Dollface is cooking, H is busy getting better and I'm ... forever chasing deadlines, it seems. Might as well recycle a recent Venue ramble; at the Animal Disco, we always make time for tea. Cheerio for now!
“Teatime is back!”, squeals Nigellinga Herringbone-Ramsbottom in her regular column for the Obsessive Foodie Magazine. “And who can resist a return to the simple pleasures of scrambled quail’s eggs with black Périgord truffle, spelt rolls with saffron-infused butter and lemongrass trifle?”. Tea – in this instance, single estate Jasmine Tai Mu Long Zhu - is the recommended tipple, and there’s homemade, unsweetened, organic lemonade for the kids. OFM? Oh My God. For although you nod sagely as you voraciously gobble up those glossy photos and study the ingredients lists (“if you can’t find Horatio Chuffworthy’s quail eggs, Simperington Farm’s organic free range variety work almost as well”), such a spread is never actually going to make it to your table. But teatime? Mmm, now there’s an idea.
Hardboiled eggs mashed up with a bit of Hellmann’s, wedged between slices of bread from a pre-sliced loaf. Raspberry jam butties (proper Bonne Mamans know that Hartley’s will help). Trifle made with just four ingredients: crumbled (shop bought) sponge cake, Robinsons strawberry jelly, Bird’s tinned custard and squirty cream. Can’t be bothered? Open a can of Ambrosia rice pudding instead. There’s Tetley one-cup teabag tea in your mug, Robinson’s Barley Water in plastic beakers for the little ones, and supermarket own-brand Pink Wafer biscuits to dunk’n’dissolve in both afterwards, just in case any empty tummy corners still need to be filled.
Guilty pleasures? They shouldn’t be. We’re talking about real British teatime treats – the food that time (and good taste) forgot.
3 comments:
When you're feeling particularly decadent, a bit of mustard cress (preferably grown on a piece of damp kitchen towel by your offspring), sets off that egg sarnie a treat.
And let us not forget the teatime genius that is Jammie Dodgers. If the Ritz served them, I'd go more often.
Alas I can eat none of these things right now - I've drained Innocent dry of smoothies over the past few days, and frankly if I never see another fucking Waitrose soup it will be too soon.
But soon, pink wafers will be mine...mmmmmm.
How (much) do I love thee? Let me count the ways, starting with this post and working backwards over the last eight (ish?) months. If I thought she might fancy getting married, I'd ask ...
Oh, you Brits! You're so-o-o-o-o-o-o cute. I have printed your post and am taking it into work with me today - if our chefs don't feint with joy I'll eat their horrible blue nylon hairnets. You will never, however, find me eating a Horatio Chuffoworthy egg or a 'buttie' (where I come from, a buttie is a sexual act).
Crikey-blimey-spiffing, Jeeves! How long does a boy have to wait for his kedgeree?
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