Dirty Old Men

I don't like one of my work colleagues. He has a bad habit of believing that all middle-aged women like to be cuddled when greeted. It's not the fact that he has rather offensive body odour, or that he has small white flecks of spit permanently fixed to the corners of his mouth. No, it's not even his habit of wriggling his pinky finger when he touches a female hand during the exchange of monies at the food counter. It's definitely the cuddling of women he hardly knows. He often takes the business cards left in the large glass bowl on the counter from those trying to provide a business service. He adds the details to that dreadful Facebook that passes itself off as a social network, then calls these strangers his friends. I am tempted to jab his bulbous eyes with a fish slice the next time he insists on cuddling a member of the public. I often wish that a rather large irate husband would enter the restaurant and pile drive a huge knuckle sandwich into his flabby belly to teach him a lesson.

I can only hope.

The Royal Baby - Breaking News

I have it on very good authority that the latest silver spoon sprog is to be named Malachi Patrick Joseph Seamus, due to the overriding guilt felt by his parents over the way in which the monarchy shamefully acquired their land over the last few hundred years.

Yeah, I've been drinking. Two coffees and a large vanilla shake since my dinner. My bad.

The Lesser of Two Evils

I am a failure on so many fronts it would seem. Whilst my fellow Glaswegian blogger jets off to the tropics to lap up the hot weather, swim with dolphins, drink strong whisky as if it was water and still create Mallorcan dishes that would knock the spots from a cheater, I sit here on top of an electric fan and feebly clutch a diet coke. I'm not cut out for hot weather or strong drink. The sun peels my skin and the big strong Highlander that I aspire to be seems a million miles north of what I actually am. Hot! How does the Chef, with his bronzed tan and his ability to adapt to whatever his environment throws up before him, still manage to produce the most wonderful of recipes while I struggle to flip burgers and salt fries for 10 hours a day? As for drinking fire water? Fanta orange and Dr Pepper give me a headache if I drink too much. I may have to question my parentage. Perhaps I am English and adopted by 2 lovely old people who just happened to live in Scotland. Yeah, that's it. I'm not a failure, I'm just an Englishman. I really am doomed!

Mapstew, Trailer Park Refugee, Past Imperfect

Just found em, loving them already.

Americans, Dogs, Beetles & Neck Tattoo's

I hated Americans without ever meeting one. I hated dogs without ever owning one. I detested Volkswagen Beetles without ever driving one. I detested unemployed people with neck tattoos without ever knowing one.

On Monday I attended a food course and was seated next to a guy from Chicago who was here for a year on an exchange programme. I was disappointed. Not once did he brag, show off or act like the fuck wits we are forced to endure so often on television. He was suave, funny, intelligent and a hell of a chef. We have exchanged numbers and we are going to meet up midweek for a few beers.

My girlfriend is ill so I have had to walk, feed and amuse her small pooch which up to now has just been background noise as far as I am concerned. To my delight I have discovered that a wagging tail, a cocked head and a welcoming little canine jig in constant circles as I arrive has grown on me. He is sitting beside me right now with his head on my feet.

Being on a limited budget dictates which mode of transport I get to drive. The for sale cards in my local supermarket threw up a limited choice after my scooter decided to die in the middle of a rainstorm on Friday night. I left it writhing in agony in a puddle at the side of the road where it fell. I never looked back. £1,480 got me a rather retro looking vee-dub, all be it somewhat rusty and with a musty smell which reminds me of mushroom soup. I love it. I feel like a kid again and people wave to me from the cramped confines of their own Beetles. So cool!

I'm still working on the neck tattoo thing though, but so far the prognosis isn't looking good.

Big Man

Hunger is a ghost of which no spirit can ever fill me. Today I missed a meal and also a friend. I can replace the meal, but the friend who lifted me and returned me to blogging has left. Enjoy the sun big yin, see you in Glasgow one fine September morning in the rain.

Waiter there is a nun in my soup

Extraordinary week this one now dormant on the calendar, but one for the diary while it's still fresh in the mind. Yesterday we had a few holy visitors from Ireland in to fill up on grub while their minibus was being repaired across the road. It seems that god made many things, but Movano buses was not one of his better ideas. As we were kinda busy during the lunchtime rush hour the lovely nuns instead of whining at the waitresses to hurry up and serve the soup, they actually ferried it from the serving counter to their tables. Nice of them in a way, but one customer sidled up to me and said that an elderly nun had spilled soup on his coat hanging from the back of the chair. What was I gonnae do?
I poured him a free coffee, but he wanted something more. I gave him free soup, all good, until the offending nun carried it over to his table with her thumb in the broth.

He stormed out. I  let him go, perhaps the devil serves soup better in hell. Amen to that one.

Janey McGurk

This weekend finds me a happier man now that my lady friend has decided that I need constant companionship and a few nice cushions and a throw on my sofa to make it less gloomy. It's funny how female company can make you change your mind about being a miserable bastard forever. Now I have to phone my sister and tell her that her spare room back in Glasgow will no longer be required.

Maybe next month?

Time

Where does it go? One minute I had my final college exams and I was all excited about becoming a catering God, the next I am standing in someone else's grotty little kitchen peeling spuds. Time is a curse, I spend my day looking at my watch willing the hands to turn faster so that I can hang up my whites, which are more of an abysmal grey, and head out alone to yet another over-priced back street London bar. There was a time when I used to swagger around my home town in Scotland and smile widely because I had an inkling that the grass was going to be greener as soon as I had my degree and would open up so many restaurants in the big city of London and become hugely rich and famous like so many others that have gone before me. Time seems to have fucked me and now I am left holding the hands of poverty and unhappiness.

Long Live The Chef

Another one bites the dust, and another one gone, another one gone, another one bites the dust. Is it temporary or is it really the end of the chef? I just got reacquainted with the big yin too. I suppose there is always bookface to fall back on I suppose.

Luxury Saturday

Luxury Saturday I am going to call it. Roast chicken sandwiches on soft fluffy bread, real ale in straight glasses and an evening ahead in the company of my sister and her single friend. I'm thinking blu ray, a good comedy, followed by lashings and lashings of good red wine.

Students

University towns, what a crock of poop. All day long students with little money keep me run off my feet with ridiculous requests for a bottle of coke and 2 straws. How long can you make a warm bottle of coke last before my patience wears thin? 4 hours it would seem. Not happy at all.

Reminder To Self

Important! When making macaroni with cheese, check to make sure the blue catering plaster is still securely attached to fingers prior to serving the customers. It's not been a good day.

Rude Shitheads

There is definitely something wrong with rude people who insist on pushing their luck with people who work retail. The guy who thought he could lean over the counter and call me an asshole because his eggs were not cooked how his wife makes them for instance! I dont need to take his shit. So I didnt. Enjoy the eggs and your busted lip for the rest of the week shithead.

For Breakfast This Morning (sorry Chef)

For breakfast this morning! Actually that opening line has well and truly been owned by Chef Files, probably not advisable to pinch that one. I did have a nice breakfast though this morning, especially as the town I call home is currently awash with slush and sooty coloured buildings. The cold permeates my bones and makes me feel as grey as the weather. I conjured up a cranberry porridge mixed with crushed almonds and fresh honey. The feel good factor was instant. I wish I could have shared it with you. At this point Chef Files would have curled off witty riposte  and then bashed out an easy to follow menu. Again, best not stand on any big toes with my small shoes.

Doonesbury's, £3.49 a box. Knock yourselves out.

Glasgow Vibe

It is a strange feeling coming back to an empty flat after being in the company of such warm and genuine people. I was overwhelmed by the feelings of nostalgia that hit me as the coach drove past the sign that proudly announced that I was in the city of Glasgow. Glasgow is very beautiful in culture,  it has an essence and a vibe that makes the soul come alive. I shall be home to stay one day, of that I am sure after coming back to my childhood playground. I even treated myself to a genuine Gers scarf to wear with pride.

Rainy Days

Rainy days and the aroma of fresh bread remind me the most of the city of my birth, the city that I said goodbye to nearly 8 years ago. It's time I went home for a visit. Glasgow, I'm coming home for the weekend. Will she be waiting for me still? I miss her flaxen hair and the smile that made me smile. Tomorrow I want to be waking up in my old room and my old bed. Fingers crossed.

White Pudding Black Pudding Fruit Pudding

Bacon, sausages, beans, eggs, hash browns, mushrooms and toast. Bacon, sausages, beans, eggs, hash browns, mushrooms and toast. It all becomes an insidious mantra when you have heard it a couple of hundred times every day between the hours of 7am - 3pm. It's always the worky types who 'go large' and have extra sausages or beans, but never anything included in the above title. I kinda miss that. Don't get me wrong, the people who come in to the cafe have probably never heard of any of the puddings on offer, let alone my fave brekkie item, sliced haggie or even tattie scones. I'm getting more and more homesick it would seem. But when it comes down to it I really don't miss the poor weather or the worry about life in general, the unemployment and the limited lifespan on certain housing schemes. I guess I sold my soul somewhat when I left and my penance was to give up the 3 puddings. A small price to pay methinks.

How To Make A Real Sandwich

Sour cream, salsa and Welsh mature cheese, fried egg, marmite, tuna, sunflower shoots and horseradish. Two brown toasted outsiders, thick butter and place the above between them. Delicious.

Pride

Perhaps it isn't quite how I saw my future, but it is a job and it will pay the rent. I  start on Monday as an all day breakfast chef in a small diner in the city.  My pride took a hit,  but the fact that the cupboards are empty in my flat made me remember that pride isn't as important as sausages when you are hungry.

Not Done Yet

I refuse to give up. I refuse to be unemployed. I am the best at what I want to be.

Crestfallen

Sometimes in life we fail to recognise the simple things in life we all take for granted. My job for instance. Long hours, stressful, tiring, hot and extremely draining on the body. A sixteen hour shift followed by 5 precious hours of sleep has been telling to say the least. Not anymore. On Friday we are to be released from our trial period as trainee chefs. No severence pay, no valid reasons other than the old excuse of "too many overheads". Yeah, that old chestnut again. I now face long term unemployment, unpaid rent, and even worse, low self esteem as I join the jobless in broken Britain. I am trying so very hard to keep smiling but right now my world feels broken.

Know How Currys

My boss is a great chef but his curry  on the menu today was not authenticate enough to be classed as real Bombay delight. And i was concerned that my angel delight was not heavenly enough! 

PR Disaster

It took me an age to demonstrate my chalkboard skills and italic finesse this morning. Sadly by midday the horrid weather had wiped the slate clean quicker than a bookie at the dog track. On a lighter note it's good to see that my chicken stock was finally praised by the chef and actually made him raise a smile.

Wake Up Call

Turns out that the panic attack I suffered halfway into a 14 hour shift yesterday is due to an ingredient that does not agree with me. Coffee. Jittery and with a pounding head and upset stomach, it has been explained that 11 shots of espresso in a short period of time will no longer be an option. At least the head chef was sympathetic and let me go home 15 minutes early tonight. Mind you, I have to make it up tomorrow. Go figure. At least he liked my gravy!

Cranky Chefs

I kinda thought that catering college would prepare me for anything. It seems not. Last night my vegetable preparation was compared to something you might find in the trash after the gravy has been extracted.Try as I might I can't seem to please the head chef with much of late. My dad says I need to grow a pair of balls and stand up for myself. It is not like that in a kitchen though. At least my skill with keeping quiet has kept me in a job longer than some. I need a mentor. I need someone who will explain things and have patience instead of anger. How will I cope when the pressure is really on, I guess I will have to wait and see.

Cranky Customers

My eggs are cold!

Stop nagging your poor husband and eat your chow for chrissakes. I saw and heard you!

My food tastes better at home

Stay at home and eat you miserable crud!

Good Honest Food

The common misconception is that all chefs are portly and jolly, they eat well and taste much during the cooking aspect of our routine in the kitchens. Simply not true. I have just completed a 16 hour shift slaving over a zillion different awesome dishes yet am famished with hunger beacuse I simply have not had time to take a regular meal break. So as soon as my feet have rested after such a long day I shall be making grilled cheese topped with a delicious fat pickle. Good honest food easy to make for a weary trainee chef.

Go ahead punk, make my grilled cheese.

Toodle-pip.

Cool Chefs

Hey, it was cool catching up with some old faces in Norway, Ireland and Scotland this past week, way too many recipes going on for me to try them all but hey, I have time on my side. My blogging ability has stalled since my prolific college days but the cooking skills is coming along ok. My thanks to Woody for his tips on sausage and corned beef recipes, they went down a storm with my folks. Thanks to Chef Files for including so many recipes on his blog for me to try. I did try to copy and paste but the function denied me the privilege. Bah humbug! Also thanks to Gumbo for his gumbo, all that meat is proving expensive but worth it.

Later dudes.

New Year New Blog

It;s been a while since I posted anything of interest on the original blog. Time maybe to forget the word smarts and go back to learning about what I like doing the best. Cooking awesome food. New year new blog. Wish me luck.


Okay, what makes the best sloppy Joes? Let me know your zany recipes please. I have hundreds going round in my head but none yet to comer out on paper.