So, I'm planning to write about pig's cheeks in a bit. But not until tomorrow, realistically, because I'm cooking them for dinner tonight. And for lunch today we're having chicken soup, and I know you won't give a rat's ass about that. So I'm at a bit of a loss of what to write about. And I know that if you're going to do a blog you have to do it every day or people think you're a lazy tosspot who's only doing a blog because your husband is on telly and so you can't be arsed to get a job.
I hate soup, have I mentioned that? Urgh, hate it. What, honestly, is the point of soup? I am not a baby. I have a lot of very large, some very sharp, teeth. I can chew stuff. I like chewing stuff. I don't need my food boiled up and then WHIZZED, thanks.
Whenever I am flicking through a recipe book in a shop, if it's got an entire section on soup I don't buy it. I will eat soup that has good bits in it, you know, beans, barley, chunks of meat, entire quarters of carrot - all that jazz. So that's what we're having for lunch. It's only acceptable because I found this huge chicken in Waitrose, amazing, free range, slow growing bird - looked like it had a pretty good life - and it was reduced by £5 to £8 or something crazy. So I took it home and roasted it up and we've been eating it cold since then. Except this lunchtime, when it will be hot. In soup.
But I've been writing a thing for a magazine about other food bloggers and it's made me realise that I am just like totally missing a trick. So many of them write about restaurants! They're crazy for them! They go in and take photos of their food before they eat it and then post them on the internet and write about them.
And they go to foodie parties and get actual journalistical stories and break news on their blogs. The reason that this is all new to me is that I haven't been able to bring myself to have a really good look at other people's blogs because they're always so much better, with cooler photos and more interesting shit on them than mine that I get depressed and have to go back to bed for three or four days.
But with this in mind, maybe while we're passing the time before I go to the shops and buy the stuff I need for my pig's cheek thing (carrots, celery, cheap red wine) I should tell you about a food party I went to last night?
Okay, so it was a party for Tom Aikens at Somerset House. He's got some new restaurant thing opening there. There were lots of red lights everywhere and the music was really loud and there were canapes but we couldn't seem to access them, so Giles agreed to do an interview on camera (for "Tommy TV" or something) in exchange for 4 mini cheeseburgers AND THEY NEVER BROUGHT THEM.
But the foie gras and tomato chutney thing and the chicken skewer I had were both really nice. I think it will be a good restaurant. And Tom Aikens who, when I was a baby hack, had a reputation as not being especially nice, is charming! A really cheerful, smiley guy. I was amazed. We had a little joke - titter titter - about both being redheads and how shit it is. We compared freckles in the scary red light. He was wearing Converse, which I always think is the mark of a good fellow. I don't know if he's always been like that or it's because of Giles or maybe a touch of bankruptcy is good for the soul, but I give him 9.5 out of 10.
Then I had a couple of fags (or did I just mean to?) with my old mate Rob Sharp from the Independent and worshipped Elizabeth Day from the Observer for a bit and talked world domination strategies with Zoe Strimpel from City AM. And then we drove home and ate cold chicken as I nursed a really painful attack of heartburn.
And THAT, ladies and gents, is why I don't write about restaurants or food parties. Best left to the real food bloggers.
Peace out. Pig's cheeks soon.