Lament of the greasy spoon

Today I have been pondering the fate of that stalwart of train stations, town centres and motorway stops; the greasy spoon cafe. They really are something of a dying breed, and I'm not sure if this is good or bad. Actually, it is definitely bad. I'm not going to rant pretentiously about how we're crossing over into a new impersonal age of shiny surfaces, health and hygiene certificates, mobile phones and toilets that flush, but I think it is sad that an increasing amount of eateries specialising in fried goods and all day breakfasts are being press-ganged into having matching cups and vegetarian options.

The hierarchy of the greasy spoon could be viewed as a sort of pyramid structure, not unlike that of the feudal system. At the top, is the roadside transport caff. They are definitely a dying breed. I have been to a couple, and really you do need to be quite hard, or at least a man, to not feel a bit uncomfortable inside one. It is a magical experience though. Behind those smoke-yellowed net curtains lies a treasure-trove of mis-matching mugs, cut glass ash trays and sticky sauce bottles. I suppose these are all features that are to be expected in any decent greasy spoon cafe though. The real difference here is the clientelle. There will be at least one trucker seated in an orange plastic chair by the till, drinking builder's tea and making filthy jokes with the matronly-bosomed cafe lady. There will be a couple of quiet weirdoes, but generally, people seem to know each other, even though it's in the middle of a motorway. There may well be a page 3 model from 2003 on the back of the toilet door (one toilet for all sexes with an orange flowery hand towel and cracked soap) and almost definitely a naughty calendar in the kitchen. The transport caff is the pinnacle of all the greasy spoons. If you regularly frequent one, I salute you. You are the man.

Perhaps the next step down is the station caff. Again, this incarnation of the greasy spoon is (sadly) dying out and being replaced with railway versions of cafe nero. You don't have to be hardcore to go to a station caff, although business men and commuters look gratifyingly out of place in them. The last time I ate in a station cafe, I was able to order a breakfast that consisted entirely of meat and eggs. In a proper station caff, there will be pictures of old trains on the walls, and lots of newspapers. Through my observations, people don't seem to know each other as well in this variety of greasy spoon, and you won't feel as out of place if you don't have a beard as you might in the transport caff.

Last on my list is the town centre greasy spoon. I suppose there is scope for a great deal of variation here though, depending on the town. These are being gradually sterelised into having sachets instead of sauce pots, matching crockery and hygienic staff. I worked in one such establishment for a whole summer, a few years ago in the seaside town where I live. The cafe was on the esplanade, and also incorporated a fish and chip shop takeaway bit on the front. It was a prime location for coach parties for the elderly and infirm, and had many of the features that are slowly dying out.

Most of the food was stored and prepared below ground level, in the cellar. The cafe owner was an old man with chronic depression, an arid sense of humour and a penchant for gambling. Another man who claimed to work there was portly and middle aged; also a horse-racing enthusiast, he had a penchant for teenage boys and dipping his hand in the till. He was frequently caught 'changing his money up', and was always allowed back to work the following day, perhaps because he possessed superior skills when using the Mr Whippy machine. I think I put on about half a stone that summer, because I spent most of my time battering things and eating them, or simply just filling my face with delicious golden pieces of batter, still warm and oozing with oil.

Once, I visited one of what may be considered by some to be the mecca of greasy spoons, the Ace Cafe. For anyone that doesn't know, it is Hell's Angels hangout  in London, and as you can imagine, you have to be an alpha male to eat there. I felt very out of place on the long tables that you share with the other diners, but it was still an enjoyable experience. Most of my hardcore cafe experiences took place before the smoking ban, I wonder how it has changed the greasy spoon experience. I think that they, along with proper old men pubs, should be exempt from the ban. Long live the greasy spoon!

Something greasy for the weekend?

Well it is Friday after all! xxx

Chewing the cud

I don’t know why, but lush food always tastes even better when you’ve got something trashy to read. I always save the juiciest bites for the juiciest morsels of celebrity gossip.

My lunchtime obsession de jour is Katie Price, aka Jordan. Because I’m usually at work when I’m eating my lunch these days, I’ll use my free hand to scour the web for all the latest on her car crash life, whilst the other shovels a Subway into my gob. It’s usually quite a messy affair, and I live in fear that one day the mayor or Seb Coe will walk into my office and catch me with hot sauce smeared all over my mush (that means face by the way), one hand desperately scooping bits of jalapeno from the desk and shoving it into into the disintegrating heap of soggy bread in my paw. I always have a Veggie Delite ™ smothered in hot pepper sauce with extra chillies. By the end of it, my mouth will be on fire, and my desk will be splattered. Anyway, at the moment there is bare speculation about whodunit – Katie Price has spilt the beans about her alleged rapist to people in the media, so it can only be a matter of time before it’s all over the internet. Oh and Amy Winehouse is back on the booze, too. Better stock up on snacks!

mmmmmmmmmm danone - delicious poo yogurt

I don't understand how people can eat so-called 'functional yogurts' without thinking about poo. What a horrid thought - a yogurt designed to help you poo. Gross. I hate all those patronising adverts about friendly bacteria that jump up and down to loosen all the poo in your gut (gut is a rank word!) or whatever it is they're supposed to do. I'm pretty sure poo yogurt only exploded onto the scene a few years ago, and people must've managed before then. I see they've even got a few celebs on board to endorse poo yougurts too, Nell McAndrew has jumped on the bandwagon, possibly after seeing the similarly awful ad for poo pills 'stool softeners' which has made pooing trendy with a sex and the city themed ad.

my hangover menu

Always the kind of girl to see things from a 'glass half full' perspective, I like to turn hangovers into a positive experience. I expect that anyone who reads this blog will by now have realised that I quite like food. Unfortunately, like all of the best things in life, too much of it will leave you skint, ugly and stinking of puke, and for this reason, I normally try to limit the amount of tucker that I shove into my cake hole. However, on hangover days, any scrap of self-control is happily defenestrated at the first opportunity (defenestrate: verb; to throw something out of a window) in an attempt to nurse myself back to health.
Here's the hit list:

A tangle of supermarket own brand noodles, in a savoury jus with particles of reformed chicken and mushroom. Pot Noodle markets itself as 'the slag of all snacks' (or rather it did until their adverts decided to rip off Flight of the Conchords, cunts) but if the branded version is a slag, then this is herpes in a pot. However, the point of hangover cuisine is that you allow yourself to eat the baddest, most spot-inducing food necessary to feel better. In this case, I suppose the point is to cram in as many chemicals as possible, in case you don't get to have a hangover for another week or so. And it tastes amazing.

 A juicy mountain of prawns. They're so slippery and easy to chew, and they don't really taste of anything. Extra points if there's a bit of brain residue still clinging to the head-end and it doesn't make you feel sick. You're well on your way to your recovery if you can stomach that. I definitely draw the line at eggs though. Uuuurrrrrrrgh. Close together dots. (More about this later) (probably).
Slightly less controversial than the previous two menu options, is the time tested hangover faithful, the maccy D's, pictured above in a rather-more-appetising -than-usual gourmet arrangement. I was advised by a confidante that "no-one will agree with that!" when discussing the prawns and the cheap noodles. That may be so, but I defy anybody to challenge the life giving properties of the mysterious Big Mac sauce. Nobody knows what the elusive secret ingredient is that makes the orangey sauce so god damn tangy and irresistible to the palette (although it's probably MSG) but there's no denying this powerful hangover remedy that lies beneath the hallowed golden Mc Donald's arches. The main reason why this dish isn't my hangover cure of choice more often is the hall of screaming children and dead-eyed youth that stand in the way. And the fact that they only serve those horrid breakfasts in the morning. Down with normal people breakfasts!

Another tried and tested hangover delicacy that I can strongly recommend is a greasy medley of Chinese food. A juicy plateful of mouth-watering spare ribs (capital or BBQ, don't even contemplate going for boring dry ones or sweet n sour, you'll be back to square one before you can say Stowford Press). Mmm, and as is always the way with Chinese, you'll end up ordering way too much, which means you get to have cold chinese for breakfast. Why does it always taste so much sweeter the next day? Recommended dishes include:

• 
  
  crispy seaweed
• 
  
  anything with squid
• 
  
  spare ribs
• 
  
  singapore chow mein
• 
  
  crispy shredded beef
  

Fishy bags

Whilst celebrating my birthday at a chinese restaurant recently, I realised I had become a victim of the dreaded syndrome warned about by parents across the land: my eyes had grown bigger than my belly. Although the poor, overstretched appendage could hold no more of the delicious monosodium glutomate feast before me, I was loathe to give up so easily. My determination to adhere to the time-hallowed adage 'waste-not, want-not' was fierce, especially after reading the ominous warning on the menu: 'all food not eaten MUST be paid for'.

Any memories of ensuing events of that evening are fittingly hazy (it was my birthday!) however a few days later I looked in my bag and was pleased to discover a sweaty triangle of seasame prawn toast nestling amongst my keys, which I ate (much to the disgust of boyfriend and part-time 'carer', Joshabeth). It had matured slightly, and had developed quite a full and fishy flavour.

For those of you who are inspired by this little anecdote, I recommend that you too store any delicious leftover morsels in one of Primarks' brightly coloured handbags. The more prudish over-orderer might want to consider wrapping food in tissue (asking for a doggy bag = social death) before bagging, but don't worry too much about this; the small zip compartments that come as standard in most Primark bags are almost as leak-proof as Tupperware (or at least Addis) and the high content of synthetic materials eliminate potential seepage of any sauce-based edibles, such as curry or cauliflower cheese.


Below: Two Primark budget beauties from this season and last winter; I've got the red one, it broke. Apparently ladylike handbags are going to go off big time this autumn. Add a twist to your arm candy with a fishy whiff, guaranteed to turn heads wherever you go!

How do you like your eggs in the morning?

The road to the perfectly boiled egg is a treacherous path through a potential minefield. Imagine my delight when I stumbled across a short cut to breakfast heaven, putting an end to the days where my spoon would expectantly crack the shell, only to be met with a dribbly, gooey mess of uncooked foetus, or worse (you can finish undercooked eggs in the microwave) a hard, chalky yolk that clings to the tonsils. So I discovered how to do it right, no fancy gadgets involved, and I'm going to share the secret with you.

For the perfect egg

1. Place one or two golden brown eggs in a pan of boiling water. The degree of boil is important - it should be absolutely rolling, not just bubbling at the edges, or the end product will have the consistency of runny snot, or worse, semens. To do this, use one of those metal spoons with the holes used for serving vegetables. Lower the eggs carefully into the pan. If you do this too fast, the shells will split with the change in temperature, and your breakfast will leak away before your very eyes. Leave eggs to boil for approximately one minute. Do not put a lid on the pan.

2. Whilst the eggs are boiling, you can use this time to put two slices of bread in the toaster, or under the grill if you are poor. Don't forget to keep an eye on the time!*

3. When the minute is up, quickly switch off the gas (electric cookers are usually considered bad taste and should be avoided) and whip a saucepan lid onto your pan. Leave for between 5-10 minutes, dependent upon preference of consistency. See below for consistency times.

5- minutes - slightly snotty

If you're the kind of person who has their steak blue because the blood makes them feel like more of a man (even though it also makes you feel slightly queasy) then consider this the vegetarian equivalent. Five minutes is just long enough to cook without risk of salmonella, but still runny enough for a slimy yet macho breakfast experience.
Top tip: Dare to be different - undercook it and impress your friends. You can always microwave your eggs for a couple of seconds afterwards if you can't handle the goo.

6-7 minutes - perfectly golden

You're not the type to succumb to peer pressure. All you want is a tasty and nutritious start to the day, and you're not going to let pride stand between you and the perfect golden yolk. Good for you! Ever so slightly hard on top, the delicious centre bursts forth under pressure from your toast like a heart warming caramelly river. Divine when partnered with buttery soldiers. You're a breakfast winner.

8+ minutes- slightly crusty

If you like your whites to be firm, and the yellow stuff soild, then you're an 8 minute kinda guy. If you've taken the time to make soilders, you might as well throw them in the bin** because there'll be no delicious caramel river for you. If you're lucky there might be a hint of that golden goo, buried deeply in the centre. Sprinkle liberally with salt and make the best of it.

4. Once your egg has been in the pan for the desired time, remove with hole-y metal spoon (see, it is a good idea because you avoid dripping excess water onto your plate) and place eggs into egg cups (shot glasses if you are a student). Hopefully you have taken the initiative to butter and cut toast into soldiers.

5. Luxuriate in eggy heaven. Try not to think too much about hen periods.

So there you have it. A contemporary guide to cooking a breakfast that will set you up for the day and won't break the bank. And not an egg pun in sight!

*WARNING! A minute goes a lot quicker than you think!

**Don't actually do this - there's starving children in Africa, and it'll only be mouldy by the time you've sent it to them.

First post

Welcome to my first post! Here's a little something to keep you going until ETTB returns with some delicious & nutritious food for thought...