A week of porky pies

It's about time I came clean about that last post. It wasn't a complete fabrication, in fact most of it was either true or a wild exaggeration of What Really Happened... I thought the bit about paying for state schooling was a bit of a giveaway, to be honest, that and the part about being deported (which actually might have been quite nice, given our current weather) should have rung some alarm bells, but I did get a surprisingly high count on the old spoof-o-meter :o) – a few cross words were sent about it being a bit too believable (which is first cousin to gullible, of course) but perhaps not as believable as the BBC's flying penguins: a true classic that apparently fooled millions of other "believers" country-wide...

(oh, and just in case you think today's photo represents some kind of insult-to-injury, I was prompted to post it in honour of the nice people who have finally got the powers-that-be to stop obese kids from riding the donkeys on Blackpool Beach. No really, I thought it was a late April's Fool too, but it's for real, they have Donkey's Rights like a six-day week, designated lunch hour, all that stuff. Don't take my tarnished word for it, see for yourself.)

I can't remember it being a stand-out English thing, but we seem to be in the grips of a pork-eating vice at the moment, and I'm not sure where it will all end. I'm referring to us NEMOs, not those obese kids (although them as well, probably). What started out as a vague interest in British sausages has rapidly descended into the hog frenzy that was last week. It's not me, I hasten to add, but our Niki who seems to be the ringleader here: ok, I might be incapable of walking past the butcher's window without popping in for some of their fabulous Ayrshire bacon, but at least I combine it with a lamb roast or some nice cooked sliced ham beef or whatever – Nik turned up home on Tuesday with two large pork chops, a pound of the Ayrshire, some sausage (pork) and er, some more sausage (pork, chorizo style) all bundled together in this big white carrier bag. We had to bail some broccoli out into the wardrobe fridge just to fit it in. I mean it was all great, don't get me wrong, that's a top butcher and no mistake and it's all been gobbled up, I'm just concerned about where to go from here. What piggy products will she come home with next, I wonder? Trotters? Unspeakable parts? Watch this blog...

Food was always likely to be a recurrent theme here, and I'm inclined to make our particular/peculiar habits in this respect a regular feature. One interesting trend is eating out, something we basically don't do any more, except for hastily-grabbed fish & chips and Sunday lunch, which we seem to do relatively often. I'm kicking myself for not getting some pics of our last few outings – who knows, it might even have spawned a parallel blog one day, as we're totally fickle and make a point of always trying somewhere new. It's invariably a pub, as under-a-tenner-a-head is impossible anywhere else. Today's was pretty good; Anne's treat (tastes better straight away ;o)) as she had won the Grand National sweepstake at work. Wishing I'd listened to her as closely on the subject of horses, the Court Inn was her recommendation for lunch, right next to the Durham County Court (duh) in a surprisingly nice part of the city.

The lighting and decor was good for once, although maybe a bit too intimate to sucessfully retrieve Oscar's peas and bits of Yorkshire pud; service was really good, quick and friendly; the food a bit under-seasoned (how anyone can cook and mash a turnip without so much as showing it the salt shaker is beyond me) and the brisket a little overdone, but it all arrived piping hot and the ale was first-rate: Wylam Gold Tankard, definitely one to watch out for. I'd give the gravy 4 out of 10, which isn't bad considering all gravy these days is measured against Anita's amazing Martha Stewart-inspired recipe. I do think these places could earn a few bob more if they offered a decent postre or at least get a coffee machine in; we ended up going back to Anne's for Christmas pud and custard (her larder is legend and is in the process of weeding out, so you never know quite what you'll get) and a nice cuppa instant. The snow (!) on the way back was lovely and atmospheric, and it was altogether a very nice afternoon. A nice break from the pork, more than anything.