A series of anecdotes with or without any connection to the running of a restaurant.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
What kind of wine are you?
I took this test a couple of days before Christmas and I was really disappointed to be a Chardonnay. I took it again a few minutes ago and I am now a Pinot Noir, which I much prefer to the lemony taste of Chardonnay. Yes, of course, Pinot is red and yes, I love red.
You Are Pinot Noir
Sophisticated and worldly, you probably know more about wine than most drinkers. Ish...
You have great taste, and you approach all aspects of life with a gourmet attitude. Taste in food and wine, yep!
You believe that the little things in life should be cherished and enjoyed... and of the best quality possible. Definitely. Life is too short to drink bad wine.
And while you may take more time to eat a meal or tour a city, it's always time well spent. Absolument!
Deep down you are: A seductive charmer Bull! Your partying style: Refined. And you would never call it "partying" Yes, I bloody would!
Your company is enjoyed best with: Stinky expensive cheese.
About five years ago, we went on a two-week tour of France starting from Dieppe, where we visited a cousin of mine. She settled there in the early sixties after she'd met and married a French soldier who was serving in Algeria. At the time it was a very delicate case of sleeping with the enemy. I was too young to understand the repercussions. She and her husband welcome us with open arms and we spent a couple of days with them before heading South.
My carefully planned itinerary included Bayeux as it happened to be on the way to Saint Malo, our next stop. After a leisurely late lunch we decided to visit the world-famous Tapestry.
We made our way to a large darkened room wearing earphones to learn about Harold, William and the battle of Hastings. The commentary was in 14 languages so I picked the French version to see if the facts had been embellished.
The tapestry hung in a huge glass cabinet that stretched 70 m along a slow moving walkway allowing visitors time to admire the 58 panels.
TIME! I looked at my watch and realised that time was not on our side. Ahead of us lay a two-hour drive to Saint Malo. We needed to arrive in good time to get a decent hotel room. I hadn't bothered booking any in advance in case we changed our route.
Have you ever seen desperate people running for a train, a bus or a plane? You've got the idea!
We started taking longer steps, just catching sight of a colourful blur as we flew past the ancient Tapestry and many puzzled tourists.
If anybody asks whether I've seen the Tapestry, I just nod vaguely.
Now from the comfort of my armchair, thanks to the marvel of Youtube and technological advances, I am able to enjoy what I missed a few years ago. Check it out.
Marrakesh streets are used by buses, cars, motorbikes, mopeds, bikes, horse-and-carts, donkey-and-carts. A mish-mash of vehicles that often renders driving a hellish nightmare.
The last time I was there I hired a car and drove a little around downtown MK but mainly on the open road towards the Atlas Mountains. I managed to drive around without scratching the hire car. The truth is that there is seldom real risk of a serious accident as the traffic unfolds mostly at crawling pace.
Often, at peak times, that is between 8am and 11pm, many a two-lane street is transformed into a four-lane car park where one can dance the salsa to the sounds of the blaring horns, neighing donkeys and bleeting sheep...
Just another facet of colourful MK.
I doctored the above photo using Corel Painter and added a stick and a carrot. This is to jump to the next topic. What is your carrot? What drives you?
Personally, the minute I find myself sitting still, either my body or my mind longs to be busy. Busy contemplating the next enterprise, busy travelling in body or mind. I just hate plateaux. I don't mind mountains to climb, as in a new challenge. I enjoy the odd slide, as in a thick slice of recreation, be it travel, partying or gourmet dining.
But plateaux, no thanks... So, as far as I am concerned, movement, life and vitality... That's what drives me...
I am not one to complain without good cause but the restaurant business tends to take a plunge during the cold months. All eleven of them up here! Prospective diners prefer to huddle up in a warm house, hire a video, open a bottle of wine and order a takeaway. Is it any wonder that so many of us are piling on the weight?
It only takes a quick phonecall.
Plates out. "Turn on the oven to keep the food warm when it arrives." Cutlery out. "Don't forget the napkins!" Trays out.
Crack open a bottle of wine. 30 minutes. Not a morsel of food in sight!
45 minutes. Irate phonecall. "Feed me!" "On its way right now, sir. The driver got lost."
Crack open another bottle of wine. Cheaper than the first one. One must always drink the better wine first. Allegedly, after the first bottle even vinegar tastes ok. Can't resist a thin sliver of Camembert.
60 minutes. Knock on the door. "That'll be £25, sir." "Here's a tip for you: get yourself a GPS, mate!"
Slam!
Tear. Tear. Tear. "Why do they have to wrap everything so bloody tightly?" "Hmmm. Do you remember what we ordered?" "Er... Chinese, I think."
Two minutes later... Back in front of the telly. Munch, munch... "Did you put the rest in the oven?" "I think so." ...
The alarm goes off. "Bloody Hell! Monday already!" "No, you silly thing! It's the smoke alarm. Burnt leftovers. We must've dozed off." Missed half the film.
Some guys are born lucky!
Algerian artist Souad Massi sings Mesk Ellil (Honeysuckle)
Countdown celebrated its 25th birthday this week. I remember watching the first one. It was the first program when Channel 4 began broadcasting back in 1982. A fourth television channel! Wow! All we had before then were BBC1, BBC2 and ITV.
Then Richard Whiteley unveiled this new, exciting, off-the-wall channel with one of my favourite television games. I used to watch the original French version, Des Chiffres et Des Lettres (Original title!!) back in Algeria in black and white.
And I also watched the Greek version in the summer of '78 on the island of Evia, a place which is known to at least one more blogger, Quarsan in Zoe's hilarious book, My boyfriend is a Twat.
This tiny statue of an incontinent cherub on a Brussels street corner is being milked like a sacred cow or a golden goose (Can one milk geese?) by the Belgian merchandising machine.
It is being used to sell anything and everything. The bottom photo is that of a tiny part of a large shop window just a couple of doors away from the Manneken Pis.
The sticker on the large brass replica "Fonctionnant" means that the waterworks are fine and you can use this little pissing man as a water feature around your house or garden.
Can you think of any other landmark that can top this one for commercialism?
I am off to Spain for a couple of weeks so I shall leave you with this video taken on a mobile phone at a party in August.
It was a great do with live music. "Carwash" took me back to the late Seventies when I danced for hours on end at Sunderland's discos.
My moves have not changed much... They've only slowed down a little.
I have also placed my favourite songs in the sidebar. Click on a song and you will see the title and singer. I have varied tastes in music as you can see.
A song has only to stir something inside for me to like it. It does not matter at all if I do not understand the lyrics...
The furious son of a hoaxer who convinced a town he'd won the £35.4m Euro lottery has spoken of his anger. Jordan Frater quit his job after his father Fergus, 46, promised him a £5m share of the jackpot. Roofer Jordan told The Sun: "I could kill him. I'm absolutely gutted."
"When dad told me he'd won the lottery, I phoned my boss to tell him I was leaving. I've had to get back on the phone and beg for my job back. "I don't know why dad would have done this to us. We're in shock. We can't get hold of him." Jobless Frater, who had gone missing last night, also pledged to give his sister Lorraine, 41, £1m after bragging he had the record-breaking ticket. Jordan said he and his pregnant girlfriend Lucy Scrivens, 25, started making plans to move to Australia with their young daughter as soon as Frater bragged that he had won the huge jackpot. He said: "One minute I was a multi-millionaire, the next I was back to having nothing." Scottish-born Frater vanished from his flat in Littlehampton, West Sussex, after telling his family he was off to claim the money. Earlier he posed for pictures with a EuroMillions ticket as he downed pints during a pub crawl. His local paper even splashed news of his windfall on its front page
Story Courtesy of Orange
(I know... The photo has nothing to do with the story...
A few of our chefs go golfing on Mondays when the restaurants are closed. I have played on and off in the past and so, when I invited myself to join them, one even let me have his old golf set for a few quid.
Yesterday morning at ten, three of them were waiting for me at the local golf course. I hired a pair of shoes and a trolley, bought a bottle of water and off we went. We spent a few minutes practising on the putting green and then we attacked the first hole. Well, it turned out to be elusive. My ball could not find it. A par four turned out to be an 7 over-par. For those who have not yet fallen in love with Tiger Woods, it took me 11 stokes instead of 4 to get the ball down the hole. At one stage I thought I was about to collapse with pains in my legs and in my right arm and shoulder. It took a bar of Snickers after the 9th hole to stop me throwing the bar towel.
The only reason I persevered to the end was that I did not want to be a wimp in front of these fit twenty-something year-old chefs. If one of them had handed me a frying pan there and then I would have dropped it. The only thing I still had a strong grip of was my honour.
When the last ball went into the 18th hole, I could hardly breathe a sigh of relief. I should have been inside an oxygen tent. Words failed me to congratulate the winner.
At four o'clock, I dragged myself and my trolley back to the car. By then I could barely lift my golf bag. "How many bloody clubs, balls and tees does one really need!"
Six hours after I left my favourite chair, I got home and collapsed back into it.
Karen suggested I take a bath. "But the bathroom is bloody upstairs!" I thought. I prefer showers but Zoe has got me a bit worried. She claims showers make you gain weight.
I mustered a bit of courage and made my way to the first floor. The climb was so painful I felt like planting the Algerian flag on the landing. I started filling the bath and climbed into it. I dozed off a few times in the hour I spent in the soothing warm water, lovingly rubbing my painful shoulder and jellyfied calves. After a few thoughts of encouragement I persuaded myself to get out of the tub. Persuasion is one thing. Action is another. With the wall to the left of me I had to use my sore arm to lift myself out. I screamed. No one heard. I managed to grit my teeth and clambered out.
Arriving at work this morning, instead of heading straight to my office, I bravely made the excruciating walk to the kitchen. The chefs were already hard at work. I straightened my shoulders and back and waltzed in.
There is a café in downtown Marrakesh Where semen comes really fresh You can use it to coat your meat Before you turn on the heat.
It is often as thick as butter You may even need a cheese cutter To slap it on a piece of toast With a drop of honey or a slice of roast.
Some like its salty taste And it’s not bad on the waist But let me reassure everyone This is just a bit of fun.
To those with a dirty mind It’s only butter that’s been refined Indian cooks call it Ghee But semen is funnier, you’ll agree…
I couldn't resist taking a photo of this café window. I have always known clarified butter as "S'men" but I am sure that with this spelling, a simple Café will easily be mistaken for a Bank...
I know I haven't caught it but my son has. At midnight last Saturday, he joined a 200m queue outside Asda to get the latest-no idea what it's called- of JK Rowling's books. In Pakistan a car bomb was defused outside a bookshop where the book went on sale. Do not panic, I have a watertight alibi. At no time did I leave the country in the last seven days. How do you say Harry Potter in Urdu?
Don't get me wrong but I say good luck to Ms Rowling for coming up with such a "brilliant?" idea to become a multi-millionaire.
It's just that from Day One I did not get carried away by Harry’s wizardry. I remember going to the pictures to see the first film but I also remember falling asleep half way through it.
Don't you love it when the weather forecast goes wrong!
I am sure that most of you remember when Michael Fish, in his now infamous broadcast told viewers: "Earlier on today apparently a lady rang the BBC and said she heard that there was a hurricane on the way. Well, don’t worry if you’re watching, there isn’t." And guess what? A hurricane uproots trees and causes havoc in the South!
April was so warm most of my winter clothes got stowed away by the thirtieth. Every night before I go to bed I feel like fishing out some of my woolly jumpers just in case we wake up to ten inches of snow...
Last night I went to see "Next" a Nicholas Cage film where he can see the future, well just ten minutes ahead. But ten minutes are ten minutes! In the UK, they are the difference between getting soaking wet or dying of dehydration! (Yeah, right... dream on... Slight exaggeration...)
Now, where am I going with this post? I haven't got the foggiest! I just wanted to waffle a little, just long enough so you don't wear out your monitors looking at my beautiful photo taken with my beautiful new camera...
More of the same coming up in my Arty Farty blog...
A friend of mine insists on making tea the old fashioned way.
He...
-Boils the kettle once
-Pours some boiling water into the teapot
-Tops up the kettle and boils it again
-Places the teabags into the emptied pot
-Pours the boiled water over the teabags
-Places a tea cosy over the teapot
-Wait for a certain amount of time before serving the tea...
According to him, I do it the "heathen way" because I don't come from a tea-loving country. Hah!
Little does he know that I was weaned on mint tea...
Moi, on the other hand...
-Boil the kettle
-Place a teabag into my mug
-Pour the boiled water over the bag
-Add the milk
-Stir until I get the right colour (This tells me it is exactly how I like it.)
-Squeeze and discard the bag...
Last week he challenged me to try the two methods side by side just to see his was the best.
I did and I was happier with mine. His son and wife agreed.
He moaned that I had used one of his better Yorkshire teabags. I honestly think I have shattered one of his long-held traditions but am sure that he will never give up his ritual. How can an ignorant camel herd know better!
How do you make your cuppa?
Any other rituals?
The drawing shows what I may have looked like at 21...
I have been playing truant from work… Actually, Wednesday evenings, I do not usually go down to the restaurants. My bookkeeper hogs my office so I often venture in later. But for the last two weeks, I have been skiving. And I have discovered The Apprentice!
It is such a good laugh! It started about six weeks ago with sixteen hopefuls. The purpose of the program is to end up with one Apprentice who is given a job in Alan Sugar’s business. At the end of each episode, Alan Sugar sacks one of the young contestants.
Last week the task was to sell British produce in Arras Market (France). The guy who got the sack, an ex-army lieutenant had made the stupidest decision of buying massive slabs of Cheddar cheese from a cash and carry and trying to flog it in France, a country that boasts more than 400 regional cheeses. He then tried to cook some sausages on a hopeless scout contraption he made out of a tin of beans.
This week, the task was to buy ten items for less than the asking price. Among other things to purchase were Nigella seeds. I do agree that these may not be the most obvious things to know. None of the contestants had any idea what they were. They ended up running around London streets, scouring ethnic shops and cash and carries for these elusive seeds.
I may sound a bit smug but could they not have used the internet to find out what the bloody things were before they even got into the car?
Spanish Goth has tagged me even though he knows that, just like him I am not that keen on these memes...
1-I have been trying to learn to play the guitar since the age of 12. I am still crap! I try for a little while and then give up because my fingers hurt. The only thing I can "play" very badly is a little bit of El Concierto de Aranjuez.
2-I can live on salads for weeks on end. A massive bowlful of lettuce, fennel, celery, apple, tomatoes, grilled peppers, olives, radish, etc... with grilled chicken, smoked mackerel, or tuna...
3-I cannot do just one thing at a time. I have to be active because I worry I am wasting time even when I am wasting time. I can watch the telly, doodle, listen to music and drink tea all at the same time. When I go to the loo, I always read something or do a sudoku... Tick-tock-tick-tock....
4-Although I hate cleaning my car, I did just that for the first time in two years this Sunday because I was bored out my brains. I found £4.75 in change, 7 pens, a packet of chewing gum and 4 pairs of sunglasses...
5-I am forever daydreaming. Even at very important meetings I doodle and look out of the window in the same way I used to do when I was at school.
6- I celebrated 22 years in business last Friday. "May the fourth be with you!" has always been my motto since 1985.
7-I would love to sell the lot and head back to the Med, buy a country house in France, become a real artist (rather than the "peace artist" I am) and learn to play the guitar properly.
As per usual, I do not tag people so, anyone who wants to reveal seven random things about themselves, please feel free to be tagged.
At seventeen, I became what the French call "Un moniteur de colonies de vacances" something like a summer camp supervisor. Most companies usually sent their employees young children free of charge to summer camp for three weeks at a time. I, among other students of my age went on a two-week "moniteur" course, passed the exam and was awarded a diploma allowing me to supervise children in these camps.
My first camp was in a beautiful seaside town, El Kala in North East Algeria. We were housed in a school. The classrooms had been turned into dormitories each housing seven or eight children and their Moniteur. The sponsor being a nationalised mining company could only offer a no-frill package for its employees children. Just the bare minimum. The food was just passable but none of us minded. We were happy to go to the beach at least once a day, long walks in late afternoon and play games and sing around camp fires in the evening.
Those were some of the best, carefree holidays I have ever had.
I played moniteurs three summers on the trot. Not a worry in the world and I was getting paid to have a good time!
Why Ché? At the time, Algeria's socialist authorities did not allow foreign goods into the country and though a healthy contreband thrived, designer clothes still cost an arm and a leg. That summer while at camp, I made my own designer t-shirt by drawing him with black felt tip pen.
Have you ever had a budget holiday that turned out to be memorable?
The last post gave rise to many different takes on the subject. Sorry, I did not answer your comments but here is a thought. I still insist that the heart does rule most of our decisions. You may not realise it but even in the most banal of cases of day to day decisions, it is invariably the heart that wins over the head... Let's say for instance, you get up, shower and then stand in front of the wardrobe for ten minutes, (less than 10 seconds in my case) wondering what to wear...
Of course it will depend whether you are going to work, play or dance... But in each case it will be your heart that will rule the choice.
Can you think of any instances where you heart has won over your head or vice-versa?
This doodle is really a doodle... Akelamalu tagged me for my five favourite blogs: Hayden for her thoughts on life and the living... Daphnée and her really amusing stories... Lettuce for her great variety of writings and photos... Merisi and her amazing Viennese photos... Homoescapeons to provide a gender balance... All the above are now tagged...
