Post by spookychoppy on Apr 26, 2006 18:45:23 GMT
France was brilliant. I’d enjoyed every minute of it. It was warm – exceptionally so for September – and I’d picked up a few cooking tips to try at home. These mostly involved the use of wine in varying amounts. I remember how excited I was when I’d splashed out on a sauté pan. I get excited about such things you see and this one was a very nice copper-bottomed one which I admired virtually every night of the holiday. I was dying to get home to try it.
The shop that sold me this wonderful creation was across the road from the hotel and while everyone else was in the swimming pool or the bar, I’d be nipping over the road for a look.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I nearly got run over crossing that road…looking left instead of right. I made up a poem to remember it :
Don’t look left, look right
Left is daft , and right is right
Well I never claimed to be a poet!!!! ... but it stuck in my head and I was fine with it.
It used to strike me as funny that the Brits were the only one’s who knew which side of the road to drive on. I wonder how things got so daft , historically I mean, that we would end up driving on a different side to the rest of the civilised world. Must be that British Bulldog spirit thingy that saw us through so many wars. Then again it might just be another one of them funny do’s we had with everybody after we joined the common market. We fell out with every Tom, Dick and Heinrich after that. I blame the new money but nobody listens.
On the last night of my holiday I’d decided to throw fiscal caution to the wind and bought this apron that had been catching my eye all week. It has a picture of a man juggling two melons while a flat chested woman looks on. There’s a speech bubble in which she’s saying something to him in French. I decided I’d get our Barry to look it up on the internet when I got home and tell me what she’s saying.- might be a melon related cooking tip I thought.
He’ll be coming to visit me tonight. He might have looked it up.
Of course when we landed back at Robin Hood I was talking about the fine nosh I was going to make that night with my new pan, wearing my new apron and putting into practice the pearly wisdoms of generations of Napoleons mates. I went over the recipe in my head….fennel !!! I didn’t have a fennel !!! . I’d have to go to Tesco when I got back.
If I got back that is !. The coach needed new windscreen wipers which were coming from Castleford and we’d be here 2 hours longer than expected. I needed a fennel .I asked the woman on the coach who said there was a shop across the road. If I got it now I’d be eating my first French Masterpiece by eight with a bottle of the lovely stuff I’d brought back with me.
I was off:
“Don’t look left look right
Left is daft and right is…”
The state provides many essential services, the national health service being one of the better ones. Fine grub is not it's strong point however. Anyway here I am 2 weeks later and to date all I’ve had to scoff is state funded mince and onion.
Our Barry took my pan home and he say’s it does a very nice fried egg. Pearls before swine don’t even enter into it as far as our Barry is concerned.
I’m going to Hornsea next year.
The shop that sold me this wonderful creation was across the road from the hotel and while everyone else was in the swimming pool or the bar, I’d be nipping over the road for a look.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I nearly got run over crossing that road…looking left instead of right. I made up a poem to remember it :
Don’t look left, look right
Left is daft , and right is right
Well I never claimed to be a poet!!!! ... but it stuck in my head and I was fine with it.
It used to strike me as funny that the Brits were the only one’s who knew which side of the road to drive on. I wonder how things got so daft , historically I mean, that we would end up driving on a different side to the rest of the civilised world. Must be that British Bulldog spirit thingy that saw us through so many wars. Then again it might just be another one of them funny do’s we had with everybody after we joined the common market. We fell out with every Tom, Dick and Heinrich after that. I blame the new money but nobody listens.
On the last night of my holiday I’d decided to throw fiscal caution to the wind and bought this apron that had been catching my eye all week. It has a picture of a man juggling two melons while a flat chested woman looks on. There’s a speech bubble in which she’s saying something to him in French. I decided I’d get our Barry to look it up on the internet when I got home and tell me what she’s saying.- might be a melon related cooking tip I thought.
He’ll be coming to visit me tonight. He might have looked it up.
Of course when we landed back at Robin Hood I was talking about the fine nosh I was going to make that night with my new pan, wearing my new apron and putting into practice the pearly wisdoms of generations of Napoleons mates. I went over the recipe in my head….fennel !!! I didn’t have a fennel !!! . I’d have to go to Tesco when I got back.
If I got back that is !. The coach needed new windscreen wipers which were coming from Castleford and we’d be here 2 hours longer than expected. I needed a fennel .I asked the woman on the coach who said there was a shop across the road. If I got it now I’d be eating my first French Masterpiece by eight with a bottle of the lovely stuff I’d brought back with me.
I was off:
“Don’t look left look right
Left is daft and right is…”
The state provides many essential services, the national health service being one of the better ones. Fine grub is not it's strong point however. Anyway here I am 2 weeks later and to date all I’ve had to scoff is state funded mince and onion.
Our Barry took my pan home and he say’s it does a very nice fried egg. Pearls before swine don’t even enter into it as far as our Barry is concerned.
I’m going to Hornsea next year.