MY LIFE IN LIPPY AND LEOPARD PRINT
It’s Andy & I’s eighteenth wedding anniversary on Monday, but me being me I’ve got a meeting in the evening that I can’t get out of, so we decided to have a weekender of celebrations. Let’s face it, Monday is a rubbish day to have a birthday or anniversary anyway – weekends are always best.
On Friday I decided to do us a nice curry, a mushroom balti, with all the trimmings – onion bhajis (my favourite Indian snack) and naan bread. You can’t have a curry without naan bread! So I picked up the ingredients (well, Lloyd Grossman’s sauce) plus the naan etc and flew home with them. I cooked everything and thought, “aww this looks well delish”, because it did. The mushroom balti was so tasty, the bhajis hitting ten on the yumometer, then I bit down on the naan…
Arrgh! I felt warm sultanas against my tongue, and is that coconut?! It knocked me sick. I thought I’d bought plain naan and instead I’d only gone and got peshwari.
One thing I can’t stand is savoury and sweet in the same dish. I don’t eat meat, but I never saw the point in Hawaiin pizza (ham and pineapple? VOMIT!) or putting fruit in curries. I went to a party over Xmas and what I thought was cheese on a stick had pineapple hidden in it too. Apple lurking in salad just isn’t right and neither is sweet n sour. I know we live in a free society, but some things just shouldn’t be allowed.
Even Andy described the taste of the peshwari as ‘rather odd’.
I’ll be making sure I examine the label on my food purchases in future…
On Saturday we hit our favourite restaurant in Liverpool, The Casa Italia on Stanley Street right across from the iconic Eleanor Rigby statue. Despite everyone I know going on about post-Xmas diets, I was relieved to see that a good chunk of Liverpool is eschewing such nonesense this January and enjoying a good meal. The Casa was really busy, buzzing, and lively. I had tagliatelle spinaci, with garlic bread (and cheese) starter washed down with a good bottle of barolo (once described by a friend of mine as ‘wine porn’).
Not a piece of fruit in sight. Apart from in the wine!