My SPAM shame... Aporkalypse Now!

Sadly I will not be the SPAM cook of 2009. A damn shame. See my recipe here.

I did however win two SPAM pens! and seeing as though the Spammer's don't want me in their competition any more I have decided to set up my own SPAM competition. The Prize is a whole tin of SPAM and a SPAM pen.

All you have to do is post a comment below and the comment that contains the most interesting URL to SPAM related topic wins. The competition will run until a topic of genuine SPAM interest emerges.

National Sandwich Week

Hands down my favourite traditional sandwich has to be the Breakfast Sarnie, complete with sausage, bacon, fried egg and a liberal application of ketchup. In response to The Paunch’s request for sandwich reviews in light of British Sandwich Week this mighty classic makes an appearance.

Some say that the English breakfast is wasted when compacted between two slices. How can this be when with each mouthful each of the purest cooked breakfast elements meld into one warm comforting chomp of happiness. Evocations of home, time well spent relaxing, recuperating, and ruminating all fall together when a bite is taken.

Homeliness is the key factor. Having reproduced the layered legend abroad it seems impossible to recreate the distinct flavour and feeling of one made at home, the familiarity of ingredients runs deep!

N.B. Best served piping hot Saturday through Sunday at leisure.


Since my last post I have been maxing out on food orientated opportunities, so much so that the excesses created a metabolic pause and a scribing hiatus. But with my face in a metaphorical bucket of icy water and frosty trickles dribbling down the back of my neck I emerge shivering but spritely after the long weekend.

My four days of food started last Thursday when I lunched at Corrigan’s Mayfair, dinnered at Huong-Viet. While Friday Saturday and Sunday all revolved around alfresco coking. BBQ-esia, at this time of year, is fast becoming a pandemic, the neighbours spread the spores of char-meat over the garden fences and whole postcodes can become embroiled in a greasy fiesta.

Nevertheless, excited as I was about Corrigan’s, the £23.50 three course menu (including 250ml of wine) sounded too good to be true. Mr. Corrigan has been heaped with praise of late, apparently ‘the food reinvents tradition and move[s] it forward without ever seeming modern for the sake of it’….

The decor is reminiscent of a 1920’s ocean liner-cum-shooting lodge. Tectonic shiny surfaces duel with silhouettes of hunting gents and woodland creatures punctuated by feather laden lamp shades – not the sleekest or intimate of venues but it probably functions better at night. The service was attentive, relaxed and not pushy in upselling wine; as is common when diners have opted for the set menu. Mr. C was there and bounded through the restaurant at one point but I hear that it his erstwhile cohort Chris McGowan who heads the kitchen team in Mayfair.

I chose the parfait, the chicken and the blue cheese mousse. Nothing was gobsmacking, the chicken was wickedly poached and juicy and the peas were really fresh but I only had one bit of samphire! The others had the cod and was probably a better all-rounder more complicated with a bit more sex appeal. Really nothing worth a rousing torrent of prose and why should there be at under £25 a head?

The pudding of pear jelly and blue cheese mousse on the other hand does get some word count. Served in a v-shaped bowl and garnished with watercress this was the love child of Mr. Dolcelatte and Mrs. Airplane-jelly. In appearance it was deceptive; the peppery frilly cress and oaty biscuit tuile perched above a cloudy jelly suspending pear lumps seemed harmless enough; a passive jelly with an odd but attractive garnish. But lurking in wait was an incredibly salty squirt of blue cheese mousse with a bluish tinge. I can see that the attempt was to provide a more savoury alternative to the chocolate fondant (akin to a cheese plate) and indeed pear and blue cheese is a tried and tested partnership. But the collision and confusion baffled and was left unfinished. On an otherwise safe set menu the cheese and jelly serves as a quirky aside to add a (unsuccessful) twist and it was trying to be ‘modern for the sake of it’.

Its difficult to feel hard done by after only spending £150 for four including service in one of London’s newer food spots. But this was trumped by my visit to Huong-Vioet the very same calorific day. Next post to come….