Category: General

I’ve been a busy boy, hence the lack of updates. So here’s some updates.

1) I wrote a nice thing on Outsider Music for the Word Magazine Website. Go read it, and look at the lovely videos.

2) I cooked and ate some spiffy crocodile gumbo for The Observer. Hmmm, what shall I do for the letter ‘D’? What’s that? Down boy!

3) I finally put pictures from my April trip to North Korea online. The downside to taking photographs in the DPRK is that because the tours are so strictly timetabled, and because the organisers are keen that you see precisely what they want you to see, pretty much every tourist comes home with a series of identical snaps. It’s hard to capture those unguarded moments when they occur so infrequently, and most of the time it would be rude to try. Having said that, I like this couple.

One day I’ll actually get round to writing up the trip, honest. And the one to Turkmenistan. And the one to Serbia.

4) New blog alert! My friends Bjorn and Kristin have a blog. Sadly, most of it’s written in Icelandic (apologies to Bjork if she’s reading), but the English bits are good. Bjorn is the kind of traveller I admire, rolling up in Muslim Istanbul and heading straight off to the cinema to catch some nun porno.

5) New blog alert! My friend Ladyshambles has a blog. That’s obviously not her real name, but there’s sound reasoning behind the anonymity. Why? Because if you knew her name you’d track her down and hide outside her house waiting for a glimpse. Why? Because a) she’s much better looking and talented than you are. Really. Think of the best-looking person you know, and double it. Seriously. Amazonian? Check! Brains? Check! Curves? Yowsa! Then there’s b) when she’s on fire, she writes better than you do. Just accept this. Finally, c) one day she’ll probably be famous for doing something really spectacular, and we should all respect her privacy until this inevitable moment arrives. In the meantime, just read the blog, so you can tell people you were there at the beginning.

I went to see the Miami Dolphins play the New York Giants tonight, the first regular season NFL game to take place outside the US. And I have some observations.

1. I generally like American Football: ‘intensity’ is a much abused term when it comes to sport, but it applies to this game when it’s firing on all cylinders – I can’t think of any other team event where each and every athlete is physically operating at close to 100% when the ball is in play, and it can be genuinely gladiatorial in a way that few other sports can match. Having said that…

2. Wembley doesn’t suit the sport. Because each touchline is patrolled by an endless parade of coaches, physios, kitmen and the 40-odd players not involved in the action, the first ten rows of seats are emptied so that no-one has a restricted view. The result? The nearest punters are the best part of 40 yards from the action, and the atmosphere suffers accordingly.

3. This was an awful, tedious game, albeit in lousy conditions. 65 sodden, slippery rushing attempts does not make for high-class entertainment.

4. There’s no other game so obviously constructed for the benefit of those not in the stadium. It shouldn’t take three hours to play 60 minutes of sport, no matter how much money is being spent on TV advertising. When the players are continually standing round waiting for commercial breaks to end so they can resume the action, all momentum lost, you know the game is well and truly screwed.

5. It doesn’t have to be like this. Anyone who’s watched a game of American Football with the clock ticking, no time-outs left and the attacking team running no-huddle offense knows that it can be genuinely thrilling, edge-of-the-seat stuff. It’s a pity the rules conspire to make this the exception rather than the rule.

6. I can’t imagine I’d be too happy to be a Miami Dolphins fan: you only get eight home games per year, and you probably pay the best part of $1000 for a season ticket. Now you find out you’ve got to fly to London for a ‘home’ fixture, with all the expense this entails and a weak dollar topping things off nicely.

7. Talking of which, £10 ($20) for a programme? I don’t think so.

8. What’s with all the moronic call-and-response cheer-leading? I’ve noticed this creeping into English Football (at the Emirates, the announcer reading out the Arsenal team-sheet will shout ‘Theo!’ and the crowd responds ‘Walcott!’). It’s as if we’re not able to make noise or create atmosphere without being prompted like five-year-olds learning basic addition. Here, the announcer calls, ‘It’s another Miami Dolphins…’ and the faithful shout ‘first down!’ It’s truly idiotic.

9. Why is Wembley never sold out? Once again, there were numerous blocks of empty seats scattered throughout the stands, despite NFL UK claiming over 500,000 applications for tickets. And just like the soccer, many of those occupying the corporate spots failed to return after the half-time break until the final quarter had all but expired. All those empty seats must look great on TV.

10. Best streaker ever. Mark Roberts reprised his performance from Superbowl XXXVIII. Hilarity ensued.

Next time, I’m going to watch it from my sofa.

Things I accidentally did on Facebook this week, part one.

1) Send a girl some virtual chopped liver.

I am *such* a romantic.

It’s not often that Kittenwar is endorsed by an American Presidential candidate, but blogjam’s Hollywood correspondent has been in touch to reveal that this is precisely the case.

Here’s the evidence.

One of the great beauties of the web is the chance it gives to talentless buffoons like me to pretend to be someone they’re not.

Some examples: I regularly register with dating websites as Lovekitten22, a one-armed transvestite brunette from Nuneaton. Or you can find me on medical bulletin boards dishing out quack advice to teenage hypochondriacs. It’s great fun. Or I’ll pretend that I can cook.

And people believe you. It’s on the web, so it must be true. You claim knowledge, and no-one doubts you. You give the impression of great wisdom, and everyone assumes that you’re wise. Or you rustle up some pepto bismol ice cream and people start to think you’re the next Mrs Marshall.

I can think of no other reason why the Observer Food Monthly have given me a regular slot on their Word of Mouth weblog.

Yes indeed. With a bit of luck, assuming I don’t poison myself mid-quest, Fraser Lewry’s Animal Alphabet will unleashed in bi-weekly installments over the next 12 months. I’d love to be able to claim that the idea was my own, but it’s actually a Rob Manuel original. He is a very clever man, and his diet isn’t nearly as dreary as I suggest in the opening paragraph. Sorry Rob.

I don’t like children. Especially yours.

Apart from the continuing the human race angle, I really don’t get it. They’re ungrateful, noisy, irritating little shitheads, and every time I’m told that Timmy is *soooo* clever for his age reinforces my theory that what these pampered whelps are actually best at is reducing the intelligence of their parents. He’s two years old, for fuck’s sake, which means that little Timothy’s settings are switched to ‘dumb-ass’ by default, no matter how many members of the teletubbies he can identify without being sick on the sheepskin or messing his pants. In a perfect world, fatherhood would consist of a) presence during conception and b) turning up at Wembley to celebrate the first England cap.

Having said that, I’ve been passing a sign on the way home from work this week that damn-near breaks my glacial heart.

I swear I must be going soft.

The thing I learnt this weekend: there are some t-shirts you really shouldn’t wear out, especially when you find yourself in a pub sitting opposite a young lady with Down’s Syndrome, her parents staring at you rather frostily.

Yep, that was an uncomfortable moment or two.

This is the first of a series of semi-regular postings based on the meat mountain in my freezer, detailing the adventures I have turning it all into scrummy food.

This plateful was a month in the making, and my first experience of home charcuterie. Here are the condensed instructions.

1. Take a nice chunk of silverside. Stick it in a plastic box with red wine, salt, orange and lemon peel, rosemary, bay leaves, cloves, garlic, peppercorns, juniper berries, whatever. Cover.

2. Leave it for a week in the fridge.

3. Hang it in a muslin bag for three. It will get quite whiffy, and then it will stop being so whiffy.

4. De-bag.

5. Refuse to be discouraged that it looks and feels like a block of freshly-dug coal.

6. Slice thinly, devour with quality olive oil and a light sprinkling of lemon juice.

Ace.

I cooked for six at the weekend, and made too much. As a result, I am eating the following items for dinner every evening this week. Well, until Thursday at least.

Duck, chicken and pork tenderloin pate with spicy fruit mostarda

Originally the pate was served with a pear and saffron compote, which was very tasty, but I’ve got lots of mostarda in the fridge, it’s the nicest thing I make, and it goes beautifully.

Burnt Sheep’s Milk Yoghurt

This is basically a creme brulee made with yoghurt instead of cream, which gives it a slightly musky flavour, but it’s equally delicious.

I’m tempted to write out the recipes, but none of them are really mine, so I won’t. The pate is vaguely based on a dish by Gordon Ramsey, the mostarda 100% Mario Batali, and the yoghurt gleaned from the pages of the new St John cookbook, a work of triumphant, dizzying genius.

All this gastronomic grandeur was but a sideshow to the main event, some succulent, drop-from-the-bone slow roasted lamb shanks. Oh yes. But that’s all gone.

I will be printing out application forms for my next dinner shortly.

It’s been out in the States for a few weeks, and reports of its presence on the new arrivals tables at Barnes & Noble have been creeping in, but today was what I’d been waiting for: being able to stroll into a shop near the office and buy a copy of the Kittenwar book.

And here it is, racked up at the Islington branch of Borders (disclaimer: I added the flashing arrow to the picture, it’s not real). Immediately I’m filled with concerns that have never bothered me about other books: why is it not discounted? Why is it on the bottom shelf? Why does the sign say that titles are cartegorised alphabetically by author when this clearly isn’t the case? What happens if I sign a few? Will people think I’m weird if I hang around for a while, waiting to see if anyone picks up a copy, before nudging them and introducing myself? Should I pick up a handful and add them to the new releases table?

Anyway, I’m very pleased. And so should you be. What’s more, you should immediately buy a copy. And if you’re American, you should immediately do the same.

Otherwise, I will be very sad.