cook. Browsing through the range of menus before me I glanced at the drinks and saw - skinny singles. What? Example: Vodka and a low carb Monster. I think after grazing through steak, chips, a fried egg and onion rings, a low carb Monster isn't really going to scratch the surface. However, at least I have the option, and we would criticise them if they didn't make an effort.<br />
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This reminds me: a while back we went for an Indian meal in a restaurant after which my wife asked for a gin and tonic, but make sure it's a slim line. That's after a months supply of curry calories in one sitting. I did raise the issue but...<br />
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I suppose there are two main threads to all this. Firstly, I am a grown up, I am incredibly fortunate to live in a country at a time in history when I can choose what I want to eat within reason, so please let me choose. And please continue giving me that sensible option. Just don't make me feel guilty, it will backfire. And why do we now pretend to eat what we are not eating? I don't understand and I'm not sure the pretend part is helping with food education. There is a third thread which is about what manufacturers put in our food to make it low or non fat and yet taste 'fatty' and 'creamy'. But that's for another day.<br />
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Guess what I had to eat today? A chicken dinner and chocolate fudge cake to follow. Oh dear. I'll be eating deep fried Mars Bars next and that'll really give me something to feel guilty about.<br />
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I'm going to quite open here; I'm not sure what I really think or perhaps more accurately, should think. Maybe we are all so disconnected from food and its production that we need protecting from ourselves. Skinny or not so skinny. That is the question.<br />
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<ul>
<li>If you have any thoughts and theories, please feel free to comment. And repost on facebook and twitter as you so please. You can contact me on mikegetscooking on facebook or at mikegetscooking@gmail.com.</li>
</ul>
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<br />Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-87331435339886205982012-07-04T19:42:00.000+01:002012-07-04T19:42:19.856+01:00More male pampered chef surprises. Oh Hilary!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://goanimate.com/videos/0rYF7XlrL-y4?utm_source=linkshare" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidX6J4l3Y4_xCNedeCPRvGgvXZYwzc8V0UOOqllYsEKfsD19BrDE9hieEXF8fhLKqqfK2XdZYR_xy62yyfLsclA3Da46xBfq1Lsg88rtnabSXG0Y9s9TNTXUw2tv8_JUOO53cwCg1VWDT9/s400/more+male+pc+surprises.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Just click on the pic to hear the latest revelation.</div>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-39602101872328160172012-07-02T14:10:00.000+01:002012-07-02T14:10:50.805+01:00Look who's thinking of joining. Is that ...? No, surely not.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://goanimate.com/videos/0OssfAvPQ9K0?utm_source=linkshare&uid=07OyRuwaAFzc" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUKb7HsHUK2Zc5-Kr5rGQBrTtl1G2657-bBIYdGCsCpPOM4hJe-ejFAzLzcNI-J1l6xPmW0emIFU6wzg9-JxVWUCxrR4PKokvQB_pQno_uyVJ1mUhtUtVivLby9_hC64bmQ0UtzVqthu9/s400/male+pampered+chef+consultants.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Click on the picture to find out more</div>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-66049402811695355302012-07-01T20:38:00.003+01:002012-07-01T20:57:37.835+01:00Guacamole? No thanks, I've just had a nuclear fallout.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=35050&catId=22&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">The infamous MFP</a></td></tr>
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<b>Here's a question: will there be any demand for handmade guacamole after the nuclear apocolypse?</b><br />
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Interesting question. I hadn't thought about it. I think it's safe to say I never would have given this the attention it deserves until I read some jabbering on Her Majesty's Facebook of late. It set me off, to be honest. What would you fancy after the wholesale slaughter of the human race? The chippie would be closed, so that's out.<br />
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I really ought to say upfront that all this is not my thinking. My chum Carolyn was recounting a Pampered Chef cooking show she was at with a new recruit. PChef makes this non-electrical gadget which PCheffers insist on calling the 'MFP'. A '<a href="https://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=35050&catId=22&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">manual food processor'</a> if you like. Now as you can see from the above pic, it looks like what a food processor looks like. But no mains electricity is required. You 'pump it' to quote from the blurb. In fact (quote) 'the more you pump, the finer the cuts.'<br />
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So if I've got this right, it could be a workout tool as well as a chopper. Aren't you supposed to 'pump' when you workout? I've no direct experience because I'm no friend of gyms and I've never seen this chopper - food processor - in the flesh. I'm sure The Green Godess on Breakfast TV years ago would have found a use for it. Anyway, to get to the point. A guest at this show suggested that the MFP would be better knowns as<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> a Post Apocalyptic Food Processor, because it needs no power. Then Linda, quite rightly joined the dots and suggested the demand for homemade guacamole would probably be a tad subdued, perhaps she was, by default questioning the demand for MFPs long term. Not sure if I agree completely. Guacamole is always a bit bland - no, subtle - to me in a nice way and I think I'd like that. I mean, you wouldn't want anything spicy would you after going through a holocaust? Enough excitement for one day. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The microplane zester</td></tr>
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<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> </span><br />
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<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Apple, Orange and other devices</span></h4>
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<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">I could surround myself with other bits of non - power kit like garlic pressers, microplane zesters and so on, although what there would be left to zest is open to question. And I couldn't ask anyone to find out because my mobile phone would have vaporised at worst or conked out at best, knackered by electrical storms. Now that would irrate all the hardcore mobile users wouldn't it? I'm quite into techie bits as a rule but the obsession with phones has left me behind. Do you know, the fifth most popular thing to do with a mobile phone now, is make phone calls? The fifth!</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">In a bit of a tantrum I searched high and low until I found a phone that just makes calls. Just calls. That's it. I'm happy. I have no immediate taste for Apple, Orange, Blackberry, Chuck Berry or whatever they're called.</span><br />
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<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><i>'Hey...can I show you the 5,000 photos from my last holiday I have on my Hokey Cokey 2000, or do you need to know the latest train times in Venezuela...? </i></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><i>'No, but I do strongly recommend you get a life..'</i></span><br />
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<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Actually this whole </span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Apocalyptic thing is getting a little clearer to me now. Those of us of a certain age may well remember the government's advice in the 80s when a Big Bang was a real threat. They suggested we take all the doors off in the house, lean them against a wall, drape a curtain or two and hide inside. Or under the kitchen table. Not sure if this was a foolproof plan.</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
A blast of thermal radiation to the tune of several megakelvins through your letter box would be more than a match for the deluxe kitchen wood effect suite from MFI. Safe to say the cat would be in for a hell of a shock too.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thewinestore.biz/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/300x500/5e06319eda06f020e43594a9c230972d/o/x/oxford-landing-pinot-grigio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://www.thewinestore.biz/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/300x500/5e06319eda06f020e43594a9c230972d/o/x/oxford-landing-pinot-grigio.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="120" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pinot Grigio - weapon of choice</td></tr>
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So all in all, as much as I like the idea of manual food processors and the like, I suspect I wouldn't have much of an appetite, guacamole or otherwise.<br />
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<h4>
50 Shades of Threat</h4>
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We don't spend much time these days worrying about nutters with warheads and fingers on buttons, well not in the way we used to, certainly. Todays threats have a different twist. We'd booked flights to the States two days before the Twin Towers. Friends suggested we should cancel. Certainly not. Out of the question. Didn't fancy giving into that stuff really: we flew. I certainly don't lose sleep because rightly or wrongly, I'm not scared right now of the Big Bang.<br />
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However...I do keep being asked if I'm going to the Pampered Chef Annual Conference. A huge room packed with hundreds of excitable women armed to the teeth with well-thumbed copies of 50 Shades of Grey and unlimited cases of Pinot Grigio.<br />
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That's a different story. That's why I'm writing this under the kitchen table. Move over Tiddles.<br />
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BTW If you like what you read, feel free to repost on facebook, twitter, whatever takes your fancy. In fact I'd like it if you did. And PLEASE join the page - on the right hand side, it is a bit of a faff, but there we are. You can always contact me at mikegetscooking on FB or twitter or at mikegetscooking@gmail.com. Thanks.Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-37862132659648430282012-06-26T20:34:00.001+01:002012-06-27T14:20:54.043+01:00Mangoes? You can't be serious?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1232310578"><img height="320" src="http://www.pamperedchef.com/images/product/resized/2418_enlarge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=35049&catId=22&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The Pampered Chef Mango Wedge. Great when you can get mangos</span>.</span></a></td></tr>
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<h4>
Mangos. Seen one recently?</h4>
<h4>
<b> </b></h4>
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</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
<b></b></h4>
<b>Do you know what, I couldn't buy a mango last week.</b><br />
<br />
I had change in my pocket earmarked for a couple of them. But there wasn't one single mango in my town to buy. Not one. Well, actually that's not quite true. There was one, in a traditional grocers, but it had clearly been a mango for quite a long time and had long since dispensed with the need for keeping up appearances. It had let itself go rather. Even the lady in the shop didn't bother to hide her dismay; she didn't even really try to sell it to me.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>'Yes...it's a bit past it, isn't..?'</i> she said in a faltering voice. But she still put it back on the rack, mind you.<br />
<br />
Now I appreciate for many reading this, the situation sounds highly unlikely. You've already gone back and re-read the first bit.<br />
<br />
'Did he say there were none - <i>in his town..!?'</i> <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioY55nhVhyphenhyphenvdwu_tyJ6_BN8Y27y-SFCk72ldXb4lirFoYAle4QtTGp2GooavpS9zx3AQKzqiYMJP6kBp3FDlUU83LMHUKm-DGzCQWW7nc2LS_L0PhCz4GVJ86IjO7y3g9sowbeOybveZIK/s1600/mango415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" id="il_fi" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioY55nhVhyphenhyphenvdwu_tyJ6_BN8Y27y-SFCk72ldXb4lirFoYAle4QtTGp2GooavpS9zx3AQKzqiYMJP6kBp3FDlUU83LMHUKm-DGzCQWW7nc2LS_L0PhCz4GVJ86IjO7y3g9sowbeOybveZIK/s200/mango415.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a><br />
Well, yes I did. I checked the supermarkets and the two available grocers. You see, I live in a small, rural market town. Even a few miles down the road the mango choice would no doubt have been extensive. I could have browsed on at a leisurely pace through a selection, tweaking as I went to check for flabby bits or round firm buttock-y type portions.<br />
<br />
<br />
And this search was first thing, about 8am to avoid any rush on exotic items. But it was interesting to note the reaction of those I asked. I had to ask in the shops - something we don't normally do these days - because time was of the essence and I needed to get to the point.<br />
<br />
Having received a few startled jumps from the early supermarket gang, unsettled by demands for information on the whereabouts of fruits native to the Indian subcontinet, I dashed instead to the grocers. The first encounter is detailed above and the second and final was even more brief. I didn't even really make it through the doors properly. A quick dash passed the Jersey Royals and a chap, still putting out the morning displays, came up to me with armfuls of strawberry punnets.<br />
<br />
<i>'Morning!</i>' Cheery so far, in a grocer kind of way. <i>'Looking for anything in particular Sir..?'</i><br />
'<i>Well...mangoes actually, I don't suppose you..?</i><br />
<br />
He shot me a glance that hovered between disbelief and outrage.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Strawberry punnets </h4>
<br />
<i>'Mangoes?! No, definitely not!'</i> Then, short pause...<i>'Sorry about that'</i> after he'd regained his composure. The look on his face suggested he was far too busy with a potential early strawberry rush to spend time on whimsical requests, I was clearly getting ideas above my station and should really downsize my ambitions. Or maybe he knew that mango peel and sap contain urushiol, the chemical in poison ivy and I was obviously planning some kind of civil disobedience.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://demo.ballyhoocommerce.co.uk/media/productimages/30_main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" id="il_fi" src="http://demo.ballyhoocommerce.co.uk/media/productimages/30_main.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>Don't get me wrong, I love living in a small community, I'm not an urban creature. But there are times when it would be great to be somewhere where you could buy more than one sort of rice. And don't get me started on polenta. That can never be an impulse buy, involving a 50 mile round trip; no I'm not joking.<br />
<br />
So mango and chilli salsa is on hold until I venture onwards. I would like to sample the PChef <a href="http://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=35049&catId=22&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">Mango Wedger </a>with its dishwasher safe <span class="Body9">ergonomic handles and protective storage cover, but...geography will clearly play its part.</span><br />
<br />
There are 35,000,000 tonnes grown worldwide,<span class="Body9"> and the only mango I could get couldn't manage The Last Waltz, never mind a Salsa.</span><br />
<span class="Body9"> </span><span class="Body9"> </span><br />
<ul>
<li><span class="Body9">If you like what you read, why not join the page - you can do that on the right hand side, or </span><span class="Body9">repost on facebook or twitter or </span><span class="Body9">join me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/mikegetscooking" target="_blank">facebook </a> or email mikegetscooking@gmail.com.</span></li>
</ul>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-33792820639951093152012-06-25T14:02:00.001+01:002012-06-25T14:04:47.226+01:00Why have boys taken command of the kitchen?<h4>
TV is awash with blokes cooking. We know that. </h4>
<br />
It's possible to watch a man cooking most nights on terrestrial TV and certainly every night on satellite. And it's likely that the outcome is the huge increase in the numbers of boys cooking at school and choosing food technology, over others, in options.<br />
<br />
Equally is that also the reason why so many girls actively don't choose food technology now? Or is there a more subtle answer to all this? I've been speaking to food technology teacher, Anne Gamble...<br />
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<em>(Press the orange arrow to hear the audio...)</em><br />
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.<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="http://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F41118236&show_artwork=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />
<ul>
<li>If anything occurs to you or you have a point to make, please make a comment about what you've just heard. It's your page too. Also please join the page - you can do that down the right hand side, or like my facebook page at mikegetscooking (a work in progress).</li>
</ul>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-15431371843774147912012-06-22T10:43:00.000+01:002012-06-22T14:26:50.515+01:00Pampered Chef salads could be good for your ears.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pampered Chef Mix Measure and Pour, on salads, obviously</td></tr>
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<h4>
<br />Whatever happened to lettuce?</h4>
<br />
When I was a kid it was just lettuce. Just lettuce. That's what it was called. And with the lettuce went cucumber, half a tomato or two and half a boiled egg. When visitors came around the egg might be sliced. On top of that for me went a significant amount of Heinz Salad Cream. I don't ever remember being a fan of salad, but I was - and still am - a fan of salad cream. Unfortunately as I keep finding, there's a time and a place to admit to these things, if you read my bit about fish and brown sauce.<br />
<br />
Not that I turn up my nose at more adventurous dressings these days. There's a great piece of Pampered Chef kit that I suspect is somewhat overlooked. It's a salad dressing mixer that looks like an individual <span style="color: #444444;">caffettiera. It goes by the name of </span><a href="https://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=1712&catId=123&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank"><span style="color: #444444;">Measure Mix and Pour</span></a><span style="color: #444444;"> which pretty much covers what it does and what you do, for that matter.</span><br />
<br />
Around the sides of the cylinder are recipes for a range of different dressings. We've tried a couple at home and they're very good. So, you put in fresh ginger, top up to that line with rice vinegar, add garlic then this amount to this line of olive oil and so on. When you've added everything, up and down goes the plunger with a bout of vigorous plunging, pour it out onto your salad, in the fridge goes the remainder. I like it because I don't have to faff about looking for a recipe, it's a one-stop shop.<br />
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<h4>
Olive oil, ideal for ears</h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTslUkElaWOIkWJuW_a-egv38vzM2rgmlbfmZl6cKDuQAxaKrRoow" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="205" data-width="246" height="205" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTslUkElaWOIkWJuW_a-egv38vzM2rgmlbfmZl6cKDuQAxaKrRoow" style="height: 205px; width: 246px;" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olive Oil for Pampered Cheffers</td></tr>
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It's a strange one isn't it, olive oil? Again, when I was a kid, olive oil was in the medicine cabinet and used to loosen your ear wax. One of those Sunday night rituals. Bath, Sunday Night at the London Palladium on the tele, and ears brimming with salad dressing. Odd.<br />
<br />
Speaking of the tele, I see there's a new impetus in the salad dressing ads, new ranges of tarted up sauces. One leading brand of mayonnaise now has a hint of caramelised onion, a 'twist' of pepper, a 'spark' of chilli, a 'hint' of wasabi. Wasabi? Now maybe that's quite clever, that could be a winner with a particular set. <br />
<br />
<em>'Salad cream? Eeeeeaaawwooooo! Mayo with wasabi you say? Oh yar, def. Squirt away, darling'</em><br />
<br />
<br />
It's a bit like a few years back when 'hint of a tint...' was suddenly huge in DIY paint situations.<br />
<br />
<em>'Love the magnolia walls, so retro...'</em><br />
<em>'Errr, I think you'll find that's hint of a peach, thank you (sniff)'</em><br />
<br />
<br />
But then everything has to be tweaked this days to be what it isn't and never was. My bathroom has to smell like an alpine forest or the Chelsea Flower Show, or else.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lettuce leaves, a fashion statement</td></tr>
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My lettuce must comprise of a baby leaf or two. No seems to complain that such leaves have been ripped from the hearts of their loving mother lettuce. No, they're sweet and tender, so that's OK. It's now romaine, butter lettuce, endive, lambs, escarole, rocket, so on and so forth. There's even beetroot leaves and sliced red cabbage in there. The thought of my mum putting cabbage in a salad beggers imagination. Cabbage in our house was only consumed when it was given a damned good boiling and taught a lesson. Then it was boiled some more until all the green colour had come out and was down the sink where it belonged. See-through cabbage was never a favourite of mine.<br />
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<h4>
Salad eating weather</h4>
<br />
Lettuce, as in lettuce, is now the unloved Cinderella. And to be fair, I've had to put some desperately limp lettuce out of its misery today and into the kitchen bin. I didn't like doing it, I hate throwing any food away. But it really was at death's door, mainly because - and this won't surprise you - it's been raining of late and is right now as I type. Again. Not salad eating weather. I'm sure what salad eating weather is but I just don't think it's now.<br />
<br />
So I'm going to have to keep my <a href="https://www.pamperedchef.co.uk/ordering/prod_details.tpc?prodId=1712&catId=123&parentCatId=&outletSubCat=" target="_blank">Measure Mix and Pour</a> in the cupboard a while longer. If you have any dressings left over, just waiting for the sun to shine, you could always put a drop or two in your ears to see if it shifts anything stubborn.<br />
<br />
Probably best leave it until you need to liven up a leaf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>PS, If you'd like one of those excellant dressing mixers, just leave a comment or send me an email. Also remember, please repost or facebook or twitter this blog and please join the site on the right hand side. You can also find me at mikegetscooking on facebook.</li>
</ul>
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</div>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-7203523209129029562012-06-18T21:14:00.000+01:002012-06-19T08:36:33.156+01:00Sheeps bits, samosas and a helicopter<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<b> </b><img height="175" id="il_fi" src="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2009/01/20/article-1124324-030EA213000005DC-889_468x257.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></h4>
<h4>
<b> </b></h4>
<h4>
<b>Haggis samosas? Haggis?</b></h4>
<h4>
<b> </b></h4>
I think I'd be happy to try that. Just been watching the excellant Hairy Bikers and a Mum Knows Best repeat. I like haggis and I like samosas so it's a done deal. Not that I've enjoyed haggis for a while. When one of my sons was into rugby, the club organised an annual fundraiser Burns Night. Very few on our table actually enjoyed the haggis or the tot of whisky to pour onto it. And yet they went year after year. Meanwhile as a significant fan of both those items, I would leave the Ball roughly the same shape/dimensions of a haggis, wobbling due to having consumed vast amounts of sheeps bits and whisky. Whether it was the alarming shift in my centre of gravity due to bloated stomach or the alcohol, I can't be certain.<br />
<br />
Thinking back to why so many of my fellow diners shunned the menu, I suppose there's a clue in the ingredients: sheep's pluck (heart, liver and lungs to you and me) with more mainstream onion<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onion" title="Onion"></a>, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, all plopped into a sheeps stomach and boiled until it's given up the fight. It's widely believed that it's of Scottish origin but there are records of a dish answering to a vague description in Lancashire in 1430. Let's not get involved, there's heritage at stake here.<br />
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<h4>
Pigs trotters with a hoof</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
As a kid, I waded through more than my fair share of pigs trotters and tripe. I couldn't tell you the last time I saw either to buy. Butchers where I live opt for safe cuts they know will sell to what appears to be a squeamish market that's lost contact with food and where it comes from. And who can blame them? They have to make a living selling what will sell. It's our fault, not theirs.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/images/pig-trotters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/images/pig-trotters.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>So imagine my surprise when I visited Birmingham some months back at the vast array of meaty bits in the covered market. It was hard to keep my jaw from dropping. The star of the show for me was the stall selling piles of hooves. I'm going to presume from a cow. This is way off my radar. I have no idea how to cook or what you do with a hoof. Now Birmingham is about as multicultural as you could find in the UK and that would account for my ignorance, I suspect, living as I do in a small rural market town. I mean, they were sold by a butcher so eating must be the end result...yes?<br />
<br />
Apart from eating the unusual (well, unusual by today's standards) there is also the question of eating in unusual places.<br />
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<h4>
Roast dinner followed by a roast dinner </h4>
<h4>
</h4>
I have eaten on a gas rig in the North Sea. That was quite some experience. You have to get there by helicopter obviously which marks it down as unusual before you do anything else. Inside the canteen, ignoring the fact that you are miles from anywhere and lashed by waves the size of houses, the sheer scale of the eating was legendary. It may have changed in the years since, but it was roast followed by a roast, with roast to follow. Seriously, vast helpings and damned tasty.<br />
<br />
I also ate a somewhat nervy lunch with members of our armed forces in Northern Ireland during one of my previous careers. You don't forget grabbing what you can with a bunch of anxious young men in a hurry.<br />
<br />
But as I write this, something unusual has happened. I look up from my laptop through the window and I see the dwindling remnants of sunshine. We've not had much of that. And that reminds me...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aqUn3QKuAKc/TckyXl8rpuI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/AAzSZdksZ7o/s1600/6a01157204a024970b0134860c7425970c-320wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" id="il_fi" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aqUn3QKuAKc/TckyXl8rpuI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/AAzSZdksZ7o/s200/6a01157204a024970b0134860c7425970c-320wi.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>Some years ago I ran a short live radio project with a couple of colleagues and a shed load of 11 to 18s. It was hot all week. Really hot. We had an idea. Can you really fry an egg on a path? Or a car bonnet? It would make a great feature.<br />
<br />
The car thing fell on deaf ears. The usual kind of response was; <i>"Are you havin' a laugh? I've just had the damned thing Turtle waxed and you want to practice your Full English? Jog on Monkey Boy."</i><br />
<br />
So we tried the path. Let me tell you, eggs don't fry on hot paths. They sort of set. Ish. And they take some scraping off later. I guess they might somewhere, majorly hot, but not our kind of hot. Shell-shocked, I was. Eggsactly. Oh dear.<br />
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<ul>
<li>If you like this nonsense, please pass it on, facebook, twitter, join the page if you like (right hand side) make a comment, whatever takes your fancy - I thank you :) </li>
</ul>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292902791777614120.post-21201821049567373962012-06-17T10:53:00.001+01:002012-06-18T14:07:19.253+01:00Horns, flags and in the pink. Just another Pampered Chef 'Conference.' See you there..?<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" id="il_fi" src="http://www.legallyblondethemusical-shop.co.uk/images/uploads/LB_feather_boa.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></div>
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<h4>
Feather boa time </h4>
<h4>
</h4>
<b>I wonder how I'd look with a pink feather boa?</b><br />
<b>Interesting thought. I can say right here, right now that not one single feather of any colour or dimension resides in my wardrobe. That's just in case you were wondering</b>.<br />
<br />
Now, I wouldn't blame you for thinking that this is a random train of thought. You know, what's suddenly make him think of feathery adornments?<br />
<br />
Conference. It's not even called 'The' Conference. Just Conference. The Pampered Cheffers know all about this and there's a certain tang, a certain zip in the PChef Facebook Action at the moment because they're getting their loins girded in readiness. I'd like to give more details and a cheeky insight into what happens at an event so eargerly anticipated. It must be a pretty confident gig if it can ditch the 'The' willy nilly. But I can't because I've never been there. I've heard tales, obviously, but I have no first hand knowledge.<br />
<br />
I've seen the pics from previous years and grass skirts seemed to feature heavily. I can sense you're getting a bit lost here, so I'll go back a bit. Pampered Chef is a direct selling company - one of the most successful in fact; long established in the US, not so long here in the UK where I sit. And in common with such organisations, the selling part is essentially done by those that sign up across the country. The vast majority are part time and fit it around existing lives, some are occasional, some are full time. And again in common with industry practice there are incentives - a fair steady stream of free products to those that sell - independent consultants - just for selling.<a href="http://www.cd-traveller.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/dubai_37521t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://www.cd-traveller.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/dubai_37521t.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="135" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
On top of that there are holidays and so on. The gang are not long back from a few days in Dubai and rather good it was too, I'm told. The next biggie is a cruise, free to those that sell enough, and that will be a a significant amount of people, let me tell you. Tempting to think the free stuff tumbles to a select few: not so.<br />
<br />
Anyway, now we're getting to the point, although I've something else to tell you about the Dubai trip in a bit. Very saucy. Again in line with everyone else there are conferences where the company plus consultants of various levels all get together, in this case Birmingham. It's in July. There are meetings, workshops on a range of activities including, this time social media, and so on. Naturally, there's a knees up or two. The pics from last years knees-up suggests it was a Hawiian-inspired event that looked like one of those Elvis films from the 60s.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Getting in a Flapper</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
The main theme this year, if I remember right, is Flappers or Gangsters. I don't know, however, if this is compulsory garb. I do know that PChef HQ asked those attending Conference to wear something pink. This is all in line with with Cancer charity work that PChef does which raises thousands every year. And all credit to those involved. Next Sunday I will be there supporting my wife and her friends taking part in Run for Life which they have done for several years. We should never lose sight of how important such combined efforts are.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://kylet.myweb.uga.edu/Flapper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://kylet.myweb.uga.edu/Flapper.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="155" /></a>I can do pink. I own a few pink shirts so that's not a problem. My wife has bought me pink shirts previously. Pink is good.<br />
<br />
However, I've already been offered (through snorts and chuckles by PC ladies) the loan of a grass skirts, coconut shells etc etc. as they recall previous years. I've yet to be offered Flapper attire but feather boas have been mentioned. Now, I don't want to seem ungrateful, but...<br />
<br />
Hundreds of women, the core of such direct selling, will descend on Birmingham from across Britain. Plus a few blokes. A few blokes. Is the thought of a boa, constricting the number of chaps coming forward, I wonder, not just to conference but the whole picture? I've been thinking of that of late.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Will I be there? Don't know. I have several names on my dance card apparently, so that can't be bad. It will be energising and just damned good fun for those there. As one PCheffer put it to me, 'I went with a hobby and came back with a business.' And let's not lose sight of how significant that is in such times of reduced incomes. The chance to add to, supplement, change to a more fulfilling role can't be ignored.<br />
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It's just that I'm not sure if I'm Flapper material. Now, apart from pink, the PCheffers have also been asked to take flags to wave in an Olympics kind of groove and blast one of those <span class="st">vuvuzelas horn jobs that irratate the hell out of football organising committees. It was car horns last year, apparently. I've perked up now. I wish I'd gone last year. A rare excuse to nip to the local scrapyard and rip the horn from an old Sierra. One of my sons has a colossal Cuban flag on his bedroom wall, but I'm guessing that wouldn't hit the right tone. </span><br />
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Oh yes. Before I forget. About the Dubai trip. Well...predominately women again. And (can't reveal sources, I wasn't there, remember) but, on the plane, by the pool, shopping, one of the main topics of conversation, if not the main topic was...well it involved...how can I put it...ermm..I had no idea women talked about that stuff.<br />
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I'll stop now. I'm getting in a flap.<br />
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<li><i>Please leave a comment, offer your opinion and if you like this or anything else on here, please re-post, link to <a href="http://facebook.com/mikegetscooking" target="_blank">facebook,</a> whatever takes your fancy. I'd be very grateful. Thanks.</i></li>
</ul>Mike Kinnaird - Independent Pampered Chef Consultanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284176491050112011noreply@blogger.com2