FAKESgiving 2012: takes the cake

Well folks, turns out it’s all about the dessert this year. In no particular order…

Canadian apple cake conjured up by an ever-so-charming Irishman. Not sure what exactly Canadianises the cake but awfully pleased about how this leftover slab of baked goodness is making my Sunday afternoon cup of tea, well... ridonkinglouslydelicious in a word.
Vanilla custard and frangiapane tart topped with fresh blueberries and blackberries - hold the strawberries or risk one American holiday being decorated right into another. Bonjour Independence Day - what are you doing here in December? And in London no less?!

And chewy pecan squares with shortbread crust – here’s how: 1 kilo French unsalted butter, pecans, honey, sugar, more sugar, a little more butter wack in the oven and dial 1-800-ALERT YOUR DENTIST AND PRIMARY HEALTH CARE PROVIDER. To cut the sweetness may we advise taking your cholesterol count ever slightly higher with a tangy dollop of creme fraiche. If only I had read Smitten Kitchen’s 2006 entry regarding the very same Ina Garten recipe BEFORE I went and made the same gooey goddamn mistakes.

So THANKS again to FAKES and FAKESgivingers... for consistently adding to the long list of reasons why London is so darn special to me. I mean are they kidding me with this twinkle-toes, light-bulb-laden bridge under a Peter Pan full moon, reflecting crazy prettiness over the Thames? Just stop it Albert Bridge. You're showing off now.
FAKESgiving 2012: takes the cake

Newsflash: most important meal of the day STILL important

In the last two months (among many other things) La Cochonette has been fortunate enough to break the fast in London, Rio de Janeiro, Isle of Mull, Stockholm, Hampshire and tomorrow Cannes.

So gosh darn important is petit dejeuner that yesterday I had it twice: first at Bill Granger’s new Notting Hill joint (Granger & Co) – ricotta hotcakes with honeycomb butter, banana and maple syrup anyone?! followed by a late afternoon lunch/snack (l’snack?) – a reliably delicioso dose of fried egg on sourdough with chilibeans, goat cheese and rocket. Damn. My coffee cup overfloweth. Other highlights include a breakfast butty to beat all butties at Big Polis in Rio, homemade apple goodness in Mull and a new something-on-toast invention discovered at Pizza East Portobello:

Aint no ordinary breakfast bap... perfectly tenderised and flattened filet mignon seared and singing with salt crystals topped with a simple fried egg and sandwiched betwixt two squishy buns. Washed back with a pineapple and mint smoothie. Obrigada Big Polis!
Apple pancakes with bacon and maple syrup served up by Americ(I)an and enjoyed with resident deerstalker, smooth peanut butter lover and impromptu dance-off champion, none other than Mary Louise Avery.
Avocado on toast with chili, lemon juice and basil is tough to beat. Until some genius went and did this: burrata, honeycomb, fresh figs and basil on toast. Yup. You heard it here first. Go forth - make it and eat it. Or if you happen to live in the W10 vicinity just go there and eat it and then thank me later.
Newsflash: most important meal of the day STILL important

FAKESgiving to go

Another FAKESgiving under (and expanding over) the belt and yet it’s Sunday night and I still somehow felt compelled to consume more turkey. With all the trimmings. Tucked neatly into a TV dinner style presentation fringed with foil. Thanks neighbours!

God bless cranberry jalapeno salsa for spicing up my life and for cutting through the beige.

 

FAKESgiving to go

Lunch with Dr Suess

Say!

I like green eggs and ham!
I do!! I like them, Sam-I-am!
And I would eat them in a boat!
And I would eat them with a goat…
And I will eat them in the rain.
And in the dark. And on a train.
And in a car. And in a tree.
They are so good so good you see!

Green (pea soup) eggs and ham

So I will eat them in a box.
And I will eat them with a fox.
And I will eat them in a house.
And I will eat them with a mouse.
And I will eat them here and there.
Say! I will eat them ANYWHERE!

ANYWHERE... but especially here with this natty nana...
...at the Woolpack Freehouse in the clear(ish) skied and cotton ball clouded Cotswolds.

I do so like
green eggs and ham!
Thank you!
Thank you,
Sam-I-am.

Sun setting in Slad
Lunch with Dr Suess

Morning sickness

I have a problem.

I wake up and want a milkshake for breakfast. Immediately. A slice of leftover birthday cake. Chocolate chip cookies. Baklava. Cherry pie. Pecan pie. Cupcakes. A gooey almond croissant. M&Ms. Anything for that sweet fix circa 7am. Washed down with a steaming black cup o’ jo. No milk. No sugar. I’ll take those items from the breakfast bar of my imagination. Coffee cake. Doughnuts. Doughnut holes. Brownies…

Is that bad?

I want that real bad...
I want that now.
Morning sickness

Sunday’s gone Monday’s here again blues

I got ’em bad. Real bad. So bad I can’t even type me some clever copy today. All this cowgirl can muster is a sad-soundtracked photo montage to communicate the woe-is-me-ness of it all.

Memories! Like the corners of my town. Caffe-latte coloured memories. Of the way we were. <sniffle>
Yesterday, all my hunger seemed so far away. Now it looks as though it's here to stay. Oh, I believe in yesterday. <sob>
There goes my bacon. There goes my tart. They're gone forever. So far apart. But only the greedy know why I cry. Only the greedy. <whimper>
The swill is gone. The swill is gone away. The swill is gone baby. The swill is gone away. You know you done me wrong baby. And you'll be sorry someday. <wail>

I’ll get over it. I will. I always do. Udon noodles with smoked mackerel and greens at Koya on Frith Street have already helped to ease the pain tonight. The week will fly by and and there will be a Saturday and a Sunday again. And I will return by bicycle to Caravan on Exmouth Market… if only to kickstart that grunge band I am now obliged to set up with my long lost and recently found waiter brother from another mother. You know how some people start to look like their own dogs after a while? Yeah, well… if you eat out as much as I do (and don’t have a Toy Poodle Afghan Hound to mimic) this is what starts to happen…

Look close...
closer...
Johnny + Mary = Caravan breakfast twins!
Sunday’s gone Monday’s here again blues