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.

So, I'm about to try making ox tongue for the first time. Well, the tongue itself, obviously, comes pre-made, but I'm trying to make it edible for the first time. At 1.5kg of solid meat, it is the biggest piece of meat I've ever tried to cook. Sadly, only just put it in the pan now, and is going to take at least 50 mins per 500g...basically, poor Fish will probably not be eating it tonight. I'm boiling it, taking off the tough outer skin and then going to flash fry it in a lemon marinade, and serve with parsley sauce and roast potatoes. In theory. Except that there's no way I'll be able to serve any of this before 12am at the earliest. Never mind. Cold tongue is famously nice.

Was a long day today, like most of the days. I've realised I have once again forgotten to take home a job spec that my friend has passed to me. Maternity leave in an agency for 8 months. The pay will be rubbish, and the job uncertain (if I even got it). However, is still tempting as I would get to deal with that greatest of all things: real books. I am truly sick of happy endings. Would love to see a Mills and Boon end with utter death and destruction. Just once. 'Can this innocent debutante teach dark-hearted Lord Denford that love can heal the deepest of hurts?' No! No she can't. She is going to fail, and be Crushed Forever by her inability to maintain a functional adult relationship. She will, in fact, die alone, having constructed a noose by ingeniously dismantling a whalebone corset. Meanwhile, Lord D shall die a happy drunken death, mid-coitus, at 41.
Life is unfair and sometimes I wish our books were ever allowed to reflect that.

On the other hand, when a romance story does work (I'd say 2% of the time, my more romantically-minded and less slush-allergic colleagues (they like both Glee and Twilight) would say more like 10%), it is wonderful. I'm still in it, I think, because that moment when the two characters make it, and you truly believe that this is it for them - they will be together forever and everything in their worlds will be just slightly better for it - is one of the warmest, most glowingy feelings that are legally available.

I am in the middle of abject joblust. It is not a comfortable place to be, and is steadily becoming an obsession. In fact, I'm worried I'm beginning to radiate desperation (how many people in the world must have wished that desperation were an attractive force).

Having met a girl who is in the exact position I want to be, I was lucky enough to discover that she is incredibly nice and willing to recommend to people who are important. I've now sent off another twelve cover letters and am trembling fairly constantly. Oh well. At least I already have a job, even if large amounts of it are immensely frustrating.

I also met a girl yesterday who terrified me as she is the exact epitome of everything I never want to be. Sadly, she appears to have this effect on many people, and thus manages to become superbly repellent - nothing scares people like an illustration of 'there but for the grace of...'

However, cover letters now gone off, I am free to drink this yummy goliath beer and caramelise red onions to my heart's content. Behind me, my boyfriend and one of his best friends are discussing intricate aspects of computers. Both are supremely happy and utterly incomprehensible.

new recipe

The last week has been a bit exhausting, workwise. As a deeply disorganised person I sort of struggle through, hoping desperately that my occasional ability to come up with good shout lines distracts people from my general inability to cope with boring, repetitive, yet-surprisingly-important-when-someone-is-asking-you-about-them tasks. Unfortunately, it appears that this is not the case. My lack of skill where library and paper organisation are concerned has been noted. The combination of this and a rather nasty row with my boyfriend reduced me to a bit of a wreck this evening. When he returns we are to have a Conversation. I'm not looking to this, so decided to cook a soup while waiting and sobering up. Thus I have created a new recipe, and one that, right now, I am quite proud of as it appears to be yummy. The ingredients are thus:

Around 40g butter
1 tbsp olive oil3 large courgettes
about half a cabbage (I had savoy but white will probably do)
Chicken stock to cover, about 450mg (make your own or use a good fake, like Telma)
Black pepper
A handful of fresh basil
about 3 tbsp (to taste - add more if wished) mild curry powder
two tbsp 5 spice powder
1 tsp hot curry powder (optional)
a handful of strips of cabbage (for garnish)
Leftover salami or chorizo or similar, cubed (about 2 handful)
1 small avocado, cubed, with a squirt of lemon and black pepper on top (keep cold in the fridge)

Chop up the courgettes and cabbage (you're going to puree this soup, so you want them small enough to cook quickly but not minced)
Melt the butter with the oil in a large, heavy based saucepan
Throw in the courgettes and cabbage and fry for a couple of minutes
Add the mild curry powder and five spice
Fry for about another 5 mins, so that the vegetables sweat but do not brown
Add the stock to cover the vegetables and simmer gently for about 20mins, or until soft. Turn off the heat
Puree the soup with any sort of blender - this is quite smooth soup, so keep going for a while.
Taste the soup, add the hot curry powder if needed, black pepper, salt if needed (but remember we are about to add salami) and torn up fresh basil leaves.
Heat a frying pan till very hot, then add the salami cubes. As they start to brown and release their fat, add the cabbage, along with the last bit of butter if it looks dry. When they are a little browned, throw them into the soup and stir.
Leave for a few minutes - then check temparature and serve, throwing a handful of avocado per bowl.
Serve with crusty bread and maybe some grated cheddar if wanted.

This is quite a fatty soup, but filled with vegetables, which I feel negates all the butter. Plus, it's quite yummy and v. cheap if you already have a stocked spice rack.

It's now the morning after, since I had the Conversation (which took the form of sex, but never mind), but was determined to finish the post! Now, I'm going to go back to bed and read. :)