Mrs Nightingale's Secret Speakeasy

BREAKFAST IN BED - Mrs Nightingale's Valentine Recipe for Love

2012-02-11T17:30:00.002Z

Orange Ricotta Hotcakes with Passion Fruit and Honeycomb Butter

Dear Reader. With romance and Valentine’s Day on my mind, let me tell you about the moment that I fell hopelessly, head over heels in love.

I walked into a café in the Darlinghurst district of Sydney in desperate need of sustenance, specifically a satisfying breakfast. The prawn porridge served on the Korean airline that transported me across the world had (unsurprisingly) not tantalised my taste buds and I was starving.

I was approached by a waiter; a handsome, sun kissed Adonis. Tongue tied, unsettled by his good looks and ravenously hungry, I begged to be fed. “It’s got to be the Ricotta Hotcakes” I was told. Thus began a never-ending love affair with these addictive fluffy little clouds of breakfast heaven.

The café was called Bill’s, the iconic establishment run by the renowned chef, Bill Granger. His definitive hotcake recipe is the best I have ever tasted, the benchmark in breakfast pancakes; lighter than many American recipes, more substantial than a European crêpe.

In Australia, these wonderful breakfast pancakes are a staple on almost every brunch menu. Back at home in Blighty, I usually have to make my own but I’m delighted to report that they are straightforward to prepare. I like to put my own spin on classic recipes, and for this occasion there is no more appropriate ingredient than Passion Fruit. Cotswold Stylists may recall that I provided a recipe for honeycomb (December issue) which you will need for the butter, but you can cheat and use a Crunchie with the chocolate removed.

Ingredients
Hotcakes (x8)
225g ricotta cheese
170 mls milk
4 eggs separated
1 small orange, zested
150 g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
Pinch of salt
50 g butter
2 Passion fruits
Icing sugar

Honeycomb butter

150 g butter
50 g honeycomb – crushed
1 tablespoon of honey

Method

First make the honeycomb butter. Place ingredients in a processor and blitz. Shape into a log in clingfilm and chill in the fridge for 2 hours.

Place ricotta, milk and egg yolks in a bowl and incorporate. Sift flour, baking powder, orange zest and salt into another bowl. Add to the ricotta mixture and combine.

Beat egg whites in a clean dry bowl until stiff peaks form. Fold egg whites through batter in two batches, with a large metal spoon.

Grease a large non-stick frying pan with a small portion of the butter and drop 2 tablespoons of batter per hotcake into the pan (don’t cook more than 3 per batch).

Cook on low/medium heat for approximately 3 minutes each side until set and golden. To serve, drizzle the flesh of the passion fruit, add a little honeycomb butter and dust with icing sugar.

So why not treat your loved one to breakfast in bed on February 14th. Score extra Cupid points with a breakfast tray adorned with a flower, a card and the promise of more Passion Fruit pancakes to come.

NB: To the person that asked if the pink tulip was edible on the Facebook Speakeasy page, it's made of spun sugar, unicorn horn, and fairy kisses !!!!

Come Dine With Me

2012-02-11T16:17:00.003Z

Photo rights: JCT

Sheffield based author, photographer & publisher Jude Calvert-Toulmin wins Come Dine With Me.

Link to Jude's blogspot including an interview about her CDWM experience. www.judecalverttoulmin.blogspot.com

Jude is a friend who I initially met about ten years ago via the wonders of the web; another social networking nut, she and I bonded over a love of Big Brother, a spookily similar life path, and more recently a love of food.

Having been fortunate enough to be a guest at one of her rather brilliant parties, I can confirm that this multi talented woman is a great hostess and a damned fine cook. She and her husband Brian have an innate talent for bringing people together and surrounding them with food, smiles and music in the most convivial fashion.

Her passion for Big Brother may have faded, but our friendships grows stronger, as does her lust for life.

Congratulations Jude, your win was justly deserved. Proud of you and your tits looked great on TV !

Ellenborough Park - Cheltenham Winner of The World Travel Awards UK Leading Country House Hotel 2011

2012-02-11T15:44:00.002Z

All expectations exceeded - Ali Nightingale eats at Ellenborough Park and concludes that everything is in the best possible taste.

When pondering which Cotswold restaurant to review, I was keen to try somewhere new to me. It was suggested that I try The Brasserie at Ellenborough Park.

Ellenborough Park opened in March 2011. It’s already been voted The World Travel Awards UK Leading Country House Hotel, and yet I had still not set foot in the immaculately refurbished hotel, majestically overlooking Cheltenham Racecourse. I had an incorrect perception that the restaurants might be a little rich for my pocket, but keen to try somewhere that takes customer service and food seriously, I made a reservation in the informal Brasserie.

Approaching the magnificent façade, I was in awe of the stunning renovation. However, any ill-judged preconceptions of discomforting grandeur are deceiving - the moment we stepped over the threshold, the warm greeting from the professional yet relaxed and friendly staff made me feel genuinely welcomed and comfortable.

The exposed stone, warm wood, heritage paintwork and leather bar stools in the Brasserie Bar create an informal ambiance. The ‘Sporting Life’ themed artwork that adorns the walls pays homage to the heritage of racing and the sporting ethic so beloved in Gloucestershire. The bar offers excellent beers, premium spirit brands and impressive wines. Delicious nibbles of homemade crisps and a simple yet sensational antipasto of olives, peppers and pickled lemon rind were offered and gratefully devoured.

Dinner in The Brasserie was a three-course affair: I opted for the excellent value set menu at £19.95 whilst Mr N ordered with a free hand. His Scallops with a Basil Pesto and Noodles recommended by the Manager was fresh and delicately flavoured as promised. My Game Terrine was substantial and delicious. I followed this with a winter appropriate Slow-Roast Duck Leg with braised red cabbage and perfect Dauphinoise Potatoes alongside, in a single-serve pan. Mr N’s Cod Cheeks with a well-balanced tartare sauce were a big hit.

Needless to say we shared throughout; forks passed across the table to accompanying murmurs of “that is so good”! My husband then hit the jackpot with a memorable Orange Bread & Butter Pudding. I was slightly aggrieved that Mr. N hogged his dessert and I was only allowed one mouthful. We especially liked the good value Klein Steenberg House Wine, unquestionably selected on the basis of quality and taste rather than price consideration.

Chef David Kelman popped out of his kitchen and we talked about his passion for sourcing and showcasing local ingredients. His menu achieves this aim admirably.

We then chatted to a delightful couple at an adjacent table (that’s the relaxed atmosphere of The Brasserie at work - we bonded over mutual appreciation of the Riedel wine glasses). Discerning visitors from overseas, they waxed lyrical about their Ellenborough experience. I felt rather hard done by that I had to go home at the end of the evening, desperately wanting to stay in the welcoming cocoon of Ellenborough Park. It offers delicious food, splendour without pretentiousness, and staff that you want to add to your Christmas card list. If ever they want a “Writer in Residence” I am there, ready to taste-test the entire menu.

My mantra is “Never economise on luxury” but The Brasserie is agreeably affordable, especially the set menu (available Monday-Thursday).

Verdict:
A relaxed and praiseworthy dining experience, living up to Ellenborough Park’s promised standards, and deserving of an appreciative, wider clientele. Special commendation to Brasserie Manager, Antonio Sanchez - an absolute superstar in cordial and professional hospitality. He effortlessly sets the tone for an enjoyable experience.

Reviewed February 2012

My all time favourite food bible

2012-01-31T21:49:00.000Z

http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1579651267/ref=asc_df_15796512676506174?smid=A3P5ROKL5A1OLE&tag=googlecouk06-21&linkCode=asn&creative=22206&creativeASIN=1579651267

Before & After - no recipe required

2012-01-26T21:10:00.001Z

Chicken thighs in cherry tomatoes with garlic, chilli and basil, all drizzled with EVOO - just chuck it all in a roasting tin for just under an hour.

Jerk chicken with pomegranate rice

2012-01-11T16:40:00.000Z

For the jerk chicken

4 part-boned chicken breasts, skin on (substitute boneless chicken breasts if part-boned are not available)
½ large onion, roughly chopped
2 scotch bonnet chillies, roughly chopped
40g/1½oz ginger, peeled and chopped roughly
125ml/4½fl oz malt vinegar
½ tsp ground cloves
½ tsp ground cinnamon
¼ tsp ground nutmeg
½ tsp cracked black pepper
3 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
2 tsp fresh thyme leaves
3 tbsp dark soy sauce

For the rice

200g/7oz basmati rice
1 pomegranate, seeds only
1 small bunch chervil leaves
4 tbsp chives, roughly chopped
50g/2oz frisée lettuce, roughly chopped
1 lime, zest and juice
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
salt and freshly ground black pepper
To serve
2 limes, cut into wedges

Preparation method
For the jerk chicken, using a sharp knife, make deep cuts into the chicken flesh and place into a bowl.
Place the remaining jerk chicken ingredients into a food processor and blend to a purée. Pour the marinade over the chicken and turn to coat all the pieces. Place into the fridge for at least four hours, but preferably overnight.
Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/Gas 6.
Heat a griddle pan until very hot. Add the chicken pieces and sear for 2-3 minutes on each side, then place onto a baking tray.
Spoon the remaining marinade over the chicken and transfer to the oven to cook for 20-25 minutes, or until the chicken is completely cooked through. Remove from the oven and leave to rest for 2-3 minutes before serving.
For the rice, place the rice into a saucepan with 400ml/14fl oz of cold water. Cover with a lid and place over a high heat. Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer very gently until all of the water has been absorbed and the rice is tender (about 10-15 minutes). Turn off the heat and leave to steam for 5-6 minutes.
Place the rice into a bowl and add all the remaining rice ingredients and mix well to combine. Season, to taste, with salt and freshly ground black pepper.
To serve, spoon a little of the rice onto each plate and top with a piece of jerk chicken. Garnish with a couple of wedges of lime.

Mrs Nightingale’s Speedy Scooby Snack

2012-01-04T16:49:00.000Z

Torta al Testo (with Ricotta, Rocket and Parma Ham)

Drained of enthusiasm for all things culinary after Christmas, I spend the first few weeks of January relying on fallback, quick fix suppers and snacks. I don’t know about you, but I ate far too much. I have Post Traumatic Dining Syndrome, and simply cannot face big meals for the first few weeks of the New Year.

My default “Scooby Snack” does not require anything more than a few moments assembly, mere minutes on a red hot griddle, and as quickly as you can say “Roberto’s your Uncle” this snappy little Umbrian supper is ready to eat. Cut into wedges and eat as a finger food; you won’t even need cutlery.

Torta al Testo (which translates as Cake of the Tile) is a tasty savoury Panino, and even quicker to prepare than a shop bought Pizza. In Umbria, this bread is cooked on a terracotta tile over an open fire, but thankfully, a ribbed griddle on the stove is equally effective if a little less authentic.

It’s essentially a stuffed flatbread, and you may use any variety of cheeses and cold meats. I chose Ricotta, Rocket & Parma Ham for my recipe; a flavor combination that is distinctly Italian. For an extra zing, I like to use Lemon Olive Oil if I have it in the larder.

You may wish to consider making your own dough, but in all honesty, this snack will not suffer from using a shop bought flatbread, namely a tortilla (which incidentally are just the best food shop staple; a packet of 20 lasts for ages in the fridge and they are incredibly versatile). As the inspiration behind my recipe is ease, speed and lack of any effort whatsoever, I do not feel at all guilty in suggesting that you cheat with a pre-made ingredient.

Ingredients:

Tortilla flatbreads
Parma Ham
Rocket
Ricotta
Olive oil

Optional – Pecorino (grated)

Method:

1. Heat a heavy frying pan or griddle over medium low heat until very hot.

2. Smear Ricotta Cheese generously over a flatbread, and top with Parma Ham, and a mound of rocket leaves (a little grated Pecorino on top of the rocket is wonderful, if you have it).

3. Season with salt & pepper, and lightly dress with olive oil.

4. Gently fold the flatbread in half, drizzle one side with a touch of olive oil and pop into the hot pan, oiled side down. After a few minutes, add a little more oil on top of the uncooked side, and flip over for a few minutes until crisped and lightly browned.

5. Remove, cut into wedges and for a light supper, serve alongside a big salad. Alternatively, eat as a finger food snack.

Tip:

Alternative flavor combinations: Do you enjoy the classic Pizza flavours ? Use mozzarella, tomato and basil leaves drizzled with olive oil as your ingredients. Try Camembert, Baby Spinach & Crispy Bacon, or perhaps Goat’s Cheese & Chorizo.

Sugar Rush - Sweet treats for Christmas

2011-12-20T16:57:00.004Z

Bah Humbug ! I’m not keen on the commercialisation of Christmas, but love the food preparation of the festivities. Gifts are de rigueur, so it’s a perfect time to get the little people involved (your children, not Santa’s Elves).

I’d far rather make homemade truffles or spiced biscuits than shop for something made in a factory. There’s nothing nicer than a homemade gift of sweets, to offer as Christmas presents.

Easy to make (if the children help I must insist on strict supervision – there’s a lot of boiling sugar involved) and all can be prettily packaged wrapped in cellophane tied with a bow, or perhaps folded into coloured tissue paper. The kids will have great fun being Willy Wonka for the day and it really doesn’t matter if the end result is a little less than perfect because each nibble of naughtiness will be made with love.

Chocolate Candied Orange Peel

Note: Peel of one orange will make one gift bag.

Ingredients

1 x large orange
225g granulated sugar
110g dark chocolate

Method

Peel an orange by slicing into quarters and removing the flesh. Cut the peel into fine strips. Boil a pan of water and blanch the orange strips for 2 minutes. Remove, and rinse the peel. Repeat this step once more.

Prepare a simple sugar syrup, 8 fl oz of water to 225g sugar and add the orange strips. Bring to a low simmer and cook for approx. 1 hour. Keep an eye on this so it doesn’t boil dry, if it begins to crystalise add a little more boiling water. Once cooked, place peel strips on a rack to cool.

Melt the chocolate in a bowl over a pan of boiling water and dip half of each piece into the melted chocolate. Place on baking parchment to cool. Keep in a chilled environment until ready to wrap into a little bag, and tie with a pretty Christmas ribbon.

Dolce salami

2 large egg yolks
8 oz 65-80% chocolate (I used Green & Black)
1 stick of unsalted butter
1 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder (I used Valhrona)
1/2 tsp chili powder
1 tbsp fine sugar
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp orange liqueur
3 Milano cookies
3 tbsp pistachios
Icing sugar for rolling

In a small bowl, beat the egg yolks gently and set aside. Cut the cookies into small pieces and set aside. I had Milanos on hand but you can use any other kind of white cookie, like petit beurre or sugar cookies, which would mimic all that nice white fat in a real salami.

Melt the butter and chocolate together over a double boiler, stirring every once in a while. While the mixture is melting, add the cocoa powder, chili, sugar, and salt, stirring to incorporate all these ingredients. Take this off the heat and add in the orange liqueur and egg yolks followed by the pistachios and cut cookies. Let the mixture cool down until you can handle this with your hands and be able to roll into a salami like shape. You can firm up the mixture in the fridge or freezer to speed this up, but don’t let it sit in there too long or it’ll be harder to shape.

Using a large sheet of cling film, wax or parchment paper, form your chocolate salami roll and cover it tightly. Cover it with aluminum foil as well and store it in the freezer to continue to firm up.

Before serving, roll the salami in the confectioner’s sugar to give it the further appearance of a genuine hard salami. Let it come to room temperature for at least 5 minutes as this will make cutting the chocolate a smoother process.

Watch Grandpa’s heart melt when surprised with this delicious handmade gift on Christmas Day.

Safety tip: If your children wish to help, do not let them work with knives, boiling water and hot syrups, and supervise them constantly. They can help with the safe tasks such as dipping the peel into warm chocolate and making the gift bags look pretty.

Sweet dreams are made of this, and Merry Christmas one and all.

The WI Victoria Sponge - equal measures of everything

2011-12-11T21:14:00.000Z

Mrs Nightingale’s Recommended Recipe for Autumn

2011-11-13T17:37:00.002Z

Trick or Treat

Butternut Squash and Pancetta Gratin

Autumn is upon us. My thoughts have turned turn to All Hallows Eve and grinning Jack-o-Lanterns, and Harvest Festivals with brimming baskets of seasonal produce, especially Squash. Huge fat pumpkins, and golden Butternut. Nothing feels quite as right to eat at this time of year as that soft, sweet, forgiving flesh which is just so adaptable.

Butternut squash has long been a staple on my shopping list; generally more popular than Pumpkin, the nutty deep orange pulp of the Butternut will happily do whatever the cook demands of it.

Squashes can be used to make breads and muffins; it can be stuffed, roasted, toasted; makes hearty soups and casseroles as well as a tasty companion to a roast dinner, and is delicious Italian style with risotto, pasta or made as a gnocchi. In Mrs. Nightingale’s kitchen, Butternut Squash it is more versatile than potatoes.

It lends itself particularly well to spices and herbs; sage is especially glorious with squash. In fact, my repertoire of recipes using this little beauty is probably more comprehensive than any other ingredient. It is most definitely my favourite food.

Try roasted squash & sage leaves, drizzled with olive oil and topped with toasted Macadamia nuts as a base beneath a spatchcocked garlic chicken, or served with spicy lamb koftas on skewers, and these will become family favourites.

With Halloween and Bonfires looming, I have decided on the warmth and comfort of a Butternut Squash Gratin as the recipe to share this month. I tend to vary it with the addition of white beans, chorizo, and spinach – anything that I have to hand. Ham Hock works very well as the additional meat ingredient in place of the pancetta, as the saltiness cuts through the sweetness of the squash.

A delicious recipe that is no ‘Trick’, just total ‘Treat’.

INGREDIENTS

1.25kg Butternut squash (approximately 2 x squash)

100 g Pancetta, chopped

4 tbsp. olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, crushed

125ml dry white wine

2-3 fresh thyme sprigs, leaves picked

1 bay leaf (sage is also a good alternative to bay)

Good pinch dried chilli flakes

450g vine-ripened tomatoes, peeled and chopped

150 ml double cream

Grated nutmeg

100g Gruyère cheese, finely grated

METHOD

Peel and de-seed the squash. Cut into small, chunky pieces. You should have at least 750g – 1 kg of flesh. For this recipe I tend to use two squash.

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a medium-sized pan, then add the onion and garlic and cook gently until the onion is soft and translucent Add the wine and simmer until reduced. Add the thyme, bay or sage leaf, chilli flakes and tomatoes and leave to simmer gently for 15 minutes until thickened. Discard the bay leaf and spoon the sauce onto the base of an ovenproof dish.

Preheat the oven to 200°C/fan180°C. Heat the rest of the oil in a large pan, then add the squash and pancetta, sauté gently for 3-4 minutes. Scatter the squash over the tomato sauce.

In a small pan, bring the cream, some seasoning and a little grated nutmeg to the boil, and then remove from the heat.

Sprinkle the cheese over the top of the squash, pour over the cream and bake for 30 minutes, until the squash is tender and the cheese is golden and bubbling. Sprinkle with thyme leaves to garnish.

Easy Tuscan Bean Soup

2011-09-11T21:06:00.001+01:00

Every year we take a short break in Tuscany and I arrive home with a head brimming full of wonderful Italian recipes. As much as I would love to prepare an aromatic Suckling Pig stuffed full of herbs, whilst juggling Catherine Wheels and making sure the Bonfire doesn’t burn down the shed, November 5^th is a date in the diary when I just want to make any culinary tasks as simple as possible.

There is nothing as straightforward and easy to prepare as a hearty, warming soup. We produce wonderful vegetables in the Cotswolds, and they are shown off to their very best advantage in this traditional Tuscan recipe. If you grow your own, all the better; if not take a trip to a local Farmers Market for your basic ingredients, to ensure that you use the very freshest veggies available.

This is a meal in a bowl, one that can be prepared in advance and my cheat version, using tinned chopped tomatoes and canned beans, will taste no less delicious. Particularly suitable for Bonfire Night; after an hour of shivering in the cold, the warmth and comfort of this soup is just ideal. It’s also an inexpensive way of feeding your guests and a little goes a long way. This recipe easily serves 4, so just double up to feed more people.

Ingredients:

I large onion - chopped

A little olive oil

1 very large carrot - dice into chunks

2 x stalks of celery – chopped

1 sprig of fresh thyme

1 pint chicken stock

1 tin of chopped tomatoes

1 tin of cannellini or butter beans

Savoy cabbage (about 1/3^rd will do the job) shredded

Salt & Pepper

Parmesan – grated or shaved

Fresh basil leaves – a small handful

Method:

Finely chop the onion, crush 3 cloves of garlic and saute in a little olive oil with a sprig or two of fresh thyme. Chop a very large carrot and 2 stalks of celery (do not dice too delicately, we want this soup big and chunky) then add to the onion and saute for 3 more minutes. Add 1 pint chicken stock, some black pepper & a tin of chopped tomatoes. Keep topping up with water so it doesn't reduce too much. Simmer on medium heat for 15 mins then add a tin of butter beans (or canneloni beans) and approximately 1/3rd of a finely shredded savoy cabbage. Now add salt to taste. Cook 10 more minutes on a medium heat and serve with some parmesan and ripped up basil leaves. For a heartier and even more authentic “Ribollita” add chunks of toasted Ciabatta to the bottom of the bowl and this will make it a totally satisfying meal.

Hint:

Double up the recipe and blitz any left over soup the next day for an alternative smooth soup and add some pan-fried pancetta to power up the flavours. Alternatively add chicken or meatballs to the mixture for a wonderful Italian stew.

This is a super healthy meal; it’s low fat, low carb, diabetic friendly, it’s your “5 a day”, and the olive oil can be replaced with a spray such as Fry Light or Pam to make it even more suitable for those on a low fat diet.

Buon Appetito !

Casamia Review June 2011

2011-08-03T12:58:00.008+01:00

Casamia
38, The High Street, Westbury on Trym, Bristol
(0117 959 2884)

Before they won their well deserved Michelin star, the Sanchez-Iglesias brothers ran a little restaurant in my home town of Cheltenham, which was very well respected but a commercial disaster. I felt a personal investment in their enterprise, and more than a little sadness at its closure. It was on the site of a plot of property previously owned by my family for several generations; I was actually born in the apartment above, and the site is now owned by family friends. For some reason there was no real buzz around town - location, location, location - and it remained instead a "best kept secret". Great to collect the selective plaudits, but would have been better to collect the ten pound notes.

Closing shop and finding themselves back at their parents traditional Italian restaurant in a suburb of Bristol, the boys took the kitchen over and reworked the offer with Italian influenced modernity and fireworks. Their imaginative menu's and undoubtable skills have resulted in critical success, that Michelin star, and winning the competition to find Gordon Ramsey's Best Restaurant in Britain. It really is THAT good. It really is ! But it's also relaxed, unstuffy. Serious about food but unpretentious to the max (hard to say when dining on a 8 course tasting menu at £68 a pop and for those that do not understand moderation there was an unpublicised 14 course menu at £98) The chefs are so lovely, enthused and friendly you immediately want them to be your best friends.

The dining room is entered via a gated courtyard, filled with herbs and flowers, and the appearance is very much of a smart Trattoria. Staff were friendly and professional, without being obsequious. Each dish is delivered to your table by one of the student chefs that has a hand in preparing it, the ingredients and the (de)construction explained. The service is spot on, thorough and attentive, but not at all ostentatious.

Food included a pretty 'art on a plate' wild boar salami salad, stunning beetroot risotto with fennel, succulent salmon cooked 'sous vide', the most tender pork I have tasted outside of Tuscany, and a delicate taste bud tickler in the form of Pine Nut Pannecotta, complete with liquid nitrogen presentation. The appearance of every dish was artistic and exquisite. Everything was delicious and had an understated flair. Wine list is modest in size, but well priced.

I took my son with me; the meal was a 'Goodbye to University' treat. I have been dragging the offspring around Michelin star restaurants for years and he decided that he liked Casamia as much as his personal favourite, Purnells in Birmingham. His memorable moment was enhanced by a long and inspiring chat with Chef Johnray, and a trip around the development and research kitchen they are building above the restaurant. I've run a restaurant and I know the last thing a chef usually wants to do after a long service is spend 45 minutes chatting to a table, but he was so enthused, almost evangelistic about the future of Casamia, that we were both totally charmed and fell a little bit in love with this talented young man.

I am eagerly awaiting an opportunity to return.

We ate :

scrambled duck egg
cured pig, thyme

wild boar salami
sheep curd, carrot, pesto

beetroot, barley,
iced yogurt pickled fennel (2006)

salmon, italian
garnish cauliflower

iberico pork, mushroom
apple sauce, celery root

selection of local
cheeses £10 supplement

pine nut pannacotta
amalfi lemon sorbet

traditional tiramisu
the smell of renato’s numero uno

chocolate and sweets

Lemon & mozzarella salad

2011-07-30T13:07:00.004+01:00

Lemon & mozzarella salad, a photo by MrsNightingalesSecretSpeakeasy on Flickr.

LEMON SALAD - chuck it all in and mix it up

3 Little Gem or Romaine Lettuce - shredded
3 or 4 spring onions - chopped

1 finely chopped celery heart

(Optional) bunch of white radishes cut in half

Large ball, or 2 x smaller balls of best quality Buffallo Mozzarella - ripped into pieces

Sea salt & black pepper to season

Big splosh of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Juice of one lemon, use extra if you like it sharp.

It's the lemon. the crunch, and the good Mozzarella that make this really basic salad so nice.

White chocolate & raspberry brioche pudding

2011-07-29T17:23:00.004+01:00

White chocolate & raspberry brioche pudding, a photo by MrsNightingalesSecretSpeakeasy on Flickr.

Ingredients: 
150 ml double cream 
150 ml whole milk 
1 split vanilla pod 
100g of white chocolate 
2 egg yolks 
60 g castor sugar 
Approx. 5 slices of brioche 
200g of raspberries (or blueberries, or both)  

Method: 
Preheat the oven to 200C. In an oven proof serving dish (a 7 “ dish with approx 2” depth will do nicely) place ripped up pieces of brioche, crusts upwards, to fill the dish. Scatter the raspberries pushing a few into the side, middle and bottom of the dish so that they are evenly distributed throughout. Place the milk and cream into a saucepan with the seeds from the vanilla pod, and very gently bring to a steady simmer. Meanwhile, beat the eggs and sugar together until pale, in a separate bowl. Add the heated cream to the bowl and whisk. Return the combined mixture to the pan, add the chocolate broken into small pieces, and continue to whisk on a gentle heat until it thickens. Pour the chocolate custard onto the brioche and fruit, then bake in the oven for ten minutes or so, until the top is a wonderful golden colour.  Serve immediately, and feel guilty but very satisfied!

Crab chilli lime coriander pasta

2011-07-29T17:22:00.007+01:00

Crab chilli lime coriander pasta, a photo by MrsNightingalesSecretSpeakeasy on Flickr.

Ginger and coriander meatballs

2011-07-29T17:22:00.006+01:00

Ginger and coriander meatballs, a photo by MrsNightingalesSecretSpeakeasy on Flickr.

Meatballs

1 slice toasted white bread
8 oz minced beef
2 cloves garlic
Chilli: use either 2 pinches of chilli powder, a teaspoon of lazy chilli from a jar or 1 very finely chopped red chilli.
1 teaspoon oregano
fist full of chopped corainder
salt & pepper
1 and a half Tablespoon fresh root ginger, finely chopped
1 medium egg

Tomato sauce

Everyone has their own recipe, but I use a very basic tomato, onion, red wine sauce.

Saute half an onion, and unless you want to use fresh tomatoes (it's a heck of an expensive way to do it) add a tin of good quality chopped tomatoes (San Marzano are the best variety but Morrisons organic chopped @ 59p a tin are great and have a superb texture). Splash of red wine, simmer for 10 minutes and add some basil a few minutes before using the sauce.

If you grow your own tomatoes, you can swerve on the tinned option. I like to roast them first with a drizzle of olive oil & some Malden salt in order to intensify the flavour before skinning and using in my sauce.

Tip: Use a bowl and mix by hand for a course burger like texture, or into a food processor for a smoother meatball. This recipe is based on using a blitzer;-)

Into Food processor; Toast. Blitz. Add meat, herbs, chilli, garlic, egg, ginger, salt & pepper to taste. Blitz again.
Roll into balls and coat in flour. Fry until lightly browned. Add to tomato sauce and cook for 45 mins, add coriander at end and serve on top of spaghetti.

Alternative option is to par boil some Penne and add meatball/sauce on top and bake in the oven for about 35 minutes.

Pavlova

2011-07-29T17:21:00.002+01:00

Pavlova, a photo by MrsNightingalesSecretSpeakeasy on Flickr.

Chewy slow baked meringue with lemon cream and roasted rhubarb

Mmmmm Chocolate Cake

2011-07-23T16:16:00.002+01:00

Mmmmm Chocolate Cake, a photo by soul_babycakes on Flickr.

Hello Boys !

Ingredients

· 200g good quality dark chocolate , about 60% cocoa solids

· 200g butter , cut in pieces

· 1 tablespoon instant coffee granules (I like to use Percol espresso powder)

· 85g self-raising flour

· 85g plain flour

· 1⁄4 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

· 150g light muscovado sugar

· 150g golden caster sugar
· 25g cocoa powder
· 3 medium eggs
· 75ml buttermilk (5 tablespoons) I have used crème fraiche as an alternative when I couldn’t get buttermilk)

For the Ganache

· 200g good-quality dark chocolate , as above

· 150ml carton double cream (pouring type)

· 2 tbsp golden caster sugar

To decorate

· grated chocolate or curls, to decorate

Method

1. Butter 2 loose bottom cake tins and line the base. Preheat the oven to fan 140C/conventional 160C/ gas 3. Break the chocolate in pieces into a medium, heavy-based pan. Tip in the butter, then mix the coffee granules into 125ml/4fl oz cold water and pour into the pan. Warm through over a low heat just until everything is melted - don't overheat. Or melt in the microwave on Medium for about 5 minutes, stirring half way through.

2. While the chocolate is melting, mix the two flours, bicarbonate of soda, sugars and cocoa in a big bowl, mixing with your hands to get rid of any lumps. Beat the eggs in a bowl and stir in the buttermilk. No need to be too lighthanded; the worst results have been when I have gently folded everything. Bung it all in and mix it up !

3. Now pour the melted chocolate mixture and the egg mixture into the flour mixture, stirring just until everything is well blended and you have a smooth, quite runny consistency. Pour this into the tins and bake for between 50 mins / 1 hour depending on the efficiency of your oven - if you push a skewer in the centre it should come out clean and the top should feel firm (don't worry if it cracks a bit). Leave to cool in the tin (don't worry if it dips slightly), then turn out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

4. Make the ganache: chop the chocolate into small pieces and tip into a bowl. Pour the cream into a pan, add the sugar, and heat until it is about to boil. Take off the heat and pour it over the chocolate. Stir until the chocolate has melted and the mixture is smooth. Let it cool. If it’s too runny to be spreadable, whisk it with an electric mixer for a few minutes until it is almost like a mousse.

5. Sandwich the layers together with some of the ganache. Spread the rest over the cake and down the sides and smoothing to cover with a palette knife. Decorate with grated chocolate or a pile of chocolate curls. The cake keeps moist and gooey for 3-4 days if covered loosely with cling film.

Shooters Sandwich

2011-07-23T15:24:00.002+01:00

SDC13223, a photo by soul_babycakes on Flickr.

Picnic Heaven

Eating alfresco is a joy, a simple pleasure that we British embrace with gusto, at any clement opportunity. A picnic in the park with a group of friends, or with the object of your affection, is often a memory in the making. Picnics remind me of past times; sports events and ‘Speech Days’, burgeoning romances and the occasional youthful tipsy excursion to Cranham Woods with a ghetto blaster, lots of beer and a few pork pies.

What is the perfect food to eat “en plein air” I asked my friends? Go to Marks & Spencer was the overwhelming response, and one that I have previously resorted to myself, but surely nothing will taste as good as the food you personally prepare.

As much as I love barbeque, the other mainstay of outdoor eating, I find it a bit tedious, unless someone else is tending the coals. The stereotype of the ‘man of the house’ hovering over the grill, wielding a pronged fork falls short of reality in my world; my husband has never shown any interest in wearing an apron and a comedy chef’s hat, more’s the pity. When it comes to BBQ season – the Nightingales eat at the invitation of others.

So for the purpose of this article I fall back on the staple of the British Picnic; the sandwich. Oh, but what a sandwich, what a truly exceptional example of the genre this is. Ladies & Gentlemen – I give you Mrs. Nightingale’s version of The Shooters’ Sandwich; with the supplement of a glorious Gloucestershire ingredient, Tewkesbury Mustard.

A sandwich is functional, portable and easy to prepare. The magic is in the ingredients contained within. This is something special - a meal in itself, satisfying beyond compare. The Shooters’ Sandwich groans with Edwardian tradition. It is customary to prepare a Shooters’ Sandwich with rare beef and a mushroom & shallot duxelle, rather like a Beef Wellington sandwich; I also like to add blue cheese to jazz it up.

Method

The first process is to make the mushroom mixture. Fry 3 shallots and a clove of garlic in a little olive oil, then add a couple of finely chopped Portobello mushrooms. Add the herbs and a splash of Masala wine if you like, season and cook for five minutes,

Next step – pan fry a couple of pre-oiled & seasoned steaks (not too thick) until they are still fairly rare. No need to rest them – we want the steaks to be juicy. Then take (or make) a round crusty loaf and lop the top off. Hollow out just enough of the bread from the centre of the loaf to make a cavity for your ingredients.

Smear the steaks with Tewkesbury mustard. Use Dijon & horseradish sauce if you can’t find our magnificent indigenous mustard, but in deference to true culinary ‘Cotswold Style’ let’s celebrate this wonderful local product.

Tuck the first steak in the hollowed bread, mustard side next to the bread, then add a little blue cheese of your choice – Stilton works well but you could use St. Agur or Dolcelatte according to preference.

Next comes a generous addition of mushroom duxelle, topped with the second steak. Pop the “lid” back on top, wrap and tie up tightly in greaseproof paper, then wrap again in foil. Weight this down (a heavy chopping board, perhaps with a couple of bricks on top) and keep cool for about 5 hours, or overnight.

Ingredients

3 x shallots
1 x clove of garlic
2 x large Portobello mushrooms
2 x rump steaks
1 x large round crusty loaf
Blue cheese
Tewkesbury mustard
Pinch of Thyme

Take the unwrapped parcel along to your picnic, and slice up into wedges to eat. This is so filling you probably won’t need much else in your picnic basket, bar a meaty red wine. Raise a glass to the King of Sandwiches !

Five Simple Favourites for Summertime

2011-06-21T20:53:00.001+01:00

v Spaghetti with Crab, Chilli, Coriander & Lime

v Rare Fillet of Beef with Lemon & Mozzarella Salad

v Broccoli, Raisin, Red Onion & Bacon Salad with Balsamic Mayo

v Asian Slaw with Peanut Chicken

v Lemon Cream Pavlova and Roasted Rhubarb served with a Ginger Prosecco Cocktail

At last, it’s Summertime; the season in which I have romantic notions of long, rickety garden tables laden with pot-luck dishes that friends have brought along for a spontaneous summer’s day feast. When the weather is warm I want something light, usually a simple and sensational salad, and I endeavour to make food that take literally five minutes to prepare. The hardest task you will need to perform for my suggested meals of the month is to toss a handful of ingredients into a bowl and keep an eye on the oven timer. After all, who wants to slave over the proverbial hot stove in a heatwave ?

These delicious suggestions will not tax your cooking skills, and will hopefully give you ideas and inspiration, as many of the dishes are interchangeable. Try the broccoli salad with cold roast chicken, or use the left-over beef cut into strips in the Asian slaw. The salads stand proudly alone as light meals in their own right, and do not demand a meat accompaniment.

So put some flowers in a rustic jug & a crisp white cloth on the table in the garden, alongside a cold bottle of something sparkling, put on an Ibiza chill out CD, and indulge in some easy summer entertaining. Then get on your knees and pray it doesn’t rain! All meals serve four healthy appetites.

Spaghetti with Crab, Chilli, Coriander & Lime

Boil a pan of salted water and cook spaghetti (or linguine) for four people according to the instructions on the packaging. Chop a couple of large fresh red chillies and 2 cloves of garlic and gently fry in a generous splash of olive oil. Meanwhile open a couple of tubs of fresh crab. I use 1 x white, 1 x brown meat which is sufficient for four meals; add an extra 100g pot if you are crazy for crab. Finally chop a bunch of coriander.

When the pasta is cooked, drain and then add in the oily garlic & chilli, plus the juice of one lime, and season to taste. Top with the crab & coriander and another drizzle of olive oil. And that’s all there is to it !

Ingredients:

2 or 3 100g pots of crab meat

2 cloves garlic

2 large red chillies

Small bunch of coriander

1 lime

Spaghetti or linguine for 4

Olive oil

Salt & pepper

Rare Fillet of Beef with Lemon & Mozzarella Salad

This is my dinner party signature dish, so simple but never fails to impress. I know beef fillet is a luxury item, but it is worth it. I don’t think you can beat Morrison’s meat counter for value. At just under £24 for 1 kg of fillet, this will feed 4 very generously and leave a decent sized hunk of beef for sandwiches, cold meat platters and salads the next day.

Place the beef in a plastic bag with a huge splash of olive oil and lots of sea salt & freshly ground black pepper, and massage into the fillet within the bag. Heat a griddle pan or similar, using no oil, until smoking hot. Remove meat from the bag and sear the beef on all surfaces, with a couple of cloves of garlic. This process should take 5 to 10 minutes. Remove the steak & garlic and wrap loosely in foil, securing all openings tightly. Pop into a pre heated oven on a baking tray at 220 - 200C (depending on the power of your oven) for approx 15 minutes. Remove - and this is where the magic happens – let it rest for at least 20 minutes in the foil. This will then slice into the softest, most tender rare steak imaginable. The cooking times suggested will give you rare beef, if you prefer it medium rare - another 5 minutes in the oven will do the trick.

The salad that I like to eat with this is a really effortless combination of little gem lettuce, chopped celery, radish, spring onion and ripped up chunks of buffalo mozzarella. Lavish the salad with lemon juice & olive oil, then season. An Italian tip: My pal Nancy, who lives in Tuscany, tells me that the Italians soak their Mozzarella in warm water for 5 minutes or so before serving.

700g – 1kg of beef fillet

2 cloves of garlic

Sea Salt & Black Pepper

4 heads of Little Gem lettuce

Half a chopped celery heart

A dozen radishes

4 chopped spring onions

200g Buffalo Mozzarella

Juice of one lemon

Olive Oil

Broccoli, Raisin, Red Onion & Bacon Salad with Balsamic Mayo

I cannot stress how delicious this salad is; I almost live on it. I add some nuts (macadamia, pecan) or seeds (sunflower, pumpkin) to give another crunchy texture. Dice the red onion, cut a head of broccoli into small florets, throw in a fistful of raisins, and pieces of crisped streaky bacon. Add your nuts or seeds. Mix up a couple of tablespoons of balsamic vinegar with a tablespoon of sugar, then mix into two tablespoons of light mayonnaise until combined. Stir this dressing into your broccoli et al, and it’s ready to eat. Heavenly, healthy, sweet and salty – good for you but tastes so naughty !.

A head of broccoli

1 red onion

A fistful of raisins

A packet of nuts or seeds

10 rashers of crisped streaky bacon

2 x tbsp of light mayonnaise

2 tbsp of balsamic vinegar

1 tbsp of sugar

Salt & pepper

Asian Slaw with Peanut Butter Chicken

I adapted this from a recipe on the Uma Wylde website (www.umawylde.com). Uma runs a highly acclaimed cookery school in Tetbury. She created this sharp and addictive Asian Slaw and serves it with a chicken satay, the raw chicken having been cooked in mere minutes in the bubbling sauce. However I suggest a alternative; my adaption has the sauce poured over slices of simply roasted chicken, as I like to use the remainder of the bird up over the next few days, and it also offers a chicken & slaw option to those that cannot eat nuts, or don’t like peanut butter.

First things first; roast your chicken. I would hazard a guess that you all know how to roast a chicken therefore I’ve not included the method for this. When the chicken is cooked and resting, finely slice approx 100 g or so of white cabbage, and grate 100g of carrots. Add approx 1 “ of grated fresh root ginger and a couple of crushed cloves of garlic. Combine rice vinegar and fish sauce and sugar to make the dressing and bind together with the vegetables. For the peanut sauce, heat the chillies and a couple of cloves of garlic in sesame oil for one minute on a medium heat, then add the coconut milk, 2 tbsp crunchy peanut butter and mix until smooth. Add the juice from 1 lime, 2 tbsp fish sauce, 1 tbsp sweet chilli dipping sauce and 2 tsp ketjap manis and reduce to a low heat. Spoon the sauce over slices of chicken and serve with the slaw, which is incredibly refreshing and “zingy”.

Ingredients for the Slaw:

100g cabbage

100g carrot

15g coriander leaves

2 tbsp rice vinegar

1 tsp fish sauce

1 garlic clove

1 inch piece of fresh ginger

1½ tbsp caster sugar

½ lime

Ingredients for the Peanut sauce:

1 tbsp sesame oil

2 red chillies

2 cloves garlic

1 tin of coconut milk

2 tbsp crunchy peanut butter

2 tbsp fish sauce

1 lime

2 tsp ketjap manis

1 tbsp sweet chilli dipping sauce

Roasted Rhubarb & Lemon Cream Pavlova served with a Ginger Prosecco Cocktail

Firstly, roast some chopped rhubarb. Lay it on a baking tray and sprinkle with a generous amount of brown sugar. Pop into a preheated oven at 200C for 15 minutes. The rhubarb should not be overly sweet as the Pavlova and the lemon cream are sugary, and the sharpness and slightly sour quality of rhubarb is needed to cut through the sweetness. Meringues are easy – never let anyone tell you otherwise. Personally I don’t bother with recommended tricks such as adding Cream of Tartar or white vinegar into the whipped egg white and sugar. The best tip is to ensure your whisks and bowl are totally free of grease (wash beforehand in very hot water) as any trace of fat will give you flaccid meringues. For an 8” Pavlova, you’ll need 3 or 4 egg whites and approx 50g of castor sugar per egg. Whisk the egg whites on slow speed for 2 minutes, then pump up the power for another minute until the mixture is light and fluffy and forming peaks. Gradually introduce the sugar, one tablespoon at a time as you continue to whisk. Then add a couple of tablespoons of lemon curd and combine well. You can use the leftover yolks to make your own, but when short of time, I just use a good quality shop bought curd. Assemble, stand back and admire, then tuck in with gusto.

Ingredients:

3 or 4 egg whites

6 oz castor sugar

2 tablespoons lemon curd

300ml whipping cream

A couple of sticks of rhubarb

Brown sugar

As a final flourish, enjoy a Ginger Prosecco cocktail with your pudding. This is a slightly sour cocktail, but a perfect partner to sweet Pavlova. Muddle some chopped ginger, approximately 1” of fresh root, a spoonful of castor sugar and the juice of one lemon (muddling is apparently Cocktail Mixology lingo; I bung it in a pestle and mortar and bash it about). Strain this into a glass and top with Prosecco, or if feeling ultra decadent, champagne. Serve with a sliver of root ginger to decorate the glass.

Ingredients:

Fresh root ginger

Sugar

Juice of 1 lemon

Prosecco

So there you have it – a few of my favourite meals for Summer, but they all taste so wonderful I am certain that they will be added to your repertoire and eaten throughout the year.

Watercress and Goats Cheese roulade

2011-05-20T13:03:00.000+01:00

Watercress & Goats Cheese Roulade

In response to National Vegetarian Week (23rd to 29^th May) I am celebrating seasonal vegetables in this issue of Cotswold Style. Being one of that particular breed of carnivore that absolutely adores vegetarian food, I could quite happily eat non-meat based meals almost every day, if it were not for the men of the household. Whenever I serve up a simple pasta dish, perhaps with mushrooms, wilted spinach and pine nuts, their little carnivorous faces crumple up, as if I were depriving them of essential nourishment and their god given right to eat delicious animals at every meal. Yet once they taste my veggie options, all memory of flesh is quickly forgotten. And lest we forget, vegetarian meals are usually quite cost effective; I almost cry at the cost of good meat nowadays.

I was sorely tempted to share a curry recipe, but at the time of writing the weather has been so gloriously warm and forgiving, I am feeling the urge to eat al fresco whenever possible. I therefore want to praise my favourite brassica; good old-fashioned Watercress. It’s the King of Superfoods; a truly nutritious vegetable packed with vitamins A and C, magnesium, iron, calcium and folic acid.

This wonderfully refreshing recipe can be eaten as a light lunch, a dinner party starter or as picnic food: it’s a colourful Watercress and Goats Cheese Roulade. Deceptively simple to make, but very impressive on the plate. Serve with a Watercress, or a Red Pepper sauce, alongside some buttered Jersey Royal Potatoes which are at the peak of their short season right now.

Serves: 4

Ingredients: Roulade

100g bag of watercress

2 garlic cloves, chopped

2 tablespoon crème fraîche

4 fresh medium sized eggs, separated

Ingredients: Filling

250g tub of ricotta

150g goats cheese, cubed into small pieces

2 peppers; one red, one yellow; roasted, skinned, de-seeded and chopped

1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped

1 tablespoon fresh basil, chopped

Sea salt and ground black pepper

Method:

Preheat the oven to 200C /Gas6. Line a Swiss roll tin (approx 38cm x 25cm / 15” x 10 “) with baking parchment or a silicon sheet.

To make the roulade, pop the watercress and garlic into a processor and whizz into a rough paste, then add into a mixing bowl with egg yolks and crème fraîche. Mix all together and season. Then whisk the egg whites to soft peaks and fold gently into the watercress mix.

Spread the roulade mix evenly onto the parchment covered tin and bake for 10 minutes until golden. The texture will be similar to a light omelette or fluffy crepe. Remove from the oven and cool.

To make the filling, mix the ricotta, goats cheese, red and yellow peppers, and chopped herbs together and season well.

When the roulade is cold, flip it over onto fresh baking parchment and peel away the old baking parchment from the roulade. If the roulade does not slip off with ease, simply slide a palate knife carefully underneath the roulade first.

Spread the cheese filling from the (short) edge facing you over the top of the roulade, leaving a small gap on the other 3 edges. Gently roll up, then wrap in cling film to refrigerate before serving.

Voila ! A vegetarian sensation, as pretty as a picture.

From the Archives: Restaurant Review - Purnell's, Birmingham

2011-04-27T23:56:00.000+01:00

Original article from March 2009

Having wanted to visit Purnell's for a while, we finally had the excuse. It was our wedding anniversary so what better occasion that this.
We don't have many great restaurants in our area and Purnell's is an hours drive, which limits how much we can enjoy their fine wine list.

Opting for the 7 course tasting menu (at a non credit crunch price tag of £65 a head) were were not to be disappointed. These delights included an amuse bouche of beetroot sorbet; the signature dish of poached egg yolk with haddock foam, curry oil and yep, cornflakes; pork belly paired (surprisingly well) with red mullet; a scrumptious pud of warm chocolate mousse and an iced passion fruit sorbet, and the now famous Great British Menu delight of a creme brulee (by any other name) served in eggshells.

Some of these new kitchen wunderkinds are Emperors without any clothes - but certainly not Glynn Purnell. There's a wit and whimsy to his inventive dishes that I thought I wouldn't necessarily enjoy (why does food need to be funny ?) but it's actually so unpretentious, so seemingly simple (although I am sure the methods are really complex), so tasty that I totally forgive the amusing take on breakfast during an evening out.

There's nothing high falutin' about this place; the decor is hip but not achingly trendy - it's comfortable and welcoming. The staff are all diamonds; friendly yet professional. Jean-Benoit in particular really knows his way round a wine list and persuaded me to indulge in the wine tasting menu which was full of delights and surprises and superb value for money.

Not the best meal of my life, but certainly in the top ten and I've been fortunate enough to eat in some of the best restaurants in France (nothing beats La Tupina !) and eaten crumbs off the tables of Messrs Ramsey & White and bowed at the feet of masters such as Michel & Albert Roux, Nico Ladenis, Kauffman and Mossiman.

I think Glynn Purnell is very very good, and he could become an all-time British great.

It wasn't a cheap evening, but it lived up to my expectations of being special - so all in all I think it's worth it. You don't have to spend as much - they offer a 3 course option for less than 40 quid, and they will recommend an affordable lesser known wine that will blow your mind as much as the pricier options.

Only niggle was that the service charge is built in. I really REALLY hate that.

I want to reward top notch service myself ( I had already taken £30 out of my purse as a tip before I saw that they had already included £28 service) and a fixed charge leaves a bit of a nasty taste in your mouth. I wish restaurants would understand that we will put our money where on mouth is, and don't need our arm twisted to do it.

However, that is not worth denying myself delicious food, and Purnell's aren't the only culprits to extort a tip in the guise of the bill. We will definitely visit again.

Update: we have returned twice since this review was written and have another date in the diary for my birthday - Purnell's never disappoints. And the Maitre 'D, Jean-Benoit is the most charming host ever - as yummy as the food !

Easter recipe

2011-03-11T20:33:00.000Z

HALIBUT WITH LEMON & PARSLEY RISOTTO

The Easter break is looming, so what to choose to as a suitable dish ? Eggs are so ‘every day’, and lamb is so ‘Sunday lunch’. Not being one to deny myself anything delicious, I’m usually of the same mind as my friend Kathie, who announced that she was giving up Lent for wine; even those of us that do not observe the holy aspect of Easter enjoy the tasty treats that the occasion offers us.

I have chosen a recipe that has a traditional Easter ingredient: Fish. Did you know that Halibut means “Holy Flat Fish” ? I am pairing the Halibut with a light spring risotto, simply flavoured with lemon and parsley. Lemon is perfect with parsley and heavenly with Halibut. An Easter appropriate delight.

Whilst the risotto is simple to prepare, it does require TLC during the cooking process. Not a big deal; a mere 30 minutes out of your life that will be eased with a crisp glass of Chablis on the kitchen counter. Halibut is not an inexpensive fish; I paid £8 for a decent sized Isle of Gigha fillet in Waitrose. I also find Morrison’s fish counter to be excellent. If you are budget conscious, perhaps use Lemon Sole instead. However, I say hang the expense; my personal motto is “never economise on luxuries”.

This meal is a total taste bomb. From such simple ingredients you’ll be surprised by the explosion of flavours. As a final gesture to Easter, I pop a poached golden egg yolk on top.

Ingredients

Fillet of halibut (400g is ideal for 2 people)

200g Arborio risotto rice

1 onion

30 ml of olive oil

100ml white wine

1 pint of chicken or vegetable stock

Salt & pepper

2 unwaxed lemons

Bunch of parsley

2 eggs

Method

Finely chop an onion and sauté in the olive oil on a gentle heat until soft and translucent. Add rice and stir well to ensure all the grains are coated. Keep on a low heat for 3 minutes but do not allow rice and onion to colour, then add the wine. Heat the stock in a separate pan, until simmering point. Add the hot stock in small amounts, allowing it to fully absorb each time. Stir regularly and season to taste about half way through. This process will take approximately 25 minutes. When the risotto is almost ‘al dente’, add the zest of two lemons, followed by the juice of one and a half of the lemons. Save the other half of lemon for the fish. The rice is cooked when the texture is still creamy, but not sticky. Remove from the heat and allow it to sit for a few minutes whilst you pan fry the Halibut. Blitz the parsley (or chop finely) and stir into the risotto just prior to serving.

I tend to pan fry fish but you could grill, or bake in foil. A halibut fillet needs cooking for just 2 or 3 minutes on each side, in a little oil, on a medium to high heat. I also add a knob of butter and spoon over the fish. Don’t forget to season it and finish off with the lemon juice and perhaps a splash of wine.

Finally, and this takes mere seconds if you prepare a small pan with water boiled from the kettle, pop an egg yolk into the pan and cook on a medium heat for just a minute.

Serve your risotto, with the Halibut and the glorious runny egg yolk; it’s hard to say which of these is the “star of the show”.

Janine making banana cake in the pretty apron that I sent her

2011-02-11T22:05:00.000Z

Janine, NSW, Australia 2011 February

Cinnamon Buns

2011-01-11T21:09:00.002Z

I can vividly remember my first attempt at baking, actually making something that wasn’t out of a packet. I created a lopsided, dry cake that masqueraded as a sponge and tasted like cardboard, in Domestic Science class. “Une immense catastrophe!” My ability to bake was as poor as my ability to speak French. However, with time, I have learnt to do both passably well.

It took years before I conquered my fear of cakes and bread. This of course involved my own version of therapy, which involved eating as many baked goods as I could. I fell in love with baking fairly late in life, it’s now an all-consuming passion: the most satisfying of all the cooking techniques. However, it’s not always quick, not always consistent and it’s not always easy.

I have found that the adage “practice makes perfect” applies absolutely to baking. As a prolific baker, I still get random results but I now understand why. With baking – it is wise to follow the fundamental recipes, timing, method and balance of the ingredients absolutely as instructed, until you become a master of your art and have the skills to freestyle.

One of the greatest joys of baking is the heavenly smell. Bread, chocolate cake, lemon meringue pie – all have a unique aroma which makes me light headed, but nothing smells quite as incredible as Cinnamon Buns.

The best things come to those who wait, and this is not a ten minute ‘knock up’. It takes time and patience. The recipe makes 6-8 buns. Best served with strong fresh coffee, and the latest gossip with a friend.

Ingredients

Dough:

8 fl oz / 240 ml whole milk

35 g dried yeast

2 oz / 55 g plus ¼ teaspoon of castor sugar

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

1 large egg yolk

1 and ½ teaspoons vanilla extract

14 oz / 400g self raising flour

¾ teaspoon of salt

½ teaspoon of ground or freshly grated nutmeg

Filling:

4 oz / 110 g unsalted butter, softened not melted

4 oz / 110 g castor sugar

3 tablespoons ground cinnamon

Glaze:

8 oz / 220 g icing sugar

100 ml double cream

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Method:

Make the dough: Warm milk in a saucepan to 100 F/ 38 C (this is body temperature). Remove from heat, sprinkle in yeast and ¼ teaspoon of sugar. Do not stir. Leave for 5 minutes until foamy. Whisk in egg yolk, melted butter and vanilla. Pour flour, 2oz of sugar, salt and nutmeg into a mixing bowl. Make a well in the centre and add yeast mixture. If you have a stand mixer with a dough hook, mix on low speed until thick and sticky, then knead on medium speed for 5 minutes or so. I don’t use a mixer, and knead exactly as I would making bread by hand, this still produces great results. Shape dough into ball, grease the bowl and dough with a little butter. Cover with cling film and allow to rise until it has doubled in size (60 – 75 minutes).

Roll out dough to a rectangle shape approx 12” x 14” with longest side facing you. Smother in the softened butter, leaving 1” border at the further edge. Mix the sugar and cinnamon, and sprinkle all over the rolled dough, excluding border. Damp the border with water. Roll up lengthways, towards border, and cut into about 8 pieces. Place buns onto a buttered baking tray, cut side down, cover and leave to rise again for 30 minutes. I tend to pop into the oven at the lowest possible setting for best results.

Bake in a pre heated oven at 160 (fan assisted) or 180 C until golden brown, this takes around half an hour. Remove from oven, and cool for 10 minutes. Make glaze by mixing the ingredients and then piping or spooning onto the still warm buns.

Fridge Cake

2010-11-12T01:03:00.000Z

I've just thrown together the most sinful, wicked fridge cake. Based this on a standard Tiffin method but was limited by store cupboard ingredients. Gently melt 4 oz butter, 1 tbs cocoa, 1 tbs black treacle, 1 tbs of maple syrup. Bash up a packet of ginger biscuits, throw in a packet of hazelnuts, a tub of glace cherries (Waitrose do some very dark juicy ones) and a handful of rice crispies, then a generous splash of ameretto. Pour melted mixture over the dry mix and stir until incorporated. Melt an 8oz bar of chocolate (I used half dark, half white) and smooth over the top. Refrigerate and try (just try) to let it set before cutting into squares and eating with a good strong cup of coffee. Heaven.

No photo I'm afraid, it didn't look pretty but tasted divine.

Biscuits

2010-11-11T17:31:00.000Z

Basic Biscuit dough

Mix the butter and sugar in a large bowl with a wooden spoon, then add the egg yolk and vanilla and briefly beat to combine. Sift over the flour and stir until the mixture is well combined - you might need to get your hands in at the end to give everything a really good mix and press the dough together.

Little Prune or lemony biccies

Heat oven to 180C/fan 160C/gas 4. Make the Basic biscuit dough, adding zest 2 lemons to the sugar and butter mixture. After chilling, roll out the dough to a rough rectangle, then use a pizza cutter or knife to divide the dough into long strips, about 10 x 2cm. Bake as above. For the icing, mix 140g/5oz sifted icing sugar with 4-5 tbsp lemon juice and the zest 1 lemon. When biscuits are cool, half dip them into the icing, then dry on a rack. Or make fruit biscuits and added chopped fruit instead of the lemon zest (prune or apricot is great).

My Big Brother Shame; My Obsession Is Lame

2010-07-29T22:35:00.013+01:00

I'm a sad act. I have been addicted to the reality TV opium that is Big Brother for 10 years. Just as I was beyond caring, the casting team presented me with the legend that is Ben Duncan.

I also love to write. I've written professionally, even been published dontcha know ! So when I was bored, I wrote a skit based on Ben. Now if you have a life, you probably can't be bothered to read this, but if you watch BB and know the characters, here is a little sketch that I wrote for the amusement of some of my fellow supporters on Digital Spy.

A fictional tale - The Private Life of Benjamin Duncan
________________________________________

Chapter 1

Ben draped languidly on an overstuffed chaise lounge in the morning room of his Edwardian Mansion flat in Marylebone. He was tired; never one to cope without a good 8 hours sleep, Ben had had little undisturbed rest ever since he won the final series of Big Brother.

He rang a small silver bell to summon Molio, his Manservant. Molio was dressed in a PVC gimp suit which immediately irritated Ben. Having offered the unemployed actor slash male model employment, after his lacklustre performance on BB resulted in no media work and no interest from wealthy older men wishing to be his Sugar Daddy, it was a constant annoyance that Molio insisted on wearing his own clothes. Ben detested PVC; it was common.

Ben had kindly offered to share his own wardrobe of cashmere sweaters and coloured corduroy jeans – there was a vintage morning suit that would be very befitting of the Moles status as Butler/Valet/Chest Shaver. Unfortunately Molio liked the tight fit of the gimp suit as he believed it showed off his abnormally large left testicle to its best advantage. He was strangely proud of his unusual balls, and showed them off at any given opportunity.

“What’s on todays itinerary” Ben asked, averting his eyes from Molio’s oversized groin region in case once again, a wiener mysteriously tried to escape and find its way towards Ben’s bottom. “Today is the premier of the Musical, starring the Baron & the Pop Idol Reject, Cutie McFoghorn. It’s loosely based on Grease, but set in Northern Ireland. It tells the story of a talented young soldier, trapped in the Army but dreaming of stardom, and a trolley dolly, with a small but not extraordinary talent, who keeps getting rejected from RTV shows for simply not really cutting the mustard and having a gob the size of the Mersey Tunnel. It was panned at the previews by The Daily Star Theatre critic but it would be nice for us to go and offer support to our former housemates.”

“Oh far too dull” Ben wailed – “I have arranged to have lunch with the Ladettes that I met when I was last on that far superior show. Such fun girls, I intended to introduce them to Lady Corin. She could teach them a thing or two about graceful behaviour, elegance and genteel conversation. Nobody carries off a pearl necklace better than Corin. What she doesn’t know about Coronation Street can be written on the back of Dame Shirley Bassey’s passport photograph”. Corin was Ben’s dearest and most loyal friend.

Ben yearned for the days when, prior to BB11, he was a much valued Bachelor at all the best Central London parties, with his friend Raeffromtheapprentice, the amusing Caribbean postman with the jaunty scarf, his Saudi Arabian friend that he met in the off licence, and The Princess of Bahrain. All his chums are very stylish, but none more so than the Lady Corin.

“You must attend the premier” whinged Molio “the big stiffy has been sat atop your marble mantelpiece for weeks and I RSVP’d for us both weeks ago”. Ben sighed, but his good manners prevailed over all, and decided with a heavy heart, that they would attend as agreed.

“Molio, please run me an asses milk bath and lay out my smoking jacket, the one made from gossamer spun by almost extinct spiders” asked Ben politely “and then polish my best calf skin spats”.

Ben closed his eyes, rubbed a little hemorrhoid cream under his puffy bags (a beauty tip he had picked up from the handsome & well kempt Baron) placing cucumber slices gently upon them to sooth.

His reverie is interrupted by the ring of his traditional Bakelite telephone. “I wonder who that can be” Ben thinks to himself , “ I went ex directory immediately after appearing in Sex in Court due to the ghastly trouble with Juror number 4.”

He gingerly picks up the telephone receiver. Ben was a marvellous mimic, and assuming an amusing accent and uncouth manners that he learnt from an Australian chap had once encountered, he said “G’Day mate, who the f***’s that? ”.

Silence on the other end of the phone, punctuated by heavy breathing. “Not again !” he cried, reverting to his nicely rounded RP accent, “I have asked you very nicely not to make these disturbing telephone calls. It’s you isn’t it Gloria Hunniford? Just because I spoke to you once at a party in Central London, it is no reason to keep hounding me. We only became friends because I was terribly hurt that Joan Collins gave me the death stare. I know I like the older ladies but I do not want to be your screen husband on the 5 O’Clock Show. I have my American Career to think of, and if they assume that I am some kind of walker for OAP’s I’ll never get my break with CNN as their Middle Eastern political correspondent with the plummy British accent”.

“Gloria Hunniford again” Mario enquired, walking back into Ben’s flower filled drawing room, scented with peonies and roses. He was carrying an Egyptian cotton robe with a golden monogram, the letters BDofT, beneath a tiny crown “She ought to know better at her age. Her HRT dosage needs to be adjusted”.

He slipped the robe over Ben’s neat shoulders, but couldn’t resist a momentary massage. His eyes rolled back in his head and for a brief moment he began to tremble, but pulled himself together. Molio knew that if he persisted with his wiener obsession, Ben would have no hesitation in firing him immediately. Being close to Ben, in any way shape or form, helped Molio get through his sad, lonely day.

Chapter 2

Ben Duncan was doing terribly well for himself. Having always struggled to make much of a career, winning Big Brother had given him a financial cushion and a sense of worth, previously unknown. People had assumed that he was a wealthy fellow.

He was plummier than most of the Royal Family, however his dulcet tones belied the fact that, until recently, he was as poor as a church mouse and from a fairly humble background.

Ben was very British, and he maintained a stiff upper lip in the face of pecuniary adversity. It was a very stiff upper lip, in fact it never moved.

“I want to invest wisely” he instructed his financial advisor. “I’d like to be as well off as of those footballer chappies, or Dame Shirley, or that hat maker – Louis Spence. However, I am a little bit lazy and don’t want to work too hard. Just make sure that you choose some investments which will keep me in the style in which I hope to become accustomed. And under no circumstances do I want to take my clothes off in Attitude magazine. Oh, and get me a Coutts bank account. I do like those oversized cheque books”.

His advisor took note; sank his cash into an app for iPhones which gave instructions on how to produce the perfect posh bed-head quiff, a West End musical, and a Bondage Club in Soho. He did make a secret deal with Gay Times for Ben to be their political commentator, but he told Ben that the articles were for The Tatler.

Later that day, Ben had arranged to meet Lady Corin at Claridges. They were on the VIP guest list for “Greasy Hair” a musical due to premiere that evening, at the Big Bugger Theatre in Soho.

An acknowledged oenophile, Ben sipped his claret, after first swilling it gently in its glass and inhaling the earthy berry tones on the nose. He muttered “I do adore the olfactory pleasures offered by wine. I can smell the earth and salt of the Gironde. Would you like some Pomerol, Corin?” “Oooh no, red wine will like stain my veneers. Do they have like WKD ere Benji, I love those. They’re blue and like get you pissed dead quick like”. Ben politely ignored her request and hailed the waiter, intending to order her a glass of champagne instead. He adored hearing her giggle when the bubbles went up her nose. In fact it melted his heart.

“I do hope that you don’t mind Corin, but I’ve asked my physician, Dr Yvette Sunshine-Crisp to join us. I’ve had such problems with irritable bowel syndrome since that awful show. The lentils and chick peas played havoc with my digestion, and I’ve not been able to face the merest morsel of Fois Gras since. Dr Crisp is simply a wonder; her research work in the field of dietary requirements has shaken the medical profession to the core. She has prescribed me a diet of crisps and bread. I feel so much better for it.”

“No problem Benji baby, I’m buzzin me” Corin shrieked, sounding oddly peculiar with a newly discovered Home Counties drawl. Ever since her elocution lessons, her received pronunciation was coming on nicely, however her pitch control still left much to be desired.

As much as he loved her, Ben found the Mongolian lambskin ear muffs that he had become reliant on ever since living in the BB house, an absolute necessity. He had convinced her that he wore them as a stylish fashion affectation, as they matched his velvet blazer and silk opera scarf that he draped jauntily around his shoulder. “Eeh, ayyyy, do they like sell Pot Noodles ere like” brayed Corin “I know it’s like dead posh like but I do like plain & simple food”.

The waiter approached them and Corin & Ben both did a double take at the small, elfin figure stooped before them, a hunched figure with saddened, moist eyes. The golden badge on his liveried uniform read “GOLLUM”. “Do we know you?” Ben enquired, “You look awfully familiar old chap”. Corin at once recognised Govan, their former housemate. Her kind and sweet nature led her to hug him to her surgically enhanced bosom and cry “Eh Govan, lovey, come here and tell Lady Corin all about it...”

A few streets away in Soho, Molio was slinking around, looking for a discreet green doorway which would lead him into a perverse den of iniquity. Molio was a frequent visitor to such places, it was his guilty pleasure. He was very popular with the clientele of Club Whip Me Spank Me, and after a few Cheeky Vimto’s, he had been known to display his abnormally large left testicle to all and sundry. He was particularly proud of the fact that it could be seen quite clearly on Google Earth.

Molio liked the barman, a chap known as Nathan the Monobrowed Neanderthal. Nathan had in fact once owned the club, bought with the intention of turning it into a smart restaurant. He was a renowned cook, the best this side of Borehamwood, perhaps as celebrated as Gordon Ramsey and Jamie Oliver. Sadly, he lost the club one night in a game of arm wrestling with the famous Benjamin Duncan, well known Man About Town, Central London celebrity and former arm wrestling champion at his Prep School. What Nathan had not known, was that Ben’s wrist action was legendary.

Detesting negative people and rainclouds of doom, ever positive Nathan the Monobrowed Neanderthal had stayed on at the Club. He had found friendship amongst the ne’er do wells that had made Club Whip Me Spank Me such a cosy little community. His girlfriend, Rachel, also worked there as an erotic dancer although she supplemented her income as a drag queen called Beyonce Lite at Madame JoJo’s across the street. No one had ever noticed that she was actually a woman.

Chapter 3

Ben was waiting for his Limo driver to collect him and the Lady Corin, to take them to the Big Bugger Theatre for the Premiere of “Greasy Hair”.

He pondered silently on how life had changed, how his social life was no longer centred around Sloane Street and the Libyan Embassy cocktail parties. His circle of highly unusual friends had expanded in the last year. It was strange how they all had met; they had become acquainted when appearing on the final series of Big Brother, a once popular reality TV show.

The former Executive Producer, a much reviled Scottish impresario called Phil Edgar Jones, had found a new love in Theatre land. PEJ, as he was known in the press, appointed one of the contestants, a questionably talented Art House actress called Shabby Keeley Jade Flanders Katchadourian to be the Director of his new project “Greasy Hair”. Though keen to appear in a remake of Oliver as the Artful Dodger, Shabby had agreed to take on this unprestigious but high profile project in the hope that she would no longer have to scoop food out of the skips behind Selfridges Food Hall.

In a desperate bid to cash in on the popularity of pop musicals such as Mama Mia, We Will Rock You, and the Bay City Rollers smash hit, Shag-a-lad, PEJ’s fortunes now rested on the success of his new project, and the charisma of his stars “Baron” Steve Gill, and Cutie McFoghorn. But “Greasy Hair” was originally written as a star vehicle for BB11 finalist, Josie Gibson.

In the time honoured tradition of the portlier girls from BB, she was considering an offer to follow in the hallowed footsteps of Michelle Bass and Rebecca Shiner, and she now was resigned to showing her norks on TV, to the delight of late night fumblers who couldn’t find their sticky copy of Big & Busty. Now working on a pilot of an X-rated channel on a show entitled Thumbelina : She Sucks, Josie had refused to get up from her unmade bed to rehearse for “Greasy Hair” and was replaced by the fame hungry garble-gob, Cutie McFoghorn.

If it was successful, PEJ had plans for spin off shows called “Greasy Spoon” featuring Nathan the Cook, and “Greasy Palm”; an explosive expose of charleton Christian Ministers, exploiting the faith of the gullible and vulnerable, in order to subsidise a lifestyle of bourgouis comfort and foreign travel.

Coincidentally, Ben’s personal “Circle of Trust” included a Welsh Minister. He often said of him “ I love Dave...but....”, however he stopped himself from thinking uncharitably about someone he thought had helped him when he was at his lowest ebb. One life skill his time in BB had taught Ben, was not to be so judgemental of others after they had been so judgemental of him.

Lady Corin emerged from Claridge’s opulent cloakroom “Ehhh, did you know these right posh places have like attendants to squirt you with perfume and dry yer hands like, it’s dead good iniit. I’m buzzin me ! I just helped meself to a bottle of Jean Paul Gaultier but I tipped her fifty quid so I think it was like alright. Lovin it ! ”.

Ben laid her coat around her tiny shoulders, discreetly sniffing her synthetic hair extensions as he did so, and ushered her to their awaiting car. It was strangely small, and the driver was another familiar face. It was Keeley, the Car Crasher from Big Brother. Her broken ankle had healed and she had set up a successful business, Teeny Tiny Taxi’s, having failed to get her job back with Co-op Travel. She was doing exceedingly well. (Well, that’s what it says on her CV)

“Corin, my sweet girl – I cannot tell you how nervous I am about this evening” Ben wailed mournfully. “ Not only do I have a small fortune invested in this production, but I am going to have to see some of those people again. I love them but....you know they made my life miserable. I felt like walking so many times and you know I never exercise.”

“ It was truly torturous; the sleep deprivation, the whispering campaigns behind my back, the aggressive harassment from the Southern Elf, John James. It was like being imprisoned in Guantanamo Bay. I felt like Nelson Mandela incarcerated on Robben Island. It was like a prison designed by Boy George. I’ve only been able to truly come to terms with it by reading Margaret Thatcher’s “The Downing Street Years” each night before I go to bed and comparing my heroic stoicism with hers. It’s my Bible.”

“I know Benji Babykins, I feel the same, but a quick flick through TV Quick and Reveal helps me sleep at night” the kindly Corin purred into his ear. “You’ll be fine, you’re a success now; you need never feel like the whipping boy again – not unless you like that kind of thing”, she winked with a cheeky smile.

Ben had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and wished he felt as confident. His instincts made him feel a little queasy, or perhaps it was the diet of crisp sandwiches prescribed by Dr Yvette Sunshine-Crisp. He never could get on with Pickled Onion flavour. So common.
Chapter 4

As daylight crept through the luxurious drapes of Benjamin Duncan’s bedroom window, he gingerly lifted his silk monogrammed sleep mask. As always, he marvelled at the sweet sound of birdsong which had gently awoken him.

The Nightingales were singing, and the purity of tone and sheer musicality gladdened Ben’s heart. He spoke aloud, words he recalled from a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson "The music of the moon sleeps in the plain eggs of the nightingale".

Beauty and music were extremely important to Ben. They enriched the quality of his life. He had however, had an entirely different “musical” experience the night before, when he had attended the Premiere of “Greasy Hair”.

Ben had not had the highest expectations, after all the Auto-tune used when they had performed in the Big Brother house could not be so effectively employed within the acoustically challenged theatre, but he had expected an entertaining experience of humour, pathos and drama. He got served drama in spades, but for all the wrong reasons.

It had been a disaster; one of Steve legs had fallen off during the Street Dance routine; the ensemble of gun toting soldiers in the highly choreographed second act has continually forgotten their left from their right, and marched right off the stage in the Orchestra Pit, resulting in a broken arm, a few black eyes and one poor unfortunate with a rifle impaled up his bottom; Cutie McFoghorn had developed laryngitis (which under other circumstances would be a blessing) and was replaced by the understudy Ife Kuku, who had a pleasant tone to her voice but hadn’t bothered to learn the lyrics.

At least Ife could dance, so as The Baron sat in a sullen heap on the floor, Ife performed routines better suited to a Tina Turner video. However Ife’s Proud Mary seemed to be the only dance in her repertoire. Shabby had watched from the side stage muttering the standard insult, “Cringe, Cringe” with her Assistant Stage hand/ lesbian sidekick, Caoimhe the Leaver.

Molio entered Ben’s bed chamber, carrying the Sunday papers on a silver tray, along with a platter of Poached Swans Eggs and Wild Boar Bacon from Tuscany.

“Reviews are in Ben – now don’t be disheartened if the critics savage Greasy Hair”. Ben groaned, and he could see his bank balance dissolving like ice in a pitcher of Pimms on a hot summer day at Henley.

They sat together on the edge of Ben’s bed and began to skip through the critics reviews. “A triumph of hilarity in the face of farce” said Quentin Letts in the Mail. “A post modern ironic winner” said Lesley Brain in the NOTW. “Great Tits” said The Sunday Sport”.

Only the Telegraph, The Spectator and The Times posted negative and sneering comment, but as much as they were the publications that Ben would have liked to impress, he was aware that the bums on moist seats would be those of the hormonally challenged housewives, teenage girls and hen parties from Slough and Basildon, oh, and gay guys of course. Since the announcement that the Antipodean, crab-eyed John James “Dolly” Parton would be performing a 5 minute argument in the interval, interest in the production has trebled.

Barely able to contain his thrill and arousal Molio cried out “I’ve checked your e-mails Ben, as I know you think a computer is only useful for word processing. The box office is sold out for the next 4 months – it’s a hit – you are going to be RICH”.

Butt naked, bar a small apron, Molio jumped for joy, his apron flapping up and down and exposing the abnormally large left testicle that could be seen by Google Earth. Molio’s excitement was there for all to see (literally) as he worshipped the almighty dollar almost as much as he worshipped Ben.

“Thank the Lord” Ben sighed. “As Dave has constantly promised me; stick with me Benji Boy & the Lord will see you right. In fact, I think I feel his love bubbling in my belly right now, either that or I need my early morning evacuation. Can you please warm the lavatory seat for me Molio”

“ Afterwards, I’ll take my breakfast tray in the morning room and PLEASE put some clothes on underneath that novelty apron. How many times have I politely requested that you should not to wear that? It’s supposed to read Kiss the Cook, not Kiss the Cock. It’s most off putting. I want to enjoy my Eggs Arnold Bennett without a side order of weiner, thank you.”

By 10.30, PEJ had arrived clutching a vast bouquet of pink open blooms and a Magnum of Bollinger. “Ben my friend, I told you that I would make you rich. Och Eye. This time next week we’ll be dining in St Tropez with David Furnish and Elton John. The world’s our Loch Fyne oyster.”

“Now I want to talk to you about my next project. Picture this. Josie Gibson in Big Bristol, a Celebrity RTV project with our mucker Josie, that Vicki Pollard bloke , the cast of Skins, a Drum and Bass soundtrack courtesy of Dirty Note, and Justin Lee Collins at the helm. It’s a celebration of the West Country. Bristol is the next big thing ! ”.

Ben cast PEJ a withering look and said “I love Josie...but.....” before giving up the ghost and sipping his Earl Grey/Darjeeling combination of tea, with the milk poured in first of course.

Meanwhile, in a remote farmhouse in West Wales, the Meddling Monk was sat at his computer, trying to calculate a Ponzi scheme conspiracy on an Excel Spreadsheet. “Mwaaahhh ahha Mwaaahhh” he cackled, intoxicated by the lure of easy cash. His plan for world domination and riches beyond belief were coming along nicely.

Chapter 5

Ben was in ten kinds of heaven. He was motoring down to Antibes with Lady Corin, Molio, and a small but perfectly formed Shitzu called Bailey, who was happily snoring, snuggled up against Molio’s unusually large left testicle.

Ben had been given the use of a vintage Bentley by Dame Shirley Bassey, in thanks for the boost that his TV series “A Soiree with Benjamin Duncan” had given their new album “Diva & Duncan – Divine Duets” which had just achieved triple platinum sales. Dame Shirley hadn’t had as much popular support since she had appeared at Glastonbury in her diamante wellies.

Corin, Molio & Ben sang gaily as they passed fields of flowers and the scent of lavender made them all feel quite heady. “Gold finga, he’s the man, the man with the midas touch...such a cold finga...” Molio mimed some worryingly intimate finger movements at Ben, which put him in mind of a recent prostate examination. He decided to ignore it. He would deal with Molio later.

They stopped their heavenly chorus abruptly as they arrived in front of tall white gates, which swung open to reveal the most beautiful house they had ever seen. “Truly enchanting” Ben sighed. “Oh My God, Fo*kin awesome, lovin it ” shrieked Corin. “Not as big as my ex boyfriends house” sneered Molio.

Elton (first name terms) had lent them his pristine pink Villa on the outskirts of town, and Ben had decided to throw a party to celebrate the forthcoming nuptials of two of his former BB housemates. There would be music; fabulous music. Flowers; fabulous flowers. An epicurean feast and Old World wines. Tasteful, discreet and fashionable.

John-James and Joe-John gazed into each other’s eyes, and the guys ruffled their hair in unison. “You’re cute” ,“ No, you’re cute”, “No, I’m not, you’re the cutest”, “Rack off man, you’re cuter than me and if you say otherwise I am never talking to you again” they bickered; laughing but with steel in their equally crabby eyes.

The JJJJ's eagerly awaited civil partnership ceremony was just a couple of days away. Miss J, and Mr J as they called themselves privately (they were both huge fans of America’s Next Top Model), were still trying to keep it a secret from Josie; they already had a restraining order in place. Even the press and their multitude of fans didn’t really know if the relationship was for real, or just a fauxmance. The speculation and constant press coverage had made them famous, wealthy and successful.

Under his stage name of JJ “Dolly” Parton, John James had a career the envy of the showbiz world. He had walked from the house after finding that Josie had been secretly inserting small love notes up his rectum, and tattooing her name on his thigh whilst he slept. “I love you like a Sister Jose, but you are one fu*king crazy Sheila” was his parting shot.

John James became the darling of the pink media by taking his top off and showing his perfectly proportioned pectorals. After his 5 minute argument slot in the interval of “Greasy Hair”, his DVD’s “Another Argument” “Yet Another Argument” “The Same Old Argument” and “Advanced Aggressive Arguing” had flown of the shelves and secured his future. His book “Arguing with Girls...for Dummies” was due to be published next month. Not since Ricky Gervais, had anyone been such a hit, simply by being a really annoying prat.

Everyone was making an effort to dress to impress in line with the strict dress code. Not so much Tantrums and Tiaras, more Arguments and Aussies. Even Shabby had trimmed her famous Grandfathers hat with a jaunty kangaroo brooch, and donned a pair of musical braces that played “Especially for you”. “Great isn’t it Caoimhe” she proudly announced as Kylie & Jasons tinny tones reverberated around the room. “Exactly” Caoimhe replied, as it was the total sum of her vocabulary when in the presence of her own personal Svengali.

The entertainment was going to be spectacular. BB had brought natural gifts and talents to the fore that few of the housemates even knew they had. Sunshine and Rachel were due to perform a faultless pastiche as Beyonce & Lady GaGa, Ife was putting on a Lion King Spectacular, with Elton on the Steinway, plinkety plonking an alternative version of his Oscar winning tune “Circle of Strife”, and The Baron and Cutie McFoghorn were finally going to perform the hit showstopper from “Greasy Hair” entitled “Nominate me at your peril, Beatch”.

Chapter 6

On a shady veranda in the South of France, Ben paced nervously, his top lip would have trembled if it could move, which it couldn’t. He seriously regretted getting on the Botox bandwagon, but the botulism toxin injections that he regularly used gave him the permanent stiff upper lip so much admired in a truly British gentleman.

“Benji Baby” Lady Corin shrieked from the pool down below. “I wanna go gambling. Me and The Baron wanna go to Monte Carlo. He said it’s just like Las Vegas, so it’s gonna be dead good innit ? I love the slot machines. I might win a fluffy bunny and a packet of Embassy Regal. I’m buzzin, we’re all buzzin. LOVIN IT BIG TIME”

“The Baron and I” muttered Ben,”it’s the Baron and I” as he resigned himself to an evening of wagering an obscene amount of money, and knowing that Steve and Corin wouldn’t actually appreciate the Eurotrash glamour and decadence of Monaco.

There was little that he could deny his sweet Corin though, he really was immensely fond of her. He rather begrudged The Baron tagging along on their big night out; it meant that they couldn’t take the smart little Aston Martin that he had found in Elton’s eight car garage. They would have to take the Motability wagon instead, he mused ungraciously. Ben adored Sport’s cars. It was the only kind of sport that he ever indulged in.

Ten thousand miles away in Melbourne, a private Detective called Bruce Belo slipped a sheet of paper into a fax machine. His cousin Brian, an eloquent and erudite fellow, had asked him to have a little snoop into the background on a certain John-James “Dolly” Parton. Brian revelled in his status as a Big Brother hero. He disliked argument with a passion, and when John-James appeared in Boys with Biceps magazine, wearing a fluorescent thong, Brian had marked his card. This was war.

In Bristol, a nervous Josie is about to film her first show in the "Big Bristol" series and is sucking her thumb whilst flirting with Justin Lee Collins. She was more than a little nervous. The initial treatment of the show had changed beyond recognition.

She had been led down to believe that it would be a cultural celebration of Bristol; The Tall Ships Festival, interviews with the reclusive Banksy, music by Massive Attack, Portishead & Roni Size, drug awareness campaigns by the cast of Skins and a Bollywood Spectacular featuring Dev Patel.

Instead, she was sat in a cold, bare Portakabin, dressed in a grubby housecoat worn over some old smelly leggings that she had borrowed from Caoimhe, and her “See Ya Sucker” T-shirt. She was working on her thumb like a ten quid hooker, and picking the garish blue nail polish off her toenails whilst waiting to film a smutty sketch with The Wurzels and two worried looking sheep.

“Ere Justin Lee Collins” she asked her co-host; “Ow d’you lose all that weight mate, you looks well fit. You were a right fat bugger. Last time I lost weight it was the morning after a dodgy burrito. Had the biggest dump ever” she yelled in his ear, sounding more like Vicki Pollard every day.

Josie was very proud of her giant stool. She had even drawn a picture of it to send to John –James on Valentine’s Day. She wrote him a romantic poem too. “Roses are Red, Violets are blue, I love you so much, I had a huge poo”.
Josie, it seemed, would never lose her toilet humour. When she wasn’t talking shit, she was talking about her periods, full stop.

Six months previously, the Meddling Monk had persuaded his friend Ben to allow him to manage his vast earnings. He convincingly implored “I love you Ben, Jesus loves you, you’re a good fellow and I am your friend. I want to take care of you, protect you from those that would choose to deceive you. Praise Be”.

Dave’s “Ministry Of The Love Filled Belly” was awash with investments. Corin’s fortune made by selling hairpieces and tanning products on QVC, John-James DVD profits, and the £35.60 that Andrew had made on his paper round, had all been sunk into the pot.

Having gained charitable status by donating a second hand leg to The Baron, Dave was sitting on a client account in excess of £1,000,000. With a glint in his eye, he pressed a button on his computer and watched a vast sum of money transfer into his bank account. Enough to finance his Christian TV channel. The world was about to meet the greatest televangelist of all time.

Chapter 7

The Meddling Monk was due to embark on a nationwide tour of the arenas. Entitled “Cashing in on the Lord”, Dave was feeling confident. His planned orations included “Papparazi don’t preach” “The resurrection of Josie from her unmade bed”, and “W’assup, your Moliness”

Dr Yvette Sunshine- Crisp was sat at a big Brother sewing machine (some of you ladies will get the pun) stitching pink marabou feather trim to a gaudy, multi-coloured cape. Earlier in the day she had hand embroidered the words OH MY GOD in gold lurex thread, on the back of the garment. The outfit was matched with a pair of form fitting budgie smugglers, and accessorised with some mega bling chunky golden chains.

Dave stood before her in his inoffensive manly nakedness, waiting to try on her stunning creation. “You know how to make a man look the business, Sunshine. I will look great on stage in this get up. I look butch, authoritative and slender. I’yeard you was good at this fashion lark, but this is something else. I look as fine as a servant of the Lord could possibly look. I’ve got huge love for you bubbling in me belly”. “Now cover yourself up you hussy, I can see your bare neck and ankles in that shroud. Where’s the Burkha I gave you wear in my presence? You are an indecent and disrespectful hussy, tempting me with your devils dumplings and black satanic lip gloss.”

Back in Antibes, Ben’s was eating a lark’s tongue sandwich, whilst Corin nibbled on a pickled egg and sipping a glass of Dandelion & Burdock. That familiar uneasy feeling was niggling him yet again. Nothing to do with politically incorrect or foul smelling foodstuffs; it was something instinctive, an impending sense of doom perhaps ?

“Corin, I feel the need to turn my back on this life. I am not happy, I cannot be myself when I’m not in Central London. I yearn for the soot and noise of Marylebone. And when did Molio ever say anything interesting ? Can he hold his own in a conversation about Middle Eastern politics, Biedermeier furniture, Alma Sedgewick, Post Modern Irony ? Does he appreciate the wit and wisdom of Lesley Brain from BB 8 ? Has he ever sniffed a mattress for the RIGHT reasons ? And he knows nothing of the cultural importance of Judy Garland – and no self respecting Queen would admit to that !”

Ben knew that he was just venting and whining. It was not really Molio that was making him unhappy; he actually found a strange comfort in his manservant’s renewed attentions and neediness. On a whim, he picked up the telephone and asked the front desk to place a call to Wales. He needed a few answers from Rasputin after his unlimited credit Black Amex card was rejected in the Casino last night.

At the Hotel du Baseball Cap, Cutie McFoghorn was in the ballroom with The Baron. They were rehearsing for the wedding entertainment “Endemol presents Walkers, Stalkers & Non Stop Talkers”. They had employed Andrew Stone from the Gammon & Pineapple Dance Studio to direct them, and he was becoming extremely annoyed with her non stop jibber jabber and inability to listen.

As hyperactive as a 9 year old after her third bag of Haribo, Cutie was spouting her usual nonsensical, interminable, insistent verbal diatribe, and childishly doing dangerous wheelies in Steve’s state-of-the-art new wheelchair. As she performed a stunt worthy of Evil Knievil, the gears jammed and she hurtled through the open windows, tipped over the balcony and landed mouth first on an ornamental sculpture of a Gaelic phallic symbol. She would never sing, or speak, again.

Dave’s mania and inappropriate use of his friends money was out of control. He hadn’t done anything illegal as such, but Benjamin Duncan had made it clear that this was finally it – their friendship was over. For too long, the Monk had used, and abused his social contacts, in order to feel a sense of self importance and the wad in their wallets.

He needed his Bible. He needed to go to an AA meeting, and a NA meeting whilst he was at it. Life was spinning out of control, and the wail of sirens in the distance did not bode well. “Eviction night is here”, he despaired.

Shortly after they had arrived in France, a tired and exhausted John-James had instigated a 5 minute argument with his significant other. “ I don’t get you, I don’t understand you. Where are you coming from, how can you not think in exactly the same way as me. You must agree with me or I’ll cry. I’ll walk out, I will, and I’ll rub my eyes in front of the paparazzi”....and so it went on, for 15 minutes, for half an hour.

Joe - John was losing his usually placid temper. For someone who made a living by knocking ten colours of shit out of other men, he was a placid soul. As JJ 1 went in for Round 5, head down, crabby eyes screwed up really hard as he forced out mere drops of crocodile tears, the Boxer in JJ2 took over, and he did an Ali shuffle, then served up a perfectly placed punch that laid John-James out on the floor , seeing stars, like a cartoon cat.

He was actually seeing stars, as wedding guests Shirley Bassey, Gloria Hunniford, Louis Spence and Ben Duncan gazed down at him in utter horror. “A lover’s tiff. In public ! How common” Ben declared.

Chapter 8

John-James lay flat out on the tiled floor at Nice Airport, whilst Gloria Hunniford performed First Aid. He wasn’t unconscious, just enjoying her fleshy, mature Irish lips and wondering for the 100th time that month whether it was really the love of a good woman he needed after all. Gloria’s kiss was sweet, her nature was benevolent and sympathetic, her concern was Motherly.

Light bulb moment ! John-James wanted his Mummy. Not the lazy, manipulative, bovine Josie. Not the cute as a button Boxer, Joe-John. Not the girlie or gay-boy groupies that followed him around on Twitter. Just Mummy; the only kind of Sheila a boy could really trust. “I’m sorry JJ2, but I want to just be me again. No more acting, no more fake weeping, no more Earls Court. I’m going home to my Mum.”

Benjamin Duncan left immediately for London, where he met with PEJ to discuss his planned TV vehicle “How Common” which he was due to host with Penelope Keith and Brian Sewell. Corin accompanied him; the launch of her new perfume “Mint” was scheduled for the following week.

Their friendship was destined to be eternal, but forever platonic. Corin could never meet Ben’s exacting romantic requirements; she was not – as far as he knew – a member of a Middle Eastern Royal Family, however much fake tan and mascara she applied.

The court was in session and the Papparazzi crowded round the entrance to the Crown Court in Merthyr Tydfil. Residing over proceedings was the much feared and respected Judge Dread, a former Military General. Unable to prosecute the Meddling Monk for fraud (the investments were misguidedly given freely and without condition) he had instead been charge with conning the public by pretending to be a wheelchair bound disabled person, cured by the Elixir of Lazurus, which he had been selling on his website for £60 per 75ml bottle. The elixir of Lazurus was, in fact , diluted Tesco’s Value Lemon squash.

Judge Dread fined Dave every penny of his accumulated fortune, the investments to be returned (Andrew was very pleased to get his £35.60 paper round wages back, with interest), and banned him from appearing on TV and You Tube ever again, and sentenced him to community service in a lap dancing club where his duties would include wiping the sweat off the dancers G-strings, whilst they were wearing them. The filthy hussys.

John-James had decided that he no longer needed an excuse for the world to revolve around him. So the farce that was to be reported in the Red Tops as “The Greatest Wedding That Never Was” was finally (collective sigh of relief) over.

The Melbourne metrosexual faded back into suburban obscurity in Wonthaggi, Australia, to return to his former occupation as a crash test dummy. He cancelled his Skype account so Josie, the dowdy dweller beneath the dirty duvet , could not contact him.

Molio had been sent ahead to prepare Ben’s apartment, fill the fridge with lobster, a 1978 Montrachet and good cheeses. Flowers had been ordered and a harpist was arriving shortly to play ambient music. Butt naked, modesty covered by his slightly soiled “Kiss the Cock” pinny, Molio dusted the Baby Grand. As often occurred, the abnormally large testicle hung unashamedly low as he flicked his feather duster to and fro. Ben walked in, and did not acknowledge him. He was well practiced at ignoring the obvious.

Chapter 9

2 years later.................

Benjamin Duncan sat in the Grand Salon of his French Chateau in the Loire Valley. He had recently appeared on the BBC genealogy programme “Who Do You Think You Are” and his ancestry had been traced back to Norman nobles.

As the newly discovered and only surviving relative of the Count of Croque Monsieur, he had subsequently inherited the Chateau, an embarrassingly large monetary bequest, several important vineyards and a short sighted tri coloured Basset Hound who he called Sam Pepper, after his young protégé and adopted son. He was Exec Producer of Sam’s hot TV shows – Cat Burgling Ninja Punks and Grafitti Geeks.

Ben split his time between the Chateau and his smart Edwardian Mansion flat in Marylebone, although he was so in demand the world over, in his new role as an Alan Whicker-esqe roving reporter, commenting on travel, politics, music and art. He was now a very wealthy young man, and strangely – now he no longer needed to earn a living – he had become addicted to work and rarely took a day off to relax.

Molio, his manservant and constant companion skipped into the room “Benji mon cheri, I have some ripe and runny Crottin de Chavignol goats cheese, a large glass of Chateau Lafite Rothschild, and some peeled grapes. Stripped of their flesh by my own fair hands, you know. Do eat please, you know you love a bit of Chav with your Claret !

Mario continued, enthused by gossip “And talking of CHAV ! - that tacky nightclub you gifted to Josie, after she ended up begging for your assistance whilst batting her claggy eyelashes and sucking her thumb, has been closed down.”

Mario referred to a list in his pocket; “ For encouraging violent conduct, Vikki Pollardish language abuse, and over tight clothing on plump girls with an aversion to exercise.” Mario continued his oratory, whilst wagging his provocative finger and scratching his over large left testicle discreetly. “Stick with anorexic Middle Eastern Royals, Mahiki and cocktails Ben; not Dubstep and Methadrone dens for your next business venture. Bristol is so de classe these days.”

“The North is where it’s at.” Mario shrieked excitedly “ Stockport is the new Puerto Banus, ever since Corin put it firmly on the map and gave free spray tans and 32 B chicken fillets to pre-pubescent tweenies through her “Princess for a Day” charity programme.”

“That girl will do anything to feel the love. She could never understand those unjust and cruel Twitter campaigns against her, and now she just can’t stop giving back to those poor unfortunates. She runs round all day shrieking “Forgive them for they know not what they do. Buzzin !”

"I wish Dave had never introduced her to The Bible. She says that after Chav Mags and Jordan’s best sellers, it’s now her favourite book.”

Molio sniggered patronisingly. He secretly loved to put the patent boot into Lady Corin, even though the three of them were so inseparable, everyone assumed that they were in a ménage a trios.

Ben had also forgiven Dave – and allowed him to manage his seminars for grief stricken Ben supporters. “Ben-addictine – the Monk can heal your pain”. Many Bennites had been saddened by Ben’s torrid affair with the lovely Helena, John – James Mother. The Ben Brigade were crushed. The dalliance with the glamorous Australian yummy mummy had lasted a mere few months, but they had grabbed ever column inch in the trashy press ever since he had taken up with the attractive older lady. The supportive Ben-addictine campaign had saved many a Ben fan from lunging at the Latour and stuffing their face with foie gras in despair.

One good thing came of that short lived liaison. John James scooted back to Melbourne as fast as his skinny little boy legs could carry him, tears dripping from his crabby eyes and constantly muttering misogynist comments to everyone that would listen. Ben was forever known by him as the Mutha Fuc*er.

By that time, no one had the slightest interest in what John-James had to say. His famous for 5 minutes moment had imploded anyway, as soon as his Brokeback Mountain relationship and planned Marriage for Money plans with JJ fell apart, revealed for the fake farce that it actually was.

Ben flinched, guilty as charged. Molio was right – Ben had been such a soft touch since he made his fortune. He had bought The Baron the latest hi tech leg technology, funded Andrews research into nuclear fusion, bankrolled Corin’s QVC shows to sell her perfume “Mint” and even paid for Molio to become a space tourist on the Virgin Galactic venture – to infinity and beyond – in search of aliens of course.

Molio never admitted that he had actually spent the money in Soho’s seedier fetish clubs and on cosmetic surgery for his abnormally large testicle. The testicular operation was successful. It remained abnormally large but was now tattooed with a remarkable likeness of Ben’s face on the surface of the skin.

And Ben, forever well mannered, pretended never to notice it when Molio flounced butt naked around the room on a regular basis. “Testicular Tattoos”, Ben thought at the time. “How Common”.

Chapter 10 – a taster

The paparazzi pushed and shoved, thrusting flashing cameras into Benjamin Duncan’s face, which he covered with a silk fan. He hunched down and ran from the doorway of his Edwardian Mansion flat, to an awaiting limousine.

Even after 10 years in the public eye, Ben commanded a place on the front pages of the tabloids. His career had been stratospheric, culminating in his much lauded work with Bono and Geldof, raising money to end world poverty, provide pianoforte lessons for inner city children, and a distribution programme of free Ray Ban aviators to unemployed former Reality TV contestants.

He also had his own charity, Foppish Fashion for Freedom Fighters, which distributed customised military “Libertines” jackets to clothes conscious former soldiers. He would have preferred to go down the prosthetic leg route, worrying that fashion may be perceived as frivolous, but Josie Gibson had bagged that highly desirable Patronage for herself.

Molio was waiting in the car, engine running, speaking urgently into a BlackBerry. His role as manservant had evolved; he was now Ben’s Manager (although he still liked to wear the PVC gimp suit on Sundays).

“Ben – I’ve had Corin on the ‘phone. She’s in LA with Coolio, Verne Troyer and Dennis Rodman, and I think she has found herself in a compromising situation. Apparently the other guests include three hookers from the Pussy Ranch, Charlie Sheen, Heidi Fleiss and a camera crew.”

Ben sighed. Corin’s trusting attitude and spirit of “lovin’ it” has got her into deep water more than once. Normally able to control herself and handle all volatile situations with her sharp tongue and steely gaze, she lost her head a little when in the face of American Celebrity, and the thought of a night or two in Las Vegas playing the slots.

After being spurned by weasel faced JJ, Corin decided never to set her cap at two bit British boxers again; it was Hollywood all the way. “Get Dicky Branson to arrange a flight for her please Molio; call Aisleyne Horgan-Wallace and request that she send her friend, Mike Tyson, over to Coolio’s house in case Corin needs an escort. Do it now !” Ben raised his voice and spoke decisively “Her honour as a Lady may be at risk”.

Having dropped Molio off in Soho at “Club Whip Me Spank Me”, the limousine sped silently towards the Home Counties, and Ben’s secret liaison with Britain’s favourite, mature, Swedish, Yummy Mummy.

Yes, he was Ulrika Johnson’s secret lover, and unbeknown to anyone else, the father of her as yet unborn child. Ben had always wanted children; he couldn’t wait to put the announcement in the Times, and a mere few years later receive those little tear stained notes from boarding school.

Having been a pillar of support after her latest husband choked on a cold meatball from the Ikea smorgasbord, he had comforted Ulkrika in her desolate widowhood. Unable to resist an older woman, he found himself in her bed one night after filming the Ultimate Come Dine With Me.

Elsewhere, Josie Gibson was clad in lycra, dripping in sweat, and circling her ample hips in time to the music. “I am a Cider Drinker” was amplified around the studio. Her latest project was a Wurzels Wicked Workout DVD. Josie did crunches and lifted small cans of cider to a soundtrack of “Blackbird, I’ll ‘ave eee” and “I’ve got a Brand New Combine Harvester”.

A life size cardboard cut out of her best friend, Davina McCall, looking slender and toned in her skimpy workout clothes, stood in the corner. “Tell you what Derviner, this DVD malarkey isn’t easy. Thanks for coming and giving me support. I’d find it hard to do without you, I’m not a celebrity, I’m just normal”. Josie often had conversations with the cardboard cut out. She hadn’t seen the real Davina since the final night of BB11.

Her producers were a little worried about the inclusion of “Blackbird, I’ll ‘ave eee” in case her former Big Brother supporters jumped to politically (in)correct assumptions, that it was a racist comment, and wanted to change the words to the equally politically incorrect “Fat Bird, I’ll ‘ave eee” and film it with Josie chasing a rival for John-James affections (Caoimhe Guilfoyle’s name had been mooted) down the road.

Josie stood her ground. “It’s a Bristol anthem, and Adge Cutler was not one to offend, God rest his Bristolian soul.” She rolled over a large exercise ball, and promptly burst it – whilst “Never mind the Bullocks, we’re the Wurzels” played at full volume in the background. “Oh Buggering Bugger” she exclaimed. “I give up” and helped herself to a Ginsters pastie.

Ben ran his hands through his messy bed hair, politely turned to his Swedish mistress and thanked her for the sex (in his head, he said it in a Scandanavian accent), but inwardly cringed because it was all a bit messy and sticky for his liking.

“Ben. I have something to show you” whispered Ulrika. She slithered back down on the bed, lay on her back and for one VERY worrying moment Ben thought she was asking him to perform again. “Check this out” she giggled. Her tummy seemed to move involuntarily, lumpy and bumpy, as if an alien was within. His face was a picture, a mix of horror and joy. Was his mistress about to give birth to ET ? Was this normal ?

“Umm, Benji dahling, I know I said I was preggers but to be honest, I think it’s just my windypops playing up again. I eventually got round to doing a test, and it appears I am not with child after all”. Ulkrikakakaka sniggered “Sorry if I got your hopes up, but I think it’s for the best. I’m a real family kind of gal, you are a confirmed Bachelor, and somehow I can’t see you playing Daddy to my brood – five is maybe too many. No hard feelings ?”.

Ben exhaled slowly. At that moment he knew that he was relieved. He tried very hard not to be a judgemental person, but secretly felt that to be a father of a child, to a woman who already had four by four differents fathers - well, he couldn't help but feel it was a tiny little bit Jeremy Kyle. And Jeremy Kyle was not his style. He was Whicker. And Whicker, is slicker.

If he was going to father a child he had hoped for one of those cute little Malawians his friend Madonna had adopted, or even a Cambodian toddler as cute as Maddox Jolie-Pitt. And no icky sex with Widows required – the novelty of that had worn off a long time ago. It reminded him, rather sordidly, of his escort days.

The time had come to make a big decision; just what did Benjamin Duncan, Celebrity and Man about Town, hope to achieve with his life.

Everything was so simple back in the day. A decision was made, just like that. Ben was going "Back to Basics".

Back to the days of bagging free lunches, buying clothes in charity shops, schmoozing minor middle eastern royalty with Raef, no businesses, no responsibility for Molio and his abnormally large testicle, and Corin's QVC perfume "Mint", and Steve's legs, and Josie's failed nightclub, and John-James and JJ's failed bromance, and his own daliances with Mrs Parton and Ms Jonsson, no hanging out with Elton and David (who were, quite frankly, too bitchy even for Ben), back to the days when he had never heard of the Glory.

Would he take this journey alone - or would he take Molio with him, just for company ?

Penultimate chapter

Back to Basics, known as B2B, was Ben Duncan’s latest TV project. Not a bedsit in Balham (south of the river – how common!) nor a semi in Surrey. He had somehow been persuaded to stay in a mobile home in Essex. Ben was always amused by mobile homes, as they never moved or went anywhere. Unfortunately, he had returned from a wild night playing Scrabble in Beach Blanket Babylon with Rex Newmark, who had driven his RangeRover a little carelessly through the rows of static caravans and knocked Ben’s rental mobile home off the supporting breeze blocks.

It had listed to one side ever since, which was most disconcerting and made Ben feel slightly nauseous and all at sea. A useful experience in the event, as next week it was decided that he would be staying on a tiny houseboat (which he desperately hoped was moored near Chelsea Harbour – so convenient for Sloane Square) and the week after that, he was roughing it with the homeless under Waterloo Bridge. He secretly expected that either William or Harry Wales might drop in with a hot chocolate for him. The Princes were great supporters of the Centrepoint charity. Ben and Wills were both alumni of St. Andrews and our hero hoped that he could rely on fraternal loyalty.

Being homeless sounded rather horrid. Whilst Ben had often been without a permanent abode, he had a vast choice of guest bedrooms to choose from within his social network. As long as Ben had his crates of Jazz albums with him, that was home.

A month after filming B2B had finished, he was despatched by BackDoor Management to a farmhouse in rural Gloucestershire to meet with his biographer, Babycakes Von Muffling, in the village of Upper Bottom. Babycakes and Ben had become firm friends after she had written a fictional journal based on Ben’s life, back in the dying days of Big Brother.

They had kept in touch occasionally over the years, and when Ben was invited to be a Guest Director at the Cheltenham Jazz Festival, Babycakes had taken Ben under her wing, hosted parties to introduce him to other music aficionados, and shown him the rural delights of the Cotswolds. He had fallen in love with the Von Muffling family, and was particularly fond of her son, Fauntleroy. Babycakes was the natural choice to collaborate with Ben on the book of his life. From fictional, to factual. From Bennite, to beloved friend.

Ben and Babycakes had been working hard all day, delving into Bens past to dig the dirt and divulge the detail for his life story. It was a fascinating account, but he was so vague and equivocal at times, particularly when recalling the Big Brother events. It didn’t help that they had delved into the archives of Digital Spy, into ancient WHATM threads. Ben didn’t recognise the events described. Crikey, he didn’t even recognise himself from the accounts given by people who obviously hadn’t liked him very much.

“Babycakes, this is so frustrating. Some people just didn’t understand me back then. I wasn’t unkind, I wasn’t a total bitch. A gossip, and a tease; yes. Dark humoured, definitely. If I have to explain myself, they will never understand." He gesticulated grandly “I am like jazz. You either get it, or you don’t”.

Ben also claimed to simply not remember much of what was said by the other housemates, stating “if they didn’t have anything amusing or interesting to say, which most often, they didn’t, I simply switched off or hummed the symphonies of Shostakovich in my head. I had finished the Symphony No. 5 by time Steve had give his skewed account of European History, and his blinkered view of war. Marvellous use of timpani, by the way. ”

His frustrated biographer sighed, and wished Ben could clear his head of the dusty cobwebs. The readership would want to know about Big Brother – it wasn’t a chapter in his life that could simply be condensed into one short chapter of a book.

Ben had long had an obsession with the here and now, a short satisfaction span, and a lust to collect as many experiences and stories as possible. Unfortunately, he had so many interesting encounters, he now found that he couldn’t clearly remember them all. He had relied heavily on kiss and tells in the tabloids to remind him of who he was supposed to be dating or having dinner with next Tuesday. OK Magazine was better informed than his iPhone. But his reputation as a player was unfounded. He was a total gentleman.

“Ben, you really do get the wrong end of the stick sometimes” Babycakes admonished him, whilst patting his hand fondly. “When it was decided that you needed to go back to basics, it was not meant to be an excuse to make yet another reality TV show. The genre has had its day, and you need to rest. Take stock of your life. You don’t need any more money. So go away somewhere where you can just be yourself. Relax darling, and hopefully all the stress will disappear from your life and you can concentrate on the book when you get back. I can’t work with you whilst your head is full of current projects. Writing a book like this is like therapy, but you need to be in the right frame of mind in the first place.”

Lecture over, they opened a bottle of gin, stoned a few Tuscan olives, and mixed an explosive martini; shaken not stirred. They sat in comfort in front of the fire, and in relaxed companionship, gossiped drunkenly about Joan Collins and Rupert Everett. Joan was cast to play Ben's Mother in a film about his life, and Rupert was to be Ben in his later years. Ben's Mother did not resemble Joan in the slightest, but this had been overlooked in order for Ben to have a little of La Collins in his life. Rupert on the other hand would fit the bill nicely, as long as he could be persuaded not to badger the interns for sexual favours in his trailer.

So Ben was going back to his roots, in an effort to throw off the shackles of his work and recent past. He disembarked from the plane at Geneva airport, was whisked with Swiss efficiency through Customs and welcomed into the waiting arms of his Mother. Home, after all, is where the heart is. For too long, when sharing his life with Molio, to paraphrase Ms Esther Phillips, home was where the hatred was, and that life was now over.

Molio was out of the picture. Their relationship had been irreparably damaged when Benjamin Duncan had decided against funding Molio’s rather avant garde fashion collection (Ben couldn’t see himself wearing a smoking jacket made of bubble wrap and adorned with sweet wrappers) and unsurprisingly, Molio hadn’t stuck around for long when the Bank of Ben was closed. Ben’s new PR manager Gemmie J, and his Personal Assistant, Miss Betti Barclay-Card made sure that Ben changed his phone number.

One night, in Club Whip Me Spank Me, Molio met a rather old and ugly Eastern European Oligarch who had made his fortune in latex. They ran away together to live a life of vulgar and unabashed luxury. Ben didn’t begrudge Molio leaving his employment or his life, but Mrs. Angel Butplug (yes, that Angel, the former BB housemate), the spurned Russian wife, took the Latex King to the cleaners. Luckily, his bank account had been wiped as clean as a used latex gimp suit, and there was plenty left in the pot for Viktor Butplug and Molio to live happily ever after.

Switzerland was a place that was safe, homely and comfortable. He had family and roots here. It was a place for him to breathe, to just “be”. A place to take stock and for a new beginning.

Ben Duncan gazed upon the magnificence of the Matterhorn, catching his breath before he skied back on the Klein Matterhorn run towards Zermatt, to meet with Lady Corin. He mused fondly, automatically raising an eyebrow in the manner of Roger Moore, wondering how the latest cosmetic surgery had altered her.

Last time they had met, he barely recognised her. Her brow lift had been a bit of a botch job, which left her with one eyebrow higher than the other. Corin was devastated. Her arched eyebrows were her trademark, and she didn’t take kindly to Ben grinning at the sight of her unfortunate appearance. His claim that her right eyebrow now lent her a little of the Roger Moore charisma had not amused her in the slightest. She was a far bigger fan of Pussy Galore.

Ben’s money had rectified the bad cosmetic work and soon cheek implants, lip fillers, semi permanent eyebrow tattoos, a Brazilian buttock lift and bouffant hair implants had all been skilfully administered. Corin now resembled a very orange Davina McCall, albeit with a much cuter nose. She was the pin up girl for Rhinoplasty work worldwide.

On the occasions that Corin & Davina had both attended the same events, it was very confusing. Only their facial expressions allowed Ben to tell them apart. Corin’s face was not mobile due to the regular use of Botox, whilst Davina, on the other hand, still gurned and grinned with manic trademark gusto. Since Big Brother finished, her main contract was presenting the World Gurning Championships at the Egremont Crab Fair.

Ben was happily humming the theme to The Spy Who Loved Me, musing all the while that Sheena Easton (the original reality TV princess) was no Bassey, as he confidently traversed the hills of a particularly tricky red run, and carved sharp furrows in the freshly fallen snow. Although generally useless at sports, Ben could ski competantly having spent many of his childhood holidays in Switzerland. His tall, lean frame also looked particularly good in fashionable ski wear. His slate grey Moncler outfit was the height of chic. It also photographed well in the pages of GQ, in which he regularly featured on the best dressed lists.

Ben was accompanied by Rikard Verence, a local ski instructor who (depending on which local gossip one listened to) had supposedly either been a former member of the Swiss Guard at the Vatican, an Olympic medallist in the Turin Winter Olympics, a James Bond stuntman or a defected General from the former KGB.

Ben loved a bit of intriguing gossip as much as the next person, but he was no wiser as to Verence’s true identity. At this moment, he did not care. He just wanted to get down the tricky mountain safely and in time to meet Corin as arranged, for some gently bitchy, gossipy fun and après ski.

Lady Corin was staying in a nearby Canton, and had motored over for the day to enjoy shopping and après ski with Ben. Corin’s title was not just an amusing misnomer; she had “married up”. A handsome , young Labour politician, from a long line of aristocrats with a tradition of public service. Ben had been attending a Garden Party at Lord Mandleson’s country pile, and taken Corin as his guest and it was thunderballs at dawn for the love struck politician. Literally. His balls ached for days, and the guests in the adjacent hotel room had made a strong complaint about the language and volume of the romping twosome.

The enigma that was Rikard Verence was worried about a possible avalanche. He had received a warning message that there were high risks today, due to the recent heavy snowfall, so he pushed Ben hard to keep apace. “Off piste Ben, through the trees and sharp to the left, follow me and keep your weight on the valley ski” he called to the gangling figure trailing just behind him.

Rikard had also noticed that whichever route they had taken that day, two not so shadowy figures had been a short distance behind them. They stood out, mainly because they were dressed in matching powder blue outfits which looked suspiciously like they had been purchased in TK Maxx. “Bloody journalists” Rikard muttered darkly. He was often employed by celebrities and his role was to be as much of a bodyguard as it was to improve their ski skills.

They were meeting Lady Corin for Gluwein at the Grand Hotel Zermatterhof. Ben arrived at the bar of the restaurant, joined Corin at their reserved table and peeled down his shiny salopettes, which were making him feel a little sweaty. Ben did not sweat – he thought it common.

“I could gaze at the ‘Horn all day” sighed Corin, gazing appreciatively at Ben’s still slender and youthful body. She sipped at her warm and spicy beverage. “It’s so proud and erect. This area of Switzerland always makes me think of you”. “I won’t come here again” Ben said, rather sniffily and bltantly ignoring her crass innuendo. “Too many Russians nowadays. Next time we ski we should try Beaver Creek in Colorado”. Corin wrinkled her new nose; as proud and erect as the Matterhorn was, she did rather like the idea of Beaver.

L’Oreal model Dusky Evermore walked sedately through the restaurant, neat and trim in Chanel and a long sable coat, she looked a million dollars. As well she should; she was worth it. Ben couldn’t take his eyes of her mesmerising face, a face that seemed more than familiar.

The Final Instalment..............coming soon

Bitter Orange Icecream

2010-07-13T13:21:00.001+01:00

1 x 600ml tub double cream
Zest & juice of one orange
Zest of one lime & juice of 2 limes
175g icing sugar
(optional) dash of orange bitters

Put everything into a bowl and whip to soft peaks. Freeze for 3-5 hours in a sealed container. Remove from freezer 15 minutes before eating - brilliant with anything chocolately ;-)

The World Cup

2010-07-13T13:04:00.005+01:00

Can I wake up now ? Is it over ? The best thing about the world cup was that one of those clever Waitrose ads introduced me to Delia's Saltimbocca recipe, made with pork rather than politically incorrect (huh, like I care !) veal.
Oooh Lordy Lordy. It's delicious.

www.deliaonline.com/recipes/main-ingredient/pork/pork-saltimbocca.html

Bailey

2010-07-13T12:58:00.006+01:00

Meet Bailey Martinez. He is an international jet set Shitzu, who spilts his time between Marbella and Cheltenham. Sadly, Bailey is not mine. He belongs to my uber glam model friend, Julia. Bailey comes to stay whilst Julia is living her equally jet set life, and fits into our house full of dogs and cats as if he has lived here all of his life. Dog walking has never looked more like a Pride Parade.

Spoilt Brat

2010-07-13T12:22:00.005+01:00

It's July, which signals the annual move for my son, from one flat to another, in his University hometown, Bristol. He has already been a student for 5 years, it seems like 10. Once upon a time students were despatched with a bean bag, a saucepan, and a cookery book entitled "1001 ways with Jacket Potatoes". Not my boy. Like Mother like Son. Brought up by a Mother who preferred to do her weekly shop in Selfridges Food Hall, he regularly calls me for cooking tips. " Mum", he wails, "I'm rustling up a scallop and chorizo rissotto. Which rice should I use, Arboria or Carnaroli ?"

He has had flats in some of the most beautiful buildings in Bristol, 18th buildings with character, once occupied by the rich merchants. Student life is not what it used to be. The smug little gits ;-)

So the Jag is filled with his (duck down, he insists on it) duvets, speakers, laptops, vinyl, top end saucepans and woks, and bags upon bags of fresh laundry (I dipped out here, and rather sluttishly sent it to the local service wash). I note there are no work books; odd when he has 3 modules to resit next month.

Life is always a little more dull when Fauntleroy isn't around, but I shall look forward to the regular call with his cookery FAQ, "Mother - how long in the oven for a 1kg fillet of beef" (18 minutes darling, after searing, then rest for the same, and how the *!?$ can you afford that !)

Time Flies

2010-07-13T11:26:00.004+01:00

I have been a very naughty blogger; I let life run away with me and neglected to attend to The Secret Speakeasy. So here I am, to dust off the cobwebs and rearrange the furniture.

A lot has been happening in Nightingale World. I have decided to go back to work; John's recovery from an aquired brain injury is progressing well and I need to get back in touch with the outside world. So, in less than two weeks time I will become the new PA to the Directors of One Creative Environments, an architectural design practice. Having spent the last five years working within the design & build sector, I know this job will fit me like a glove.

I have also had my own cow named after me. Ali lives in New South Wales, Australia on the "ranch" owned by one of my BF's, Janine Snow (Princess Nini of Snowland - she rules Wales you know !)

I adore Highland Cattle, and Ali is a beauty. I only hope she doesn't end up like Colin, another of Janine's bovine entourage. He is now packaged up in her kitchen, marked as Scottish fillet and lean mince :-(

From the Archives: Restaurant review - Lu Disiu, Castelvetrano, Sicily

2010-04-27T23:31:00.006+01:00

This was on our list of "to do" restaurants as recommended by the wise and helpful TA (Trip Advisor) forum member, vagabonda, and I am so glad we found it. The food is really lovely, the service gracious, the restaurant itself is very charming. It was the best restaurant we visited in Sicily by a mile. If you are visiting Western Sicily, please take my advice and eat there. You will eat one of the most delicious Italian meals of your life.

Tucked away In a side street adjascent to a church on a tiny piazza (we would never have found it if I hadn't been given directions) you are welcomed into a intimate space painted in a sunny yellow. Rather smarter than some of the seafood restarants we ate at, it definately has a town rather than a beach vibe, but not so formal that you would ever feel uncomfortable. On the contrary we received the warmest welcome from a very handsome and charming young man, and the service was great.

Between us - his basic English and our phrase book Italian - we decided on a meal of meat rather than fish (we were totally fished out by this point !)

In the traditional Italian way we ate antipasti - divine marinated, baked and pickled vegetables, parma ham wrapped around a smoky mozzarella, a delightful stuffed mushroom and a little baked radicchio stuffed with rice. Then tagliatelli with the addition of almost meaty porcini mushrooms (my husband thinks it was the best pasta he has ever had !) and then a meat course of two baby lamb cutlets, served alongside layers of ham stuffed with cheese and walnuts, crumbed and baked alongside onion and pepper. It was just the most delicous meal. Seemingly simple, but really complex and extraordinary subtle flavours than made our taste buds burst. I love the way Sicilians use fennel - just barely there but it transforms some of their food.

Finished our meal off with a semi frozen lemon mousse, on the lightest flan, which was topped with a heavenly lemon granita. That pudding is one of the most memorable I have ever eaten.

We eschewed our normal Planeta (delicious Sicilian wine from the region) and drank a simple vino di tavoleh which was 10 Euros and nicer than many of the "smarter" wines we had been buying on our trip.

I can't recommend this little restaurant highly enough - a real taste of Sicily, a warm welcome from our hosts (the lovely chef kept popping out of the kitchen, delighted to see how much we were enjoying his food).

87 Euros for 2 inc tax and wine. We pay 3 times that in some of the UK's smart restaurants which are often style over substance. This was stylish, more than satisfying, yet still remarkably traditional.

Ristorante superbo !

Lu Disiu
Via XXIV Maggio, 14
91022 Castelvetrano (TP)

From the Archives: Restaurant review - Da Vittorio, Portopalo de Menfi, Sicily

2010-04-27T22:55:00.004+01:00

We weren't so wowed by Da Vittorio at Portopalo de Menfi, which had rave comments on the internet and was decribed by the Guardian's food critic as his favourite place to eat in the world. I know food and hospitality is a very subjective experience, but everything I had read about this restaurant led me to expect the Wow factor - and sadly we felt Da Vittorio was a little lacklustre.
The portions were generous, and we had initially ordered an attractive platter of seafood antipasti and the waiter accepted our order, but just before we were served, a woman who I presumed to be the Manageress, came to us and explained (without a smile) that we HAD to have three courses and the antipasti was simply the first course.
Now I know that it's the traditional way to eat in Sicily, but sometime you simply aren't that hungry and to be almost bullied into ordering courses you didn't want seemed so unecessary.
However we did enjoy the second course regardless. It was good seafood, a lovely spaghetti dish with lobster, clams, prawn and mussels, but we felt almost press-ganged into ordering a huge meal that neither of us really wanted. We just weren't hungry enough to enjoy it.
Other people seemed to come in and have just one course, but maybe our wallets were glowing, and we felt like we were treated like tourists.
I certainly didn't experience this in other local restaurants. Overall the atmosphere left us a bit cold and they weren't as welcoming as other places we visited. I'd rather have saved the 90 Euros (antipasti, shared pasta and sorbeta with 2 beers) and blown it at the fabulous Lu Disiu in Castelvetrano.
For a restaurant with such a stellar reputation, the seafood was good but not incredible. I've had better in Australia, in Africa, in Spain. Disappointing when you consider than Sicily is synonomous with seafood.
A far better seafood experience was the clam and mussel soup flavoured with fennel that we had at the family diner, Pierrot's in Marinella de Selinunte. That cost about 5 Euros !
We did however see the famed bare chested Vittorio, but he wasn't cooking that lunch time, choosing to lounge on a chair outside the kitchen door instead !
So overall verdict - pretty good, but not as good as the rave reviews indicate.

The French Chateau: Les vacances à Aquitaine 2007

2010-04-22T16:41:00.006+01:00

A brief review as we only stayed one night. I chose Bouliac as a destination as we were dining at one of my favourite restaurants nearby (at the Hotel Saint James, where we were unable to book a room even 2 months in advance !). Bouliac is a mere 10 km from Bordeaux; one of my favourite French cities and a place I have returned to repeatedly.
Chateau du Pian is a charming French "posh B&B" experience. The Chateau has that wonderful yet typical mix of formality and yet almost casual welcoming of guests into the family home. A plentiful breakfast and lots of invaluable advice and tourist tips from our English speaking host, Hervé Chatellier.
I wouldn't personally want to stay in a Chateau for more than one or two nights - they often lack some of the expected services and ingratiating professional touches offered by hotels - but it's a "must do" on the check list for anyone holidaying in France and travelling around. The Chateau du Pian offers that experience very nicely - some will think this is a fabulous house filled with the chattels of generations past; others will think it lacks a professional touch and is bordering on a cliche, but that is part of the charm.
This is a subjective opinion of course; one man's Ritz is another man's Travelodge and it's hard to categorise what the Chateau du Pian actually offers the seasoned traveller with high and sophisticated expectations. There are Chateaux that offer ultimate and haughty granduer, and others that offer a sad and dusty glimpse into a tarnished mirror reflecting days gone by. The Chateau Pian sits rather comfortably, and proudly, in the middle. The house in itself is really very beautiful.
All I can say in conclusion is that we thoroughly enjoyed our brief interlude (and the first night of our French holiday) in this emblamatic example of a Bon Vacance.
A truly charming hostelry, and a very pleasant and helpful host

Travel review - Sun Rocks in Santorini

2010-04-22T16:06:00.014+01:00

We holidayed in Santorini and stayed in Firostefani (forever known as Gwen Stefani) at the beautiful Sunrocks, which is carved into the side of the Caldera - the lip of the Volcano. It was probably the last week of the tourist season. Many of the bars and restaurants were winding up to close down for the summer by mid October. Sunrocks still seemed to be full though, it takes booking through to the end of the month.

It is a very chic and stylish boutique hotel, the staff are very professional, the rooms are gorgeous; whitewashed troglodyte caves. However we did feel there was an element of style over substance.

The much feted menu at the intimate restaurant was lovely, but wasn't as good as other restaurants in the area (try Vanilla or our favourite, Saltsa, a mere ten minutes walk on the main road) The food is nice, just not as wonderful as the management seem to think it is !

Our suite was fabulous, but beware when booking that your balcony does not face away from the sun. We nabbed a mere hour or so the end of the day. Many of the balconys are not private as the steps are right next to you. My suggestion is to ask for a sun facing terrace when booking. The pool is cold but that's not unusual in the Med. And I wish that Sunrocks would invest in more comfortable sun loungers - we sun worshippers like a little padding !

The steep steps are killers, but I got used to them within a day or two, and that's part of Santorini's charm. The flatter side of the island is not half as charming as Fira, Firastefani or Oia. However the morning after I first tackled the many steps I literally couldn't walk, and hobbled like an old woman. I was actually overtaken by an elderly lady , with a zimmer frame, as I gingerly attempted to walk through the marbled streets of nearby Oia. And speaking of Oia, it's a must do destination for the incredible sunsets.

Back to Sunrocks: My main niggle is probably a little bit selfish. There was a wedding party at the hotel during our stay which seemed to take over the quiet privacy of the rest of the guests and spoiled the couples ambience that the hotel promotes - chatty family and friends of the happy couple constantly at the pool, including a small baby, which changed the nature of the romantic idyll that my husband and I were expecting. They generated a group dynamic, which wasn't what I wanted from my chosen residence on this trip. I wanted a quiet, relaxing and romantic time with my husband and expected the other guests at the hotel to be sympathetic to the desired atmosphere.

Hotel costs for the week with a few meals, room service and drinks was approx £1350 for the two of us staying in a Junior Suite. Certainly not cheap, but all in all I think it's fair for the standard.

It's a super little hotel; just not quite as top notch as it would like to be.

Ode to ForeverMod (a poem written to Janine when she was emigrating)

2010-04-22T13:15:00.003+01:00

To lose a best friend is careless, but I’m not known for being tidy
But let’s go back to when we met – I’m sure it was a Friday
A jaunt to the Black Country; a room shared with a stranger
I should have know that instant, my sanity was endangered

Announcing boldy to the staff “We’re lesbians you know …
This is my Mummy Alison and I am Janine Snow”
Although I didn’t know it, I had gained my own pet Mod
It took a while to realise that she was a frightful sod

But hey, I gained a daughter ( a mere few years younger )
For Cider, Slimfast and Cheese String, she had insatiable hunger
Arriving weekly at my home with bottles of champagne
Generous of spirit, but headfu*ked in the brain

We travelled Britain’s motorways in search of soulful times
The Highway code forgotten, committing driving crimes
A text sent here, nails painted there, deftly actioned and applied
Crashes, scrapes and writes offs – she took all in her stride

I’ve witnessed her ascent to heights so dizzy and alarming
Crowned Princess of Snowland and yet down to earth and charming
A spoilt brat, a naughty child, a nightmare adolescent
Nini somehow pulls it off – the best anti-depressant

I’ll miss the Minx, the Monkey, the Modernist Mademoiselle
I’m sorry that I cannot be there to wish her fond farewell
Goodbye my dearest cowbag, our wicked pretend daughter
I promise we’ll visit you in Oz - come hell or high water

You’ve been a total diamond; best friend in times of woe
Maybe we should make a stand, refuse to let you go
You fly away to the Promised Land of sun and glistening sea
Just take the time to think of us, Darling Persephone

Virgin Blogger

2010-03-19T23:49:00.000Z

I have now been blogging for, ooh let me see, about four hours. After years of lurking, snooping, watching and listening, throwing myself headlong into the fray of message boards, forums, MySpace and Facebook - I have finally blogged for the very first time.

Initially I decided to do this so I could improve the format for the Gluttony Group that I started a while ago on Facebook; I found the format a bit limiting and the display is useless for recipes and food tips.

I feel dirty and used but I like it. I have joined the merry throng of internet narcissists who talk about me, me, me. However, as I am not one to blow my own trumpet I will try to use this site for something a little bit more interesting than the middle aged Domestic Goddess that I am (see, the self obsession bug has bitten me already). Not much to see yet but watch this space.

Headway

2010-03-19T21:28:00.000Z

Headway is a charity that works to improve life after brain injury. My husband John, at the age of 47, had a sudden and unexpected brain haemorrhage which was caused by a ruptured aneurysm in October 2009.

He is now making a steady recovery; he is one of the lucky ones. There are guys that were in the hospital at the same time as him that are still there and will be for some time. But the challenges these people meet when they leave hospital are many and varied. There is, of course, outpatient rehabilitation available, but this tends to slow to a trickle. A couple of one hour Physiotherapy appointments a month, an occasional meeting with an Occupational Therapist or a Psychologist. It's just not enough assistance to help people re-engage with the world as they once knew it.

The impetus to raise money for Action for Brain Injury week, 17th - 23rd May 2010, came not from John's condition, but from the heart breaking sight of those people lying in the Critical Care beds next to him. Young men who had been knocked off their bicycles, Mum's who had been knocked down by a car as they crossed the road, teenagers who had a sudden bleed in the head for no apparent reason, a frail pensioner who had fallen and hit her skull. This can happen to any of us, to one of your friends, to your parents, your children, your spouse. Whilst the NHS will do all they can, it's the after care at home and in the community that really benefits from the support that Headway can give.

An email arrived today, a mailout from Headway announcing the date of their fund raising week. It is so easy to ignore these mail shots and it's not as if I haven't got enough on my plate at the moment, but with a little effort, a bit of charm and persuasion, I hope to be able to raise funds in order to help in some small way. I have given up work to help support and care for my husband, but I want to use some of my spare time to do something positive for other people in the same situation, particularly those who might not have the fantastic support that I have from friends and family.

It would be all too easy to sit around all day long eating chocolate and listening to old records (which is what I really, really want to do !)

I'll be updating the blog as soon as I have put all the ideas that are running around my head in order, and hope that anyone that can help me will get in touch.

Headway website http://www.headway.org.uk/home.aspx

My favourite e-mail round robin

2010-03-19T20:20:00.000Z

Important Women’s Health Issue:

Do you have feelings of inadequacy?
Do you sometimes feel overwhelmed by the world?
Do you suffer from shyness or awkwardness in some situations?
Do you feel tired and overworked?
Do you sometimes wish you were more assertive?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, ask your doctor or
pharmacist about Margaritas.

Margaritas are the safe, natural way to feel better and more confident
about yourself and your actions.
Margaritas can help ease you out of your shyness and let you tell the
world that you’re ready and willing to
do just about anything. You will notice the benefits of Margaritas almost
immediately and with a regimen of
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Stop suffering and start living, with Margaritas.

Margaritas may not be right for everyone. Women who are pregnant,
nursing, watching the Home Shopping Network, or meeting their lover’s
parents for the first time should not use Margaritas. However, women who
got ahold of their ex-husband’s credit card or wouldn’t mind becoming
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Side effects may include:

– Dizziness
– Nausea
– Vomiting
– The inability to modulate the volume of your voice
– Incarceration
– Erotic lustfulness
– Loss of motor control
– Loss of clothing
– Loss of money
– Loss of virginity
– Table dancing
– Headache
– Dehydration
– Dry mouth
– And a desire to sing Karaoke or grab the microphone out of Taylor
Swift’s hand while she is excepting a VMA.

WARNINGS:
– The consumption of Margaritas may make you think that you can solve
everyone’s problems.
– The consumption of Margaritas may make you think you are whispering
when you are not.
– The consumption of Margaritas may cause you to tell your friends over
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– The consumption of Margaritas may cause you to think you can sing
really good.
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– The consumption of Margaritas may make you think your ex-lover wants to
hear from you at 3:00 a.m.
– The consumption of Margaritas may make you think that the bathroom
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Please share this with other women who may need Margaritas.