Got on the train to Stroud Friday night (someone told me there was a Popeyes in Birmingham and Manchester- not correct as it turns out, but a lot of branches in Bahrain!)
Farmers market in the morning, very good bacon and sausage sandwich before heading to Hobbs Butcher in Chipping Sodbury and buying 6 lovely fat pork chops. And a homemade scotch egg that was still runny in the centre...
Hangover was almost gone by this point, so popped into the Woolpack and had a pint of bitter, eggs, bacon and chips.
Got on the train to the grandparents in Worcestershire, passed out and the rest is a bit of a blur as we went through a rack of ribs (home made honey pepper sauce), baked salmon and potatoe salad (with the delicious addition of runner beans), Carlos the Jackal (not Olivier Assaya's finest hour), fruit with lots of whipped cream and meringue, orange cake made by some local old dears and I slipped into a coma in a cosy corner of the modernist mansion. Woke up, granny tried to shove bacon sandwich down my throat, we compromised on toast with A LOT of butter, and then I put those aforementioned pork chops into roast. Photo says it all really. All you need is a decent pork chop and a very good oven.
Cooked an extra one and ate it cold in the smog of London with nothing but a slice of cucumber, some hot mustard and a piece of sourdough for company.
No comments:
Post a Comment