Food so good it nearly made me cry.

So last week it was my birthday, and as a special treat Chris and I went to The Ginger Man in Brighton. The Ginger Man is one of four restaurants owned by the same group- The Ginger Fox, The Ginger Pig and The Ginger Dog being the others, but the one we went to is the original and BEST. (please note I haven't actually been to the others, so this claim is completely unsubstantiated.)

Man alive it was good. We arrived at the little living-room sized restaurant at 7.30pm, and we were on our own in there apart from one older couple. I of course knocked half the stuff off the table as soon as we got in, and they knew we were pikeys. The menu was incredible, with a choice of veal, pork belly, fish, steaks...I was basically in Food Porn Heaven.

Before the starters and mains come out, you are given soup and bread courses, which were fucking genius. The soup was a little espresso cup filled with leek and swiss chard broth. At first I was all 'yeah well it's a soup. It'll get boring. Like soup does.' But then BAM. The most delicious soup EVER. I gobbled mine in about 2 minutes flat and then sat opposite Chris who was taking his time, I nearly launched myself across the table to wrestle it from his hands. Next- the bread. Now, I love bread as much as the next person. Bread is great. It fills you up, it goes with everything (roast dinner sandwich, anyone?) and it's cheap. But this bread was no ordinary bread. This bread was the bread equivalent of an Aston Martin. It came out in a little freshly baked loaf, with sea salt and rosemary massaged into the crust, and a pat of butter. It was like we had never seen food before. I think you were supposed to slowly enjoy it - we ate it so quickly that the people next to us had barely sat down before they were covered in a blizzard of toasty crumbs. I'd go back just for the bread. Apparantly Davis Adam took some home in his pocket once, it was that good.

Next - the starters. I went for the twice baked Tunworth cheese souffle, which was light as a cloud. A delicious cheese cloud.  Hark at it here with it's truffled green beans and toasted almonds. It was all very Masterchef. John Torode and his stupid egg mate with a face drawn on would have been all over it.

I honestly don't know how they did it. It melted on the tongue, a bit like a posh Skip. Chris went for the wood pigeon, which was dressed with a blue cheese crumb and pomegranate seeds. I tried his, and luckily didn't get food envy as I'm not a fan of pigeon, it tastes a bit B.O-ey, like licking a Polish builder's armpit. But yeah, mine was fucking great.

We both opted for the rib-eye steaks, with black truffle butter and dripping chips. Now this is when I nearly started crying with joy. it was so incredibly good, I actually got emotional. Those dripping chips are singularly the most delicious potato product I have ever tasted, and i've had a fair few potato smileys in my time.They were a meal in themselves - crisped up around the edges, fluffy inside, meaty almost, and dipped in the black truffle butter they were a party on my palate. I nearly had to nip off to the toilets and have a quick wank. Seriously, that good. Just look at it.

Pudding was a bitter chocolate pot, with sea salt caramel and clotted cream. SALT in a pudding. SALT. I love salt, I make no bones about it, I am not ashamed of it. My arteries are probably thicker than Katie Price but I just can't shake the habit. So SALT in a DESSERT was perfect. It was delicious. I was so full that I wished I was bulimic and unfortunatly couldn't finish the lot, but the memory will stay with me forever. It was pretty pricey, around £100 with wine, but FUCK ME it was good. Highly recommended, for a special occasion.

Sorry that was all a bit sweary and rude but I simply can't put into words quite how delicious it all was. So fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

The Ginge Hits The Gingerman

Today is my birthday. I am 24 today. That's still 6 years off 30 and i'm not quite yet 'Mid-Twenties' so I am still happy about having birthdays. The sun is out, I have fresh daffodils on my desk courtesy of the lovely Jenny and I am full of the joys of Spring.

I am also WAY EXCITY about dinner this evening. Chris and I are going to The Gingerman, and I. CAN'T. WAIT. I have already looked at the menu about 8 times, chosen what i'm going to have, changed my mind, played the game where someone else chooses what they will have and then I revise my choice so I don't get Food Envy (it is a very real and debilitating condition) and then gone back to my original choice. I've wanted to go for ages but it's a bit expensive for just popping in for lunch so it's a bit of a special occasion treat. They do DRIPPING CHIPS! And bloody CHAR GRILLED QUAIL! Fucking QUAIL! I'm way too pikey for all this. Also I eat with the knife and fork in the wrong hands so i'm a bit of an embarressment at the dinner table to be honest. But for tonight, I am actually going to brush my hair, put some clean pants on and talk in proper RP and pretend I eat quail all the time, instead of Londis chicken burgers and Herta Furters (I absolutely love them, even though apparantly they are made of Alsation.)

Only 8 hours and 15 minutes to go! AAAAHHHHHHHHHH.

Remembering the Double-Down

Last night I had an epiphany. It finally hit me that in the middle of May, I am going to be boarding a plane and heading to Florida for two weeks. This, in itself, is great. Despite basically being one giant freckle, I enjoy sunbathing as much as the rest of 'em. I like sitting by the beach and reading millions of books and watching all the fat old women trying to discretely remove sand from the gussets of their all-in-ones. I like ice lollies. I like the nice big wide roads, and I would even go so far as to say I don't even mind getting sunburnt, because I'm on holiday- and that's what's supposed to happen. 

All that is great. Lovely. Can't wait. But then, last night as I visited my mate Leap and we enjoyed a delicious KFC (dine in as it was a special occasion), it hit me. I could once again have the most hallowed of all chicken based fast food products....THE DOUBLE DOWN SANDWICH.

Last year my boyfriend and I got caught up in all the volcanic ash saga and ended up in Miami. On the long drive from Sarasota to Fort Lauderdale we were fucking STARVING. And then, out of nowhere, we saw the shining beacon up ahead that was Colonel Sanders and collectively sighed in relief, did some air punching and American style whooping and drove on in.

When there, and safely within the air conditioned restaurant, we gazed up at the menu with disbelief. For there, in front of our own, British eyes, was the stuff of fairytales, the Mecca for the Masticator (sorry) and it was beautiful. For those uneducated in fast food, the Double Down Sandwich is to KFC what the Martini is to James Bond. Here's the Daily Mail's artery thickening article on it, which I had dribbled over the week before we went on holiday.  It appears some absolute genius was sitting in a product meeting in KFC Head Office and decided that what the USA needs, what it's been crying out for, is a chicken burger that - and this is the amazing part -  instead of BUNS, it needs CHICKEN AS BUNS. You heard it right. CHICKEN AS BUNS.

It was fucking GREAT. I wish I could stick my nose up at it and say it was horrid, that I felt disgusting and greasy after eating it, that I needed to escape to the toilet and have a baby-wipe bath. But I didn't, I loved every salty, cheesy, crispy yet greasy bite was delicious. So I am now sitting counting down the days, seconds and hours until I can once again enjoy one in all it's beige goodness.