The cat that very nearly got out of the bag....

It's not easy keeping a secret and there have been plenty of times when I have nearly come a cropper and spilt the beans. Plant the seed of secrecy in my head and it will spread like wildfire through the tiny chasms of my brain before making its way down to my mouth to burst out like the proverbial magician's bouquet. Surprise! Opps, I shouldn't have said that. I don't know where this strange compulsion comes from but it can be by turns embarrassing, annoying and life threatening. In the past I have been caught bang to rights. Oh that terrible sinking feeling you get when you realise that you have just revealed all, especially when you also realise that the fellow conspirator who trusted you is also in the room. I have learnt by my mistakes though and how to cover my tracks whenever confidential information comes looming to the surface. The method may not be entirely convincing but it works. If I get the urge, I just simply go way off tangent and people are used to that from me. "Hey, you won't believe this but did you hear about....ah ah ah what wow, WOW, what about that Avatar eh? Did you get it? Did you er, did you keep your 3D glasses?"*

Baring all of this in mind, the real crazy thing is that I am trying to keep all this WMPC malarky under the hat and from the powers that be at work. Yes, ridiculous I know. You couldn't describe writing a blog on the Internet as a secret pursuit and let's face it, I'm hardly doing this anonymously now. I mean I'm not a second Belle du Jour in waiting (or am I? ooh la-la). And given my confession for being crap at keeping secrets well why am I trying to keep all of this quiet? Why shouldn't I just say to my colleagues right "I'm off to get my dinner for tonight that a total stranger has made me. See you in a bit suckers!"? Well I have thought long and hard about this and I can't really come up with any proper reasons other than it might restrict what I can write about and I'd feel odd knowing that my workmates can read about the food adventures I have on the outside world. I try to keep work and play separate you see and therefore WMPC is my guilty greedy secret. It's quite a buzz to pop back into the office and stash goodies in the fridge to be consumed later and it's amazing that no-one has noticed what I'm up to. Until now.

So far, most contributors have handed over their lovingly prepared meals, neatly stored in tupperware boxes, in nondescript plastic or paper bags. And as such I can waltz into the office as though I have just nipped to the deli up the road and bought a few bits, they're used to that in my office. However, Aaron of The Grub Worm decided to hand over his effort in a garish, tiger-striped plastic carrier bag, the kind you might get after buying some dodgy latex underwear from a sex-shop in Soho. Despite enjoying a very pleasant lunch and chat in The Jerusalem Tavern with Aaron, throughout the conversation my mind kept wandering back to one over-riding thought, which was how the hell am I going to sneak this into the office?! Grrrreat. Even his funny tales of redneck cousins who keep enormous arsenals in their wardrobes way down in Georgia in the good ol' USA couldn't distract me. After we bid each other farewell, my game plan was to stroll back into the office, casually slip the bag into the fridge in the tiny kitchen and calmly seat down in front of my PC. As long as I didn't draw attention to myself, I figured that I would be fine. Of course it didn't work.

"Bloody hell Dan, what have you got in there? You been out buying kinky underwear or summink?"

And then all eyes were on me.

All I could do was grin sheepishly in the doorway and utter a nervous giggle whilst gripping the Tony Tiger bag as tight as I could. I even broke out into a sweat and probably blushed too which didn't help matters.

"So come on what have you got there?"

At that point, I very nearly came clean and revealed all, thinking that all this sneaking around wasn't worth it anymore. Who cares if they know I write a blog about meeting people and eating their food. OK, so I am doing something that is a thousand times more interesting than anything that has ever remotely happened in this dump, so what. I am bored shitless here and feel immensely frustrated yet I lack the will or courage to find myself another poxy job. In fact the thought scares the bejesus out of me because I have a young family, a house and I need the fucking money. This is what I am up to because it sure as hell helps beats the humdrum of this craphole!!!

Luckily the off-tangent bullshit kicked in before I uttered any of those sentences so for the record I am taking part in a little Twitter experiment where people are swapping meals and there's some kind of chart system going on with participants going up and down depending on the points they score and it's a bit like Come Dine With Me and at the end of the year there is a cash prize (this is in fact, a bloody good idea!). All the garish Tony Tiger bag contained was food, no rubber y-fronts I'm afraid. The workmates just stared back blankly, shrugged their shoulders in bemusement and went back to their computer screens. I placed the bag in the fridge and then sat down with fingers shaking at the keyboard. I think I might just have got away with it but then again maybe not, for as long as this post exists in the blogosphere, the truth remains out there. There are no secrets on the Internet.

So anyway what the hell was in the bag that Aaron gave me and how did it fair? Well, it seems that he is a big fan of Turkish cuisine so for this installment of WMPC he prepared a lavish Ottoman feast of Baba Ganoush and Aubergine Salad with Pide Bread as a meze starter, Lamb Tagine with Dates, Almonds and Honey for mains and a dessert of Stuffed Apricots with Strained Greek Yoghurt and Chopped Pistachios. Now Aaron has already gone and posted in his blog that he felt that his baba ganoush didn't quite hit the spot and I've already told him that he shouldn't beat himself up about this. No I am quite happy to do it instead because yes this traditional Turkish aubergine dish did misfire somewhat. As Aaron explained in his post, the aubergine almost certainly would have benefited from a proper roasting on a gas hob or under a hot grill to impart that signature smokey flavour rather than baking in the oven. Adding a healthy blob of tahini would have also given it a nutty kick. But that is my only criticism that I have to offer here as everything else was fantastic. The aubergine salad with tomato and parsley was fresh and zesty. The tagine was surprisingly good as on paper I wasn't entirely sure that the sweet combination of honey and dates would compliment the strong flavours of lamb but they went really well together. And I enjoyed the texture and crunch that the almonds provided. Aaron's cous cous was still nice and fluffy with just a hint of saffron in the background. The big winner for me was the simple dessert of stuffed apricots. Not only was it pleasing to the eye with vibrant, mounds of orange flesh contrasting against little emerald shards of pistachio, this dish managed a fine blend of rich yet clean flavours. The creamy yoghurt was nicely set against a subtle backdrop of aromatics. I was convinced that he had extravagantly poached the apricots in rosewater but apparently lemon and cardamom was all that he used in his syrup. Very good indeed and a fitting end to a fairly rich and luxurious meal.

Thank you Aaron, I salute you sir for a marvelous meal though next time whack those aubergines on the bbq will you old chap.

Another feast

Baba Ganoush

Aubergine Salad

Lamb Tagine with Dates, Honey and Almonds with Cous Cous

Stuffed Apricots with Greek Yoghurt and Pistachios

From now on I want to be an anonymous blogger (and keep my job for the time being)

*No doubt if you are reading this and have told me a secret, you are now crapping yourself.

Eat Your Heart Out Heston

It happened again last night. The recurring dream. Or nightmare as the case may be. I am back in school, walking down the main corridor next to the refectory and slowly but surely, the other pupils start to point and laugh. I can't understand why so I just hold my head up high and carry on walking, trying to get to my class on time. But the jeering and hysterics reach an unbearable crescendo. Even teachers passing by erupt into spasms of laughter. It feels like everybody has their eyes on me and the pressure of this claustrophobia is immense. My head feels like it's going to cave in. And then it hits me, the realisation that I am stark bollock naked. And there's nothing I can do about it except run. Or wake up in a cold sweat.

Psychoanalysts would probably have a field day with the significance of this but I think it basically boils down to a nagging feeling that I could have done better at school. Don't get me wrong, I loved school but in some lessons, I should have paid more attention and perhaps not been so mischievous. Take science for instance, I ran riot. I shall never forget Mr Carthy's face turn ashen when I explained that I had just stuck the tip of a thermometer into the bunsen burner and that poisonous mercury had sprayed all over the ceiling of the classroom (Alan Kwok put me up to that). He turned apoplectic when he found out that I had 'accidentally' set alight to his makeshift greenhouse at the back of the classroom. Well it had been crudely constructed out of cling film and garden canes, anyone wondering around with a lit splint could have done it. I do however feel pangs of guilt when I think about poor old Dr Goswami and the stress we put her thorough. Originally from Bangladesh, she had rather a strong Bengali accent which to us mean-spirited kids was a source of great amusement. During one lesson, Dr Goswami was instructing us through an experiment, telling the class to make sure that we kept our thumbs on the test tube whilst gently shaking it. Unfortunately her pronunciation of "thumb" sounded like "tongue" so cue 30 idiots sticking their flappy, pink dorsums over the top of said test tubes and wiggling their heads back and forth. She very nearly burst into tears as she screamed over and over again "No look! Use your tongue! YOUR TONGUE!". Like I said, children can be cruel so Dr Goswami I would dearly like to apologise for our actions that day. And thank you for resisting the temptation to repeat the experiment later that week with potassium chloride.

As a result of all this tomfoolery, I'd say that my appreciation of science is limited and narrow-minded. And if we delve further into the realms of food science, my understanding is positively luddite. So when Alexis of LexEat, outside Barbican tube station handed over a suspicious looking, brown paper wrapped package (pieced together with skull and cross bone sticky tape I may add) and a card with a long winded formula written down, I was immediately gripped by the fear. After walking away, I even had to double check that I had my clothes on.

In the emails leading up to our exchange, Alexis formed the opinion that I had been having it far too easy with all this WMPC malarky and that I would have to do some cooking for a change. Which I thought was pretty cheeky actually. It's not easy having to eat all this food you know which at the end of the day is for the purposes of critically evaluating the food blogging community at large. A lot of people may talk the talk but do they walk the walk? Credentials need to be tested and erm, that's what I am doing.......(cue long pause and tumbleweed rolling past).

So OK, after Alexis' jibing, for this particular swop I did expect to have to do a little bit more than zap my meal in a microwave but I didn't expect to have to follow a set of algebraic instructions, which went as follows:

1. Boil H20

2. Pour H20 over X (already seasoned), stir, cover

3. Reheat C

4. When X has absorbed H2O (approx 2-3 mins) stir through

5. Place X & Y on plate, add C, top with B

6. Eat

7. For dessert, sprinkle N on M

8. Inhale

I spent a good half hour on google back in the office, trying to decipher what the hell H2O was and what X and Y could be but kept getting links to skin care products and Chris bloody Martin. In the end I gave up the ghost and decided to take the package back home that evening where my better half took hold of the instructions and proceeded to berate me.

"Look you just have to boil some water and pour it over the cous cous (X), heat up the slow cooked lamb (C), when the cous cous is ready stir in the pistachios, sultanas and pomegranates (Y) and top the whole lot with the Greek yoghurt, cucumber, mint and cumin mix (B). (M) is a chocolate pot with smashed Maltesers (N). Plonker".

I didn't hear that last insult, I was far too busy having my Eureka moment. I'd seen the light, finally knowing how Archimedes felt after scrubbing his back with a loofah but did this meal, which Alexis had quite obviously taken time to prepare and put together, bring culinary enlightenment? Well yes it did, it was very good indeed. Although not an entirely new one on me and I must take this as a sign to get my WMPC posts done quicker, the slow roasted lamb which came with butternut squash was wonderful. The lamb was very tender, packed with middle eastern flavours, cumin, garlic, coriander. The smell was certainly evocative of Moroccan cuisine. The cous cous was a lovely surprise as I can find it a bit uninspiring but I have never tried mixing it with fruit and nuts before. Combining ruby flecks of pomegranate sweetness with the nutty textures, this cous cous was gorgeous to eat and light and fluffy too (but was that down to my deft touch of boiling water and fork fluffing wrist action?). The yoghurt and mint provided a fresh lift that countered the richness of the meat. I am not entirely sure if I was meant to snort the crushed maltesers as per Alexis' instruction, that would have taken the experimental nature of this swop too far but mixed in with the chocolate pot, her thick indulgent mousse provided a very decadent end to the meal. Superb effort Alexis.

I should add at this part of the post that unfortunately our timings meant that we didn't have much opportunity to have a chat as Alexis was on her way to Sheen Suppers the night we met but I am very grateful that she came out of her way to bring me my dinner, which I swapped for a bottle of Australian Chardonnay. I do know this about her though, she is another lawyer who secretly harbours a desire to become a food stylist. After this effort I would certainly endorse her to go ahead with this dream. However Alexis, one thing I don't understand is how can you not find Eddie Izzard funny?

I should also apologise for taking so long to write this frigging post. I seemed to have lost my blogging mojo over the last month and over the Christmas break. I found it eventually, at the back of the fridge next to some out of date cottage cheese.

I blame Alan Kwok for my lack of scientific knowledge

The Magic Formula

What does it all mean?

Slow Cooked Lamb with Butternut Squash, Pistachio, Sultana and Pomegranate Cous Cous and Greek Yoghurt with Mint, Cucumber and Cumin