Yeah I know it’s been a week since I last gave you a bang up insight into the world of my kitchen, but it was new menu time at the restaurant and, as any head chef* will tell you, new menu time does not offer us much personal space, family time or blog-land time. When you aren’t in the kitchen re-working and tweaking the bits that are doing your head in, you are on the phone to suppliers making sure you can get what you need (legit suppliers of fine food for your menu that is. Not the suppliers of your not even legal methods of stress relief that hang out behind the public toilets at the park on the corner of Hill St… Err, can you please not tell those guys I told you where to find them. And be careful of the leprechaun looking mofo. He says I can have discount if I let him put his hand inside my knickers… I’m not sure how legit that is). I’m not complaining, it just means my snippets of free time are taken from me by beer and late night TV.
But now I return to you my love. To your open arms…
Last weekend was a long weekend up our way and around about in some other places too. It was someone’s birthday and somewhere a small child was born. Wars were fought and lost and won. Venerial diseases were treated and sometimes cured. Also, it was a long weekend that I pretty much ate my way through. If I had stumbled across a calendar with these three days on it in my feasting frenzy, I probably would’ve eaten that too. And the midget who was holding the calendar would’ve fallen prey also… Is that appropriate? Probs not, but I don’t really give an eff because I am clearly a person of questionable something’s. Not sure which word I was meant to put in there though…
There was a 60th birthday. Actually, I’m quite certain there were a few 60th birthdays. It’s just that one of those 60th birthdays belonged to my mother-in-law (we shall call her Lainsey).
It didn’t seem to be an optional extra for me to cook that day. There were family coming from all over this land, some by horse and cart, others on the back of a hobbit, I heard mutterings that one family may have even come on the back of a large wooden bird. I also heard the mutterings of a hundred hungry men… So I decided I should get my bitch ass into the kitchen and cook them some effing iggs.
With the help of Jennee, Liz and Queenie (it’s gonna kill Jen but Queenie is my new number 1 draft pick for the Coates kitchen all stars), this is what we fed them…
Pork terrine, chicken liver pate, herby labne, croute. That was the entree.
This was also the first night the ghost of Midnight Drunkard Barney was seen. It was 2:30am when Jennee was taking Seba to the toilet. She said the apparition appeared from the darkness and offered her a scotch. She politely refused, and moved on.
*may not be applicable to chefs who bring in pre made, pre-packaged shit that any trained monkey (and most people) with a stovetop, could buy at the supermarket and cook at home.
PS. If anyone would like to offer us a sweet and savoury challenge (look back a post or two if you have zero knowledge of what I am speaking about) flick it our way. Rock on!