Keith Floyd
I’m a fan. Later on, his output suffered because of, as he
put it, his love of the hop, and the grape. Whether or not celebrity chefs are
a good thing, Floyd changed the game. Pre-Floyd there was Fanny Craddock, in
Cholmondley-Warner black and white, terrorising husband Johnny and boring the
few viewers rigid. Floyd’s shows were played in by The Stranglers Peaches, not
cookery programme music in those days, he spoke to the camera man, got him to
film the cooking pot not the bloke with the wooden spoon, went out and about,
and generally enthused about eating and drinking and meeting people on his
travels.
I’m going to have some of his ox heart brochettes later.
He also wrote with similar enthusiasm.
So far…
…the weekend’s results have been favourable. We beat a strong
team, previously I think we’ve only ever achieved a draw against them. Wigan won the FA Cup with a team that cost less to
assemble than Citeh paid for Gareth Barry.
Related to the WWYT (Why Waste Your Time (Voting)) party I’m
the founding (and only) member of, and sport, here’s Cameron, in 2001:
“Many of those who
have spoken in the Football Disorder Bill debate are either lawyers or football
fans. I have to confess, I am neither.”
Perhaps I’m wrong, and he’s seen the light. Perhaps I’m
right, and he’s desperately and cynically trying to gain some ‘man of the
people’ ground, he tweeted (in typically moronic fashion):
"Sir Alex
Ferguson's achievement at #MUFC has been exceptional. Hopefully his retirement
will make life a little easier for my team #AVFC."
As usual, when non-footy folk try to be footy-folk, they end
up looking like prize retards. Real Villa fans, like any fans of any club other
than ManScum, will be having good riddance thoughts, and going over their own
personal reasons for hating the odious, bitching, moaning, cheating, red-faced,
self-induced apoplectic-fitting, git.
So. Today there’s Stoke’s surprise victory over S***s and Swansea pouring torrents
of rain on Fergie and Scholes’ parade to look forward to.
One of the best things about weekends…
…is time away from the office and the mobile phones, and the
chance to get the headphones on and some music in. Today I had to go random
while walking the dogs (no glasses), so that was My Beautiful Dark Twisted
Fantasy. I’d forgotten that Power samples King Crimson’s 21st Century
Schizoid Man.
Now it’s Primal Scream (again), all of More Light.
Here’s Floyd on those Ox Heart Brochettes
“Throughout Provence Levis
“You will swig rose as
you eat a dozen or so skewers worth, dipping each piece into a saucer of
harissa – a fiercely hot pepper paste from North Africa which gives the little
cubes of ox heart a truly exotic flavour.
“These delicious
brochettes are cheap and easy to prepare and…make the prefect food for a big
summer party. In case your friends are a little conservative it might be as
well to omit to tell them what the meat really is till after they’ve eaten it!”
½ inch cubes of ox heart
Speck (fat bacon) also in ½ inch cubes (or peppers or
mushrooms or whatever you fancy, really, let’s not get prescriptive here)
Pepper
Olive oil
Herbs (de Provence it says, again, let’s not get anal about
it – herbs)
Harissa (or your favourite chilli sauce)
Alternate cubes of meat and bacon fat or whatever, or just
skewer the meat if you want. See above about pedantry in the kitchen. Mix the
other stuff up and brush it on. Lemon juice and vinegar go well, too. I crumble
in a bay leaf from the garden. Whatever.
Pre-heat the grill / griddle-pan / barbecue / caveman open
fire.
Give ‘em hell for three to four minutes, turning once. They
should have a nice bit of crispy char. I have them with rice, and West Indian
hot pepper sauce, or that killer thick stuff from the Chinese place that is
pretty much chilli flakes in a little oil and vinegar.
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