Cold Jelly and Custard

"I’m not keen of Squid to be fair," Pip said to me the other day. Curious as to what exactly this meant, I showed a raised eyebrow of interest.

Pip sometimes goes out to eat apparently. Usually in the company of someone, alarmingly, called "Phallus"

Worryingly too, she likes his cooking and company; thought’s difficult to bury in a VIP’s head.

Anyway, it turns out Pip will eat out just about anywhere as long as it’s not McDonalds, KFC and Burger King.

She’s political you’ll understand.

That she even enters Chef and Brewer, Brewer’s "Fayre" or any other Gastro pub for the odd bite is just something else to be worried about in my book. Pip being a fishy-veggie woman, remaining (apparently) unconcerned by the vagaries of food production in such dodgy places. Oh, those "boil in a bag" curries and Cash and Carry Chips they trot out!

The Squid, it would appear, was (at once) slimy and over-cooked. "Not very nice" as my Mother would say. Rick Stein (good on TV…..twat to work for I bet) says they should be "flashed" Meaning a touch of a very hot and oily pan and little else.

The salient detail in this silly saga is, however, that Pip had had the outright courage to order such thing in a "Thai" pub in Gloucester. I’m sorry? Hello? A Thai Pub?.....In Gloucester ? Dear God !

Again, you see, this Phallus bloke has a taste for the extreme (worrying twice over) Once, whilst at Pip’s flat, she entreated/inveigled me to try chilli vodka said Phallus and she had made. Pip was pretty cool about it and I thought, "What can go wrong, I’m a man who’s been to 5 continents, I’ve sampled food in street cafés in Tangiers, early 70’s Singapore, Marakesh, Bahrain, …..er,…..Green Frog Mall, Sparkes Adel North Florida and a host of other places.

The Vodka was truly dreadful. And when I say dreadful, I really mean dreadful. Hot, bitter, raw and without any redeeming features to tempt an esurient palate. It was horrid on a big big scale. It left a nasty taste the size of Arizona in my mouth.

My self-set task therefore, as I now see it (as a proper VIP) is to drag my love away from such excess and show her proper food, done in a proper way and in proper surroundings. My success in this has been variable.

I’m a cook and have good grub in my bones. Taught through example from an early age, my Mother being the consummate article. Pastry, Cakes, Roasts, English Puddings and 60’s attempts into Robert Carrier and Margaritte Patton. The Bible being Good Housekeeping.
I’ve added Italian and proper Indian since then and had the odd stupid, shameful (70’s) dalliance with Abigail’s Party Fondue and Kirsch flavoured Gruyere.

Mostly now, I try to do small things really well. Sometimes this works. My salads and little puddings are (I’m told-honest-le-ah) simply to die for. My Biriayni a dream, my pasta sauce, a Portuguese delight.

Interestingly, the same person that first named "Phallus"…..er…Phallus now calls me… The Rector.

Despite, therefore, dropping eggs and running out of Madeira Cake for the Tiramisu, Food has always been my religion.

So good then….bring it on big boy !

JVIP