poverty, restaurants and reviews

I am poorer than usual at the moment. The combination of Christmas drinking, misunderstanding of the bonus taxation system, stressful (and ultimately unsuccessful, thus requiring cheering up with tuna steak and oysters) interviewing and 10 days in Israel (really must write out some notes on that) led me to begin 2011 with angry red negative figures. However, I've continued to happily ignore that and instead to go out to dinner lots to distract from my horizontal career. I therefore thought I'd try out a review. I've been devouring the works of the grumbling gourmet and Marina O'Loughlin (sp? But anyway, she is, apart from Keith Watson's reviews, the only reason to ever pick up a Metro again) for ages, and there is something extremely satisfying about reading about restaurants. If it's the same for writing about them, maybe I can cut down on money spent by living every good meal twice...


The Cadogan Arms

Fisher and I decided to go out for a meal to check that we still had something to talk about, so looked on toptable and found a deal for 20 percent off food. I'm very glad we did that, as the meal was a little overpriced anyway, and without the 20 percent off, I think we'd both have felt somewhat hard done by. However, before moving on to gripe about prices or imperfect cooking (and I know, once again the trials of the Western world, but hush - food is a serious issue, as demonstrated by all of those people who are pretty keen on getting hold of some), I'd like to mention the glorious bread. It arrived and we were starving so attacked at once and oh my god - it was the kind of bread that melts in your mouth a little. Cloudy, warm and herby. In spite of everything I've said below, maybe come here officially to 'eat', get them to bring the bread, then run away clutching it. Unfair, perhaps, but not everyone can blow £90ish on a meal for two. Apparently, it's baked there, so maybe an alternative is to make friends with one of the kitchen staff - I'd recommend the quite hot, appealingly new, incredibly polite and faintly clueless one.

Starters were baked Isle of Man king scallops in their shells with prawns, creamed cep sauce and chive mash for me (£9.50) and devilled duck hearts on toast with a fried duck egg for Fisher (£8)



The scallops were lovely - if not exactly numerous - big, juicy and sweet, but there was quite a lot more (lovely, smooth and buttery) mash than scallops and sauce - after thoroughly enjoying the first few mouthfuls, I essentially then had a large shell filled with potato to get through. Still - very yummy, if a bit steeply priced.



However, the duck hearts were just completely fabulous. Go here just to have them - they were outstandingly delicious. I've never had duck hearts before and they turn out to be juicy, faintly sweet and in this case perfectly balanced by a mysteriously spicy sauce (one of those perfectly judged sauces that hits you slowly with the spice at the end of the mouthful). The creamy duck egg added the final touch and I was just sad that I wasn't allowed to steal more without possibly ending my relationship.

For the mains, I had roast whole Yorkshire partridge, bread sauce, smoked English bacon, Hunter’s potato, braised red cabbage and juniper jus (£18.50), and he had rib-eye steak with Béarnaise sauce, hand cut chips and bone marrow jus (£22.50)



After the smug boyfriend's definite win with the duck hearts, I was hoping for something to crush him with and the partridge delivered, if not a crushing blow, definitely a superior wallop. It was beautifully cooked (though I do like it very rare, so might be too bloody for some). The good meat was lifted to excellent by the stunning juniper jus, which was a perfectly balanced concoction of 5 spice, star anise, wine and junipers and cut the meat with the culinary expertise of a sleek, Japanese butterfly sword. I remain certain that bread sauce, even at its best - and this was excellent - is essentially a slightly lumpy white thing tasting mostly of bay leaves. If I'm wrong, do tell me. Once again, only quibble was the price - this was very good, but at £18.50 I think I'd normally expect something more complex. Still, the victory was mine.



Now the steak was really, really yummy, but as Fisher says, 'a steak's a steak, and that was my misteak.' I'm slightly less sure on this one - I thought it was a fantastic piece of meat, and even though the bone marrow jus wasn't as lip-smackingly gumptious as it could have been, for steak that beautifully cooked then £22.50 is not overwhelmingly expensive. However, the problem with the Cadogan Arms is that it sells itself as a sort of Gourmet Tavern, so you don't come here expecting to pay central London fairly posh restaurant prices. I think that if we'd been in some extremely luxurious setting, with shining tablecloths and little dancing waiters and everything else that comes with a really lovely restaurant atmosphere, the prices really wouldn't have seemed like so much of an issue. However, when you're in a cosy, wooden walled cavern of a place with an outsized boar's head on the side and the hobbits wouldn't seem out of place, £22.50 for an extremely capable steak with lovely meat somehow feels less ok - essentially, they hadn't hypnotised us enough into believing the experience justified the cost.

Final note on the food - the deserts were definitely uninspiring (not even any photos were taken) - my treacle sponge was sharply sweet with no depth to the flavour. It was very odd - it smelled fantastically but left your mouth casting about with the faintest tinge of tin. Fish (as in all restaurants) had the sorbet. The mandarin and blood orange scoops were very nice, but the lemon sorbet had a distinctly chemical aftertaste that was very unpleasant. I'd suggest giving these a miss.

Wine: Can't remember what it was, but we paid about £25 and it was a good red, juicy and punchy with darker undertones. Not sure it was worth that much money, however. Tasted more like a £15/16 wine. However, it may be a product of a generally low budget that I expect any wine over £20 pounds to leave me speechless for at least a moment!

In conclusion, not bad - go there for the duck hearts and the pheasant if you're feeling flush, but get a deal and prepare to pay more than the surroundings seem to suggest. There's also an offer to eat, drink and play pool for only £10 - and the general level of cooking would suggest to me that this is an Amazing deal. Oh, and we decided that we do still have some things to talk about, even if they are mainly poor steak puns.

experiment, chicken stock, demi glace, trials of western world

Tonight, I am trying an experiment. In an excess of boredom (tube strike prevented me from getting into work and the failure of the remote server precluded any other useful activity) I made two enormous pans of chicken/turkey bone stock yesterday. This means that, for the very first time, I have enough to play around with. So, I currently have three pots on the go, aiming to solve a couple of things that have bothered me. Firstly, what is demi-glace, is it worth making and freezing? Secondly, does straining stock through muslin really make that much of a difference/are new tights really a fair replacement? And thirdly, does star anise work in chicken soup?

Now, I've rather failed on the demi-glace front as apparently it's a combination of: "Espagnole or brown sauce, beef or veal stock, and Madeira or sherry, which is reduced by half." I have, as formerly mentioned, chicken stock. Veal and chicken stock are similar enough, I reckon (and I did include a pig's trotter). However Espagnole sauce is a rather different thing. It appears to be made from browned onions, celery, carrot and tomato concentrate,mixed with a 'hazelnut brown' roux, and simmered for about 2 hrs. Basically, well, bugger. The Espagnol sauce and the stock are then combined with sherry or madeira. I stopped at the crappy station M&S (the shop for people who are frightened of ovens but the only one open after my pubbing went on for longer than planned) and bought, mistakenly, port. *sigh.

Oh well. I've decided to make a demi-glace inspired reduced stock, which I'll then freeze in ice cubes, plus a chicken soup/stew thing for tomorrow. My pots are therefore as follows:
1. (the thin bottomed white crappy one incapable of diffusing heat) Contains chicken stock with a healthy pouring of port, plus tomato puree and bay leaves. On a medium heat.
2. (the thick bottomed but ludicrously small one) Contains chicken stock that has been sieved through some tights from the pound shop opposite, also with same balance of port and bayleaves. On a very high heat.
3. (casserole dish, missing one handle) Contains chicken stock, one star anise and a bouquet garni, plus a couple of drops of fish sauce as I was about to turn it chinese before changing my mind. This is over a very gentle heat and will soon have pearl barley, garlic, chicken and cabbage added to it (and potentially some soy sauce, rice vinegar and more fish sauce if it doesn't taste of anything). Am wishing very much that I had an onion, but it's too cold and miserable out there to brave it. Hmmm. As irritating boyfriend would say, 'oh, the trials of the Western World...' I notice, however, that he only says that if I'm moaning about having lost my lovely panda hat and having to rebuy it, and not when he's moaning about his xbox not loading up as fast as it used to...)

It is now 11.11pm, and results so far are as follows:
1. Still reducing, tasting ok, a bit porty (may have added slightly more or may be a result of not reduced enough yet). Now have turned on high heat to test difference to pan 2.
2. Slightly gloopy seeming (yet actually simply liquid), very black, almost dark liquid. Absolutely gorgeous. Could reduce on very high heat, ferocious heat without queering the flavour, owing to having removed impurities beforehand (supposedly) and this appears to be the case.
3. Star anise was working, whereas crappy bouquet garni (which was dried) made it taste like tea. Took it out and have put pearl barley in. Tastes ok, but not greatly rich - though wasn't my best stock. Put pearl barley in far too late, and will probably have to cook this over night in the oven. On the good side, if it's not nice I can just add some of pan 2 and it will become the yummiest thing in the world.

Fisher is soon returning from his sister's, and I have a present for him - a lego advent calendar! Very excited as think I've been sneaky enough for this to be an actual surprise (rare as normally I get impatient with not getting the credit immediately after having spent the money and start dropping lead-like hints at an early stage).

Right, now it's 12.02, and I really should go to bed. Fish returned, to be greeted by a manic girlfriend rushing between three pots. I gave him a taste of the best reduced stuff (from the small pan, sieved through tights) and he said, 'hmmm. Have you reduced that whole pan down to make that?' *sigh. Both pans have a fantastic depth of flavour, but that flavour isn't quite balanced (over sweet/salty, not enough 'brownness'). Have a feeling that some heftier beef stock would definitely have helped, and can see that sherry/madeira would be more subtle and less vibrantly sweet and winey, plus the slow cooked vegetables would have added a caramel flavour that would have been amazing. Anyway, all the reduced stock/demi-glace is now in ice cube trays and in the freezer. The chicken/cabbage/pearl barley/whatever thing is in the oven on slow, and all is right with the world.

In conclusion: - demi-glace is extremely complicated and requires beef or veal bones. Will try making Espagnole sauce though, as sounds both straight-forward and cheap. Approximation of demi-glace is good, but try with white wine or simply strained stock in the future, as will be more versatile for soups etc. Worried that putting my attempt in anything will make it taste the same, and Fisher will end up banning it, like rosemary. (*sigh)
- straining the stock through tights actually did some good things. Not so much for the taste (though think was slightly cleaner) but the texture was less greasy and far fewer impurities while boiling. Also surprisingly easy to do. Try again for normal stock.
- star anise is too strong for chicken soup - started ok but began to dominate, so I took it out. Light tone ok, but think would be better added with fennel.
- if presenting advent calendar as gift, remember to do so before boyfriend falls asleep and you have to wake him up by switching the big light on. The reception will be better.

I love Sundays. Woke up this morning luxuriously slowly, giggled at my boyfriend (who is immensely pathetic for the first 30 mins of his waking up) and then lay in bed with coffee and the fabulous third season of the wire (oh, McNulty, however you spell your name, you are gorgeous). We then went to the pub to have a very late brunch and play Rummy, which I lost as usual (grrr).

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/4370/five-spice-roast-duck-breast

Today was quite a good day. I was dreading going to work again (unfortunately an increasing trend over the last few weeks). Slowly, it's become clear that promotion is a far, far distant thing, for which I need to actually become superwoman for at least three years. Promotion, in my office, feels like a battle. Rather than any sort of reward for actually doing your job, it is taken for granted (apparently) that you will excel at your job. What is needed is to excel, and then revitalise the structure of the company, find several new authors and lick the boots of HR. All this for an assistant editor position and a measly grand raise. Without doing those things, they will just continue, apparently, to pay you 19 grand for the next twelve years and expect you to work overtime. Without attempting to come across as bitter and twisted - this is a company actively trying to look for reasons to avoid promoting you and therefore paying more. It's like trying to actually get on the plane if one is flying with Ryanair. There are four of us in the same cramped yellow seats, at first sight. However, after a while it becomes clear that actually the entire editorial team, excepting the senior eds, are in the same position. And even the senior eds are chasing bonuses, raises and probably attempting to move into better paid and less stressful positions in another company altogether. It's exhausting, and having just moved into it, I can't seem to care enough. I'd like to work somewhere doing your job gives you a bit more money to start with, and where people aren't endlessly scrounging for scraps from the company that owns the company that owns that company that owns us. There's a really horrible, scared and resentful feeling throughout editorial. It's clearly time to leave and go into food technology.

Speaking of food (and I usually end up doing so), tonight was the pork steaks. I've never had pork steaks before, and I'm not entirely sure what they are really for. Steaks, surely, are worthwhile only to eat as rare as possible? Also, Donald-Russell-extremely-posh-butchers, tell your customers what cut the steak is! Pork leg steaks are going to be a bit different from pork fillet, and not knowing made me nervous. Maybe I'm meant to know automatically but, well, I didn't. Anyway, I was considering what to do with them, in between laughing at one of my (not completely intentionally, but so incredibly sweet) funniest authors, and decided to try out a Spoonfed recipe. I don't know if any of you -

*pause in writing as my incredibly drunk boyfriend, who returned from a gig 15 minutes ago and has spent the intervening time being very sick, comes to stand naked in front of me, grin on face, singing the Venga boys, and swaying slightly. He's continuing to talk, sounding like a stoned Stuart Lee, but with a waggling willy. I am continuing to ignore him (and it). He is also emanating a faint smell of vomit. Ah, true love.
- have tried Spoonfed suppers href="http://www.spoonfedsuppers.com/">http://www.spoonfedsuppers.com/. It's worth a look. However, since my most beloved recipes all take at least four hours, and the USP of Spoonfed suppers is 'a recipe for every day that takes only 30mins to cook', I'd considered myself slightly the wrong audience. However, the honey sticky chicken recipe of today seemed to lend itself perfectly to pork steaks. I made a couple of adjustments but basically just marinated the pork steaks in olive oil, soy sauce, tomato ketchup, mustard and honey, plus some diced and crushed fresh garlic. I left them for about 30 mins, then as per the recipe laid them in a roasting tray with some thin slices of courgette, poured over the marinade and grilled them for about 15 mins, turning halfway. I ate them with sesame seed noodles and cabbage - and have learnt a couple of things. Cook pork steaks a bit less long (they were a little tough, if incredibly tasty, but think I prefer fattier cuts), greek basil and cabbage have an unexpected affinity and make sure the noodles still have some bite when you try to stir fry them. It worked very well though - good marinade, if not the most interesting - might add a bit of rice wine next time as I think this would have helped, and lovely caramelized taste. I think, however, that there wasn't enough fat in this cut to get the real sticky, pig/honey taste I was going for. However, also very unsure that this would work better with chicken breast.

Finally, today picked up at the end as I finally reached the end of a book one of my authors had revised. I had been worried, as it looked like a lot of the revisions hadn't been done, however it took flight near the end and I finished the book in tears! Proper, driven by a good happy ending tears! This has only happened to me once before, and was very exciting. I therefore have the high that comes only from telling an author how they might be able to make a book more effective, them being talented enough to go beyond what you've said and turn the book around rather than blindly following your orders and then the book becoming immeasurably more powerful. I suppose really that's the only thing that can hope to justify the 19 grand. Banking just doesn't have the same allure...

Hello all,

I've been promising myself to come and write about Edinburgh and Meat Day before I forget all about both, so here goes:

Meat Day:

I turned 26 on the 10th of August and am now only four years away from 30 and an increased possibility of dying alone. Especially, I am reliably informed, if I continue to leave wet towels on the bed instead of hanging them up properly. However, more importantly than my increased age, five white hairs (the hairdresser actually Mentioned them), and vein on one leg, my mother sent me a gorgeous box of organic, beautifully butchered meat. It arrived at work, scaring the hell out of Brenda the receptionist and proved far too large to fit in our crappy work fridge. Since the library is by far the coldest place in our windowless, factory-aired sauna of an office, I was obliged to store the package next to the books and send an email round. "Don't mind the white package beneath the Romances, it's just meat. Please leave it alone."

I eventually made it home (turns out a massive, white, polystyrene crate will ensure you a seat on a carriage even when people are too grumpy to form whole words), and discovered a fabulous mix of lots of mini-cuts for me to test out. I was deeply, incredibly happy, and have therefore decided to make a concerted effort to document what I do with each bit of meat. That first evening I picked the pork burgers. They were the kind of pork burgers I've never had before - they were pure, beautiful, juicy meat all the way through. They took longer to cook than I'd imagined as there was simply so much meat to cook through- turns out breadcrumbs and bits of nostril cook far faster than real meat. I fried them on a medium heat for about 20 mins.

With the pork burgers, I made mushrooms and broccoli with soy sauce, chilli and 5-spice. It was a bit salty, so remember not to over soy sauce it (one table spoon is easily enough), and also made a quick version of dauphinoise potatoes (par boil the potatoes first, then slice thinly. Fry up some onions and garlic in a saucepan. Rub a bit of butter round an oven proof dish then layer in potatoes, onions and garlic, herbs of choice and salt and pepper. Repeat this until the dish is full, then pour over some full cream milk, about a third up the side of the dish. Grate parmesan or cheddar over the top, and whack it in the oven at about gas 5 for at least 20 mins. Par-boiling isn't ideal, as makes the texture a bit mushy, and ideally you want to be cooking the potatoes in the milk. However, it is quicker!). It was actually extremely yummy.

Tonight, I've defrosted the lamb noisettes. There are four, and they are beautiful. The plan is to fry them to medium rare (they are quite small) make a roasted garlic, wine and redcurrant sauce from some of the pan juices, wilt some spinach and serve with mustard mash. We shall see how it goes, and if I manage to serve it before 11pm...

As to Edinburgh, we've just got back after four exhausting but extremely fun days of watching endless stand up, sketches and theatrical attempts. It was fantastic, and also fantastically expensive, but never mind. We saw: "Do We Look Like Refugees?" a fantastic play where the actors could hear the voices of the original interviewees through headphones and had to repeat them exactly, leaving no room for artifice and effectively turning the actor into a mouthpiece rather than an interpreter. Sounds incredibly pretentious, but actually was Brilliant - made far more difference than I had imagined. Also saw Frisky and Manish again (insane pop mash up couple who are ridiculously talented and could carve up Girls Aloud and eat them medium rare for dinner. Although most people could probably do that). Sammy J was really good - sweet, funny little songs and a sweet, incredibly hot and long-legged man who you wanted to take home and cuddle for ever more. Cabaret Whore - the most beautiful woman alive - incidentally, Fish and I have both come back from Edinburgh deeply in love, but with other people - who moved smoothly through four different incarnations while occasionally playing a ukelele (an unexpected theme of the festival, as happens in Edinburgh when all the acts suddenly seem to hook onto a particular thing, Inception jokes being another one). David O'Docherty, a very appealing Irish man during whose act I fell a bit asleep, but who was really talented and the lovely, archaically-voiced Miles Jupp. *sighs happily. His voice could cut diamonds - screw glass. Finally, saw a free play that was very worth mentioning: called The Flat, it was mainly notable for some fantastic portraits of archetypes, particularly when it came to sharing a flat with girls. 'Like, I don't want to be a bitch, but has someone been at my John Frieda shampoo again? It's not, like a massive deal, but it is really expensive, and like, I just think it's a bit out of order...' Sharing flats with girls involves gritted teeth and picking endless clumps of hair out of the bath - give me a smelly man and free sex any day. Though I admit I miss the occasional unexpected nights of white wine and sofas, still probably worth it in the long run.

Right, on that uninspiring ending, I've just realised the time. Shit. Now really do not have long to cook at all if I'm to beat the 11pm deadline... *runs.

I'm off sick today, as I have a cold. *pauses for sympathy. Why, thank you. Yes, yes - I'm struggling on, bravely, even though I sound like Darth Vader and drip like BP's oil hole of death. I logged on remotely, to show willing, and achieved a small amount of work quite badly. And I got thinking about being ill, and how it's an essential part of working life. I don't know about you, oh fictional reader, but if I go for a long time without having a sick day, I start to rather miss them. There's something very luxurious about being able to take a complete break from the usual routine, and instead limping about town via the chemist, looking mournful on the outside but secretly eyeing everyone you meet suspiciously and wondering 'why aren't you at work? You lazy, non-taxpaying skiver...' (I become markedly more Conservative when I'm not feeling well - maybe everyone does as there's nothing like being ill to make you resentful of the modern world, self-obsessed and wincy at rude children who Don't Say Sorry). It's the freedom to completely spoil yourself I like. I have a rather spectacularly croaky voice too, which is always lovely as is an instant sympathy gatherer.

After attempting to work this morning, I watched three episodes of Heston's Feasts. In spite of all channel four programmes apparently being made for morons with ADD (must they repeat their single point 17 times within each segment of the episode? Surely this is insulting to the average viewer? Even if I've been forced to watch 8 mins of ads in between, I will still be able to remember the goal of the episode - my short term memory is better than that of the average goldfish) I am continuing to watch it because even though he's not very good on tv and does look like a foetus, he is an amazing chef. Really wish he'd met Roald Dahl and could have cooked him a feast as currently most of the stupid guests don't seem worthy of the fabulous food (Dawn Porter? Seriously? I loathe her. Her shiny hair and not-quite-funny-enough Stylist articles and pretend kookiness...there are many worse people in the world yet somehow there's something about her in particular that makes me want to vomit. On her head be it. (literally). Hmm. It appears I am also meaner when I'm ill.)

Anyway, in other news, I then went for a walk to find reinforcements to fight the Evil Cold, and lovely chemist lady made me buy a yummy syrupy lemon and honey thing which has made many things better and also makes me feel about six, in a good, egg-and-soldiers-on-a-tray sort of way. Unfortunately, I then continued my wander in an attempt to find something I wanted to eat (I'm picky anyway, and when not feeling wonderful even more so - for example the only thing I want right now is beef consumme. Perfect, clear, brown, made from proper bones, beef consumme. Sadly, my wander took me past the Vegetable Shop. A strange remnant from the days where Finsbury park was not entirely overrun by kebab shops and 'saunas', Michael's Fruiterer's is one of my very happy places. It's lovely in there. The problem is, I can't visit it without buying something, and today, not hungry but knowing I should eat something, I had almost no judgement at all. As a result I have come home with some gorgeous English yellow tomatoes (they are the sweetest things in the world, though seem like they are just going out of season), a lemon (vague idea for lemon and honey, I think), a bunch of carrots (they do proper carrots that are a bit malformed and completely yummy) and a large marrow. It's apparently just come into season, and was only 60p. I think I'm going to stuff it with sausage meat, garlic and onion and then bake it - should be interesting, at least. I don't actually want to eat it, but assume Fish probably will.

Right - time to go and watch some more crap tv, as my head is feeling increasingly full of gloop. *sigh.

Bath and ham

I have spent today being contrary. I keep making statements to Fish, then immediately changing my mind as soon as he makes the mistake of embarking upon agreement or conversation. I'm not sure why I'm doing this, and am vaguely sorry for it, but can't seem to help it - it's like picking at a scab. So, news.

I have, finally, got a new job! As of June, I shall be a Proper Editorial Assistant. After so long feeling like a child only allowed into the entrance of the sweetshop, this is quite exciting. There's no more money, of course, but people in publishing do always seem vaguely surprised by the idea that one might need money with which to live. There's a slight feeling in the industry that to even mention the word 'salary' is bad manners - the (much better paid) Senior Editors all appear to believe that reading the scrawlings of the insane should be reward enough. 'How much does it pay? How terribly sweet of you to ask, darling. Now do toddle off and marry a banker.'

We've spent the weekend in Bath, visiting my properly grown-up cousin (my age, but at least 12 times more mature) and her equally grown-up partner (they own tall, white salt-and-pepper grinders and thus are officially partners rather than boyfriend and girlfriend). It was, as usual, lovely, if somewhat frighteningly polite. We spent most of today playing bridge and listening to opera, our serene air of middle-classness flawed only by my boyfriend sniggering at every use of the word 'rubber'. Incidentally, we own salt-and-pepper grinders that don't match and are from the pound shop. I'm not sure whether this leaves us in partner territory or not.

Sophie (my cousin) and I, also cooked an utterly delectable smoked ham. For anybody who happens to read this, go and buy one immediately! Then simmer it gently in enough water to cover, roughly chop and throw in 2 onions, some celery, 2 carrots, a leek, cloves, peppercorns, bay leaves and any other herbs desired (thyme works well). Simmer for an hour for 1kg gammon joint, then 20 mins for every 450g (check this first in a real cook book, as not certain about timings). Make a glaze from marmalade, sugar, mustard and soy sauce (mmm....) and get some cider ready. Take the ham out once it's simmered for the right amount of time, then remove the rind and some of the fat. I then rubbed a little salt into the rind, chopped it into strips and stuck it in the oven (which should have been set at 200 degrees - sorry, forgot to say that bit). This bit's optional, but does turn out to make Superb crackling. Back to the ham itself. Put it in a roasting tray. Score the fat with a sharp knife, then cover the fat with the glaze, really rubbing it in, then pour over the cider (should be a couple of inches deep in the roasting tin around the ham. Stick it into the oven, and roast it at 200 degrees, basting it about every 15mins - the recipe said 30 mins, but ours took about 50 mins and was perfect - the top should be caramalised and crispy, but not quite burnt. While it's resting, you can make a sauce with the juices in the tin. Add some fresh thyme, a little flour and boil to reduce. It was superb, although now my stomach is slightly blocking the view of this keyboard, which is rather worrying.

It's now 10pm, and I am overjoyed to not have work tomorrow. We are instead going to Thorpe park, which will be both terrifying and marvellous. I haven't been for years, and although I do always underestimate my innate fear of rollercoasters, I'm confident that I can break through the terror barrier and go on the Saw ride without throwing up on someone's head. Must remember to stay well clear of alcohol. Dutch courage would be a mistake in this case.