The House Husband

Rafi is being taught fencing. Unofficially, but still. He knows how to do the salute at the start and starts off with his left arm in the air. He returns frequently to the salute but the arm is never lifted again. He also cheats by using two hands. He claims vociferously that he doesn’t cheat OR use two hands. He does.

I think this proves my point

We had a lovely pre-Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve lunch. We had what we normally have on Christmas Eve which is the roast gammon. The meal turned out perfectly (even though I was forced to use ghee* when I realised there was no lard in the house) apart from the brûlée which wasn’t set properly. As Mirinda said, it tasted perfect but was a bit runny. I blame my wrist because it’s always been perfect before.

After lunch, Mirinda and Susanne went for a walk into Farnham, leaving Rafi and me to watch The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie. What a cack! It was hilarious. Quite surreal in parts.

Rafi actually remained quiet so I could hear the dialogue. At one point I paused it to let Day-z go to the loo and Rafi complained! Odd how Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs doesn’t have quite the same effect.

Anyway, I loved the movie. I thought the Hoff bit was superb, the opening sequence with the pirates truly inspired and Scarlett Johansson excellent as Mindy, which is saying something because I’m not a big fan of hers.

We both laughed a lot throughout. Rafi claims he’s only seen it once before.

I had a lovely day (this is the first time Rafi has stayed with me while Susanne went somewhere else with Mirinda) and was royally entertained by Rafi and his two rubber swords.

Mirinda telling Susanne where the house extension will go

Both Susanne and Rafi noticed the new path (with a little prodding) and wholeheartedly approved.

*The Story of the Ghee
Normally I roast potatoes and parsnips in lard, like anyone who was brought up in the same cultural way that I was. For the last few days, I’ve kept forgetting to buy any lard to roast the potatoes and parsnips in for today. Every day I return from Waitrose and whack myself on the forehead and give an agonised D’Oh!

Last night was the last straw. I figured they might have some in the Pantry (the ex-Londis…the shop down the road) so I popped out. They had no lard but they had tins of ghee. For anyone who doesn’t know, ghee is a clarified butter or, basically, butter without the whey. It stores very well outside a fridge, in a can and it smells very buttery.

I ‘ummed’ and ‘ahed’ for a bit and then decided to bite the bullet. I bought the ghee and used it for the potatoes and parsnips. It’s very easy to use (pretty much like lard, really) and makes the kitchen smell of butter. The potatoes were very crunchy and fluffy. Mirinda said they were the best roast potatoes she’s ever tasted. I guess I’ll be sticking to the ghee from now on then.

So, the doctor told me to get rid of the sling while the plaster nurse told me to keep my arm elevated. I complied with the doctor and woke up with a very painful wrist. I then decided to follow the nurse’s advice and used the sling again. Gradually the pain subsided and returned to general discomfort.

Of course, being Wednesday, it was our usual lunch date but, because Mirinda had a meeting in Bristol, we decided to have dinner instead. It would also be the first time I’d taken a long trip since breaking my wrist. I found out some interesting things.

Firstly, travelling into London at peak hour is not a good idea when you only have one arm. I was run into a couple of times – one of the irritating things about being invisible – which hurt. Secondly, the train seat have even less room when you try and sit comfortably with a cast. I feel really sorry for anyone with a broken leg. Thirdly, and most important, travelling down escalators is pretty hairy.

I was carrying a bag in my good hand which meant I couldn’t grab onto anything to steady myself and having very little sense of balance meant I felt very insecure. Up was ok but down…not so good. It doesn’t help when rush hour commuters are whizzing by either. Mea cupla, obviously as my timing could have been a lot better, but even so…

But I managed to get to the flat without too much trouble and waited while Mirinda took a couple of work calls before we set off on our ‘date’. We decided to eat at the Lotus floating restaurant, because the food and service is terrific and because I only need one hand to eat with chop sticks.

Apart from the waiter suggesting that Mirinda may have broken my wrist by hitting me with a broom*, everything was lovely. The food was fabulous, the company perfect. It was just like a date. I even walked her home afterwards, all the way to her door, before catching the train home.

I hate it when we miss our Wednesday dates – we’ve missed a few over last month for various reasons – because it makes the being apart bearable.

* actually I suggested the broom.

This is the view from where we had intended to have dinner tonight.

The view from the outside seats at Cafe Rouge, Canary Wharf

I say ‘intended’ but we ended up inside. When we arrived there were quite a few people eating outside so we figured they would serve us as well. Some guys were even wearing shorts and t-shirts like me so we knew there was no dress code. Anyway, out of politeness, we asked an older chap who looked like the manager if we could sit outside and he said “sure” (or something like ‘sure’ – it was hard to tell as he mumbled and didn’t look at you when he spoke). We ordered drinks after he gave us the menus and he left.

After a while we wondered whether anyone would take our order. We gave all the right signals and there was a bunch of them standing by the door at various times but no-one seemed to want our business. Eventually we moved inside where we had to ask to be served.

Again we were served by the older chap. We ordered dinner which he didn’t write down and subsequently got wrong and chuckled about it. Obviously they do a roaring trade and therefore have no need to actually serve Monday night stragglers. There was a table of four not far from us who were getting the same sort of service as we were. Not a lot.

The reason we were eating at Canary Wharf was because we decided to take our luggage to the flat for our Italian trip. We don’t leave till Saturday but we thought it smarter to leave from the flat. We left home after lunch and had an almost uneventful train and tube trip. It was ‘almost’ because the tube train decided to stop in the tunnel for what seemed like hours (to Mirinda) but was actually about five minutes (in real time).

Most of the morning was spent washing clothes and packing, trying to fit it all into one suitcase. I’ve come to the conclusion that Mirinda always packs to the size of the suitcase plus half. We wanted to try and limit our luggage this trip as we’ll be going by train and it just makes it easier to move around from city to city. So we decided to use the big silver one. When we’d finished, we had the silver suitcase plus a smaller case. So, one plus a half.

Next time we try this, I’m going to go for the three quarter size suitcase we have, knowing that Mirinda will fill this and then have a ‘half’ pile beside it. I will then pack it all into the silver suitcase. As long as she forgets this post, I’m betting it will work.

Anyway, we eventually had our meal (lovely as usual) but decided to forgo dessert as the time was getting on. I walked Mirinda back to her flat and then made the long journey home to the poodles.

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I forgot to mention our hornbeam. It is in blossom and going insane, spreading its little seeds everywhere. It sort of resembles dandelion seeds except there is an awful lot of it. Every time the wind blows, it releases another cloud. Consequently, our garden (and most rooms in the house) is covered with it. Here is just a small bit of it.

Blossom from the hornbeam

When the conservatory guy came on Saturday, his bald head was covered in it, giving him a sort of blonde afro hairstyle.

Pork belly on red cabbage & smoked potato mash

Ignoring the poor quality of the photograph (because of low light) this was my main course last night. As I wrote yesterday, we finally went to Truffles restaurant in Alton. It has been heralded as the best restaurant in Alton. While I should state that I like Alton very much (we did live there for a bit), saying something is the best in Alton, does not aim very high. However, without this praise, Truffles also has two AA rosettes, a high award indeed. The Auberge in Haslemere had the same. It was because of this that we decided to go. Well, to be fair, Mirinda was the one who really wanted to try it out.

The restaurant is part of a hotel and is lovely. In the car park was a lovely vintage car (I’d say what model it was but I really have no idea) giving the whole place a modicum of class. And very nice it was too.

Vintage car outside Truffles

At this point, everything looked good and expectation was high. We wandered into the bar where a young barman was busy fending off a bunch of women, clearly out for a night of fun and giggles. He was completely professional, making sure we had drinks to take into the lounge while we perused the menu.

What an amazing selection! I’m afraid I had pork for both starter and main course but it was very hard to go passed the ham hock with the fried egg. I love eggs and try and have at least one with every meal. The ham hock is the ankle joint of the pig, usually from the front leg – I know because I just looked it up. My only previous knowledge of the ham hock came from a psychedelic song recorded by the band Funkadelic, in which they discussed them in connection with a bowl of cereal. And for my main, the pork belly (a personal favourite) and smoky mash just jumped off the page and held me transfixed.

It was while we were looking at the menu that our suspicions were first aroused. The prices seemed awfully low for a double rosette restaurant. The wine list was similar until I turned a few pages and managed to find the sancere which was a more ‘reasonable’ price. We ordered and hoped for the best.

As we left the lounge on our way to table 42 (the barman was amazed I remembered it and when I tried to explain how it’s the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything, he just switched off) another group of diners were looking at the menu. One of them called the waitress over asking for some clarification of some of the words on it. They wanted to know if they could have mashed potato with puy lentils (pronounced ‘poo-ey’ lentils by the oldest chap) until the waitress explained that the lentils were the protein and having potato would double it up. I’m not sure what the result of this was as we were out of earshot sitting at our table.

The restaurant area was very atmospheric. Low lighting, flickering candles, the usual sort of thing. The room has a hint of art deco about it with those multi colour glass lamps dotted about the room. It was very conducive to a good night’s eating. Through the arch behind us, the group of women were getting stuck into the wine and were strating to take far too many photographs and getting rowdy. This concerned me for a bit but they all quietened down and didn’t really bother us. Though the barman had a hard time most of the night. Apparently his name was not Darren although that’s what was printed on the bill roll – or so one of the women said.

Our wine arrived to coincide with the other group of diners (the lentil people) who immediately complained that it was too dark. I’m not sure why this should be a problem. They had already ordered, all they had to do was talk and eat but, apparently, they needed excessive light for these task. I guess it’s important to make sure you’re not talking to the wrong person.

Anyway, the waitress suggested another table which was a bit closer to a light but, instead of following through on this preferable course of action, she turned the lights up. Suddenly any atmosphere in the room was removed and it all just looked like someone’s over sized dining room with too many dining tables in it. To be completely honest, we couldn’t believe it had just happened. Not what you expect…etc, etc.

Still, we ignored it and enjoyed our meal. My starter was delicious, although it was a bit undecided what temperature it should be. Unless indicated otherwise, I expect my meals to be equal, temperature-wise. The ham hock wasn’t the same temp as the egg and the pineapple relish wasn’t any temp at all. This makes it out to be not very nice but it was really delicious. The flavours were delicate and complementary. I excused the temperature thing and just enjoyed it. Mirinda’s rabbit was also delicious and I don’t think there was any discrepancy with the temperature.

The wine was lovely, though a few years younger than I was expecting. This wasn’t a problem, it was lovely. My main arrived looking like the photograph above. And I have to say, it was superb. I’m not sure how they smoke potato mash but it was very effective. It had a slight scent of wood smoke and tasted a bit smoky. The pork belly was perfect melt in the mouth as it should be and the red cabbage an excellent accompaniment. Mirinda’s lamb was lovely as well but she needed to add salt.

Actually, that was another thing. At these sort of restaurants, adding things like salt and pepper should not be necessary. The chef has prepared a meal to a certain degree of taste and adding anything extra will spoil the balance of flavour. However, as the barman put the meals down, he asked if we’d like black pepper. I was shocked. I didn’t let it show. And then, having tasted her lamb, Mirinda needed salt.

Mine needed nothing and was a delight all the way down. Even the fresh veg was steamed perfectly with lots of lovely broccoli and carrot.

For dessert I had a treacle cake thing in a nutmeg custard with mandarin cream, while Mirinda had the rice pudding. Both were delicious. We ended up with coffee & peppermint tea (and a sneaky glass of amaretto) in the lounge before we paid and left.

On the way home we chatted about why we wouldn’t be going back. Our main problem was the price which affected the ambience and the size of the meals. The meals were too big, the prices too low and there was no appetizer. A shame because I think the chef is excellent but slightly wasted at the best restaurant in Alton.

I have just looked up the Truffles website and, apparently we were supposed to be served an appetizer and petit fours with our coffee. We missed out on both. Also the AA rosettes were awarded in 2007-2008. I think things may have slipped a bit!

Mirinda at Truffles before the lights were raised

I finished my first essay today and submitted it. I now have three to go.

Tonight we went for dinner for Mirinda’s birthday. As usual the food was fantastic. My main meal was, quite frankly, amazing. It was pork belly, which is always lovely, on a bed of cabbage with a lovely light sauce. That is not particularly odd.

However, on the left hand side of the plate was a Scotch egg with a slice of bacon leaning against it, in a small pool of tomato sauce. But this was not any normal Scotch egg! Rather than the usual pork mince, inside was black pudding and instead of a chicken egg, in the very middle was a pigeon’s egg.

It was delicious though the combination of the two dishes was a bit odd. So I ate one then I ate the other. I couldn’t see myself mixing tomato sauce with the pork belly. Never gonna happen.

Dessert, again, was interesting. It was Bakewell tart with clotted cream. If you’d never had a Bakewell tart, it was lovely. Beautifully made and delicious to eat. However, it wasn’t like a Bakewell tart. Mirinda had a mango tart thing which she said was fantastic.

Tomorrow I’m off to the Globe with the weasels to see Macbeth.

Yonks ago, Mirinda and I helped out a colleague of hers with a lethal spreadsheet and ever since she has been threatening to take us out to dinner. She tried to organise it about a year ago but, for one reason or another (I think Mirinda had a meeting or something) it fell through. It was finally arranged for tonight.

After uni I walked down and met Mirinda for lunch and a look at another flat in her Poirot block we’ve been trying to view for ages, then I walked her back to her work for a meeting. I then had a mission to transport two paintings from her now demolished office to the flat. I carried them across and hung them both then was back to meet her at 6pm.

The plan was to meet at Ping Pong at 7 so we took a long, very cold walk across the river and along the South Bank. Sadly, Ping Pong was full so Ben suggested we try Thai Silk so we wandered another few miles across Southwark to find it.

There was five of us. Rachel (the one with the spreadsheet requirement), Ben and Laura (one time Mirinda PA, now timetable expert), Mirinda and I. And we had a lovely night. Normally when you’re the only person who doesn’t work at the same place everyone else does, you feel a bit left out and, quite frankly, bored but, because Mirinda keeps me well informed I feel I work there anyway. So I was able to laugh at the same foibles and the same people.

The meal was lovely too so all round, a great night. Trouble is, it meant I didn’t get home until midnight which resulted in two very manic poodles. I left at 7am so it was a long day for them both.