Gobby

My earliest memory of eating habit disgust was at KEVICC, my secondary school in Devon. A slightly older boy, not dissimilar I thought to Bruce Bogtrotter from the film of Roald Dahl's Matilda, sat alone at a table - wet with a J cloth but with the inevitable stray baked bean descendant from his hoggy predecessor. 

But his haricot friend could offer no distraction from the apparent love of his life: a flaky pastry, slightly-too-greasy, probably not warm enough, verging on poisonous sausage roll. His mouth open, coated with soggy flakes, you could see his filthy tongue and the saliva in the back of his throat. He was a pig in shit - I was on the verge of a good vomit. 

My love of food is all powerful, all consuming. A bad day at the office can be resolved by cooking a particularly delicious batch of pad thai or baking a triumphant banana bread. But the risk of these culinary adventures is met by its matching with potential eaters. Yes, I want them to enjoy it, but within reason. Each cookery offering risks them spoiling my own enjoyment of it by shovelling wildly, mouth open, bits dripping and dropping on their chin and chest for all to see. 

But it's not just the mess that gets to me. In fact, despite my protestations, the mess isn't the half of it. I think I join a fairly decent percentage of the population who feel the same way about noisy eaters as the feeling of chewing on foil (the two of which actually meet in the winter, when soup becomes a lunchtime staple and teeth and spoon begin their courtship). Why god, why?! Clicking jaws, grinding teeth, saliva juices squelching. Listening to this is my Room 101. Alex Ferguson with your chewing gum, I mean YOU! Eating noises should be the subject of a film release for Halloween 2012. Open-mouthed crisp munchers (and come to think of it, closed-mouthed ones too) should be considered by 24 writers as an alternative form of torture by Jack Bauer on his latest terror suspect.

Even my own boyfriend can't escape the scrutiny. I regularly (yes, i know this is really bad) hold his mouth closed while he eats or just shout "GOB! SHUT!" at him with particularly venomous food tourettes. This might make me a bad girlfriend, but it's surely better than vomming in his face/throttling him/putting his face in it. It's for his own good. Right?

Can I blame my parents for this? I don't remember any particularly stringent table manners but when I look at and listen to other people's mouth habits I can't help wondering where all this has come from. I read Matilda a multitude of times when growing up - perhaps I should blame Roald Dahl. Perhaps I should blame sloppy school dinners. Perhaps I should blame the makers of Pringles.  Either way, please... just shut your mouth.

What I just ate...

A two-egg omelette with streaky bacon, leeks, cheese and tomato and LOTS of black pepper for a hearty lunch on a cold day? 
Don't mind if I do.

Gin and Tonic cake

My dear friend - fellow-Gaga-singalonger, ex-car sharer/gym buddy/sanity checker - Richard is a very (very) clever baker.

Too modest is he to apply for a place on The Great British Bake Off, at least he generously shares his talent with his friends.

On our (approximately) 427th drive together through sunny Bedminster, we had a eureka moment to turn our favourite drink into a cake. The result is tried, tested and tasty (try saying that after a few shots...err..slices.)

The recipe has finally been unveiled on his lovely blog, so go on, put some mother's ruin into your oven.

Secret Garden

My lasting memory of West Street in Bedminster, Bristol is - and always will be - when I got egged there back in August.

At least now I can say that there is one redeeming feature for this nasty end of town - and that emerald in the rough is the Thai Garden (complete with green facade and everything).

I've had a good time sampling various dishes on the menu and am always impressed with the quality of the product (king prawns are beautiful) and the delicate balance of spicing. The menu is simple but everything is freshly cooked. Their boiled rice is served in little wicker pods - steaming hot and perfectly portioned.

Having said that, the stand-out dishes so far are probably two which live either side of the main menu: the minced pork and prawn dumplings -  melt in your mouth divine (surf and turf with finesse), and banana pancakes - caramelised and comforting.

What's more, this is one of a few bring your own restaurants left in the city and with an offy next-door, you're sorted!

Cosy Cote

Wow - after my experience at Jamie's Italian last month, Cote, despite its exclusive Clifton postcode, could not have been more different.

The service was so friendly without being salesy - and the food was pretty top notch too. It might be a chain but Cote had all the warmth of a family run restaraunt, and the menu of a top quality chef (for the record I had the guinea fowl - yummers.)

Bon Appetit!

Bloatiful

Cooked these bad boy Chicken and Bean Enchiladas for the second time last night. They're easy peasy to make and really tasty but man do I feel like a bloater today. 

So, despite my recommendation, you stand warned - this recipe is definitely best for the Friday end-of-week slump rather than a start-of-working-week Monday night.

(the clue might be in the smallprint, err- serves 10!)

Waiter-go

OK, so I might write a food blog. I might eat lots of food. I might enough recipe books to cook for the Spanish Armada. But - when I go out to eat, I don't expect to be made to feel a, silly b, thick c, angry.

I had the pleasurable company of each of these feelings last night when I attempted to have a slightly special meal with my man to celebrate some amazing things he's achieved recently. (Really, he's amazing.)

Instead of 241-ing it (weekday eating out standard), I decided to go for a mid-range splash out and head to Jamie's Italian in Bristol. I've been to the Bristol and Cardiff branches once before. Both times we enjoyed a great atmosphere, friendly service and, above all, amazing food. Needless to say I had some fairly high expectations last night, but from previous experience rather than celebrity-chef endorsement.

Yesterday I went sustainable (go fish!) and chose sardines. I soon learned this was a big mistake. Perhaps stupidly of me, I assumed they might have attempted to fillet the buggers before they served them up to me. Instead I got three beautiful but whole bones-and-all sardines and spent the entire meal (here comes another list) a, fishing out bones b, choking on bones and c, spitting out half chewed mouthfuls. Nice.

Chivalrous as ever, my man insisted on a swap. I finished off his, frankly claggy, carbonara and he went ahead and smiled through his struggle with the sardines.

Disappointed and hunger unsatisfied (sardines were served with a bit of rocket - it was £9), I thought I'd mention something to the waiter. I am not a verbal complainer (I use twitter for that), but I mentioned that I didn't feel like I'd really had a meal because I'd spent the entire time a, fishing out bones b, choki... - well, you get it.

Role reversal time. Imagine I'm the waiter. Here's my response:
"Oh no, what a shame. Sounds like you haven't had the best of times with this meal. Unfortunately they are served whole but I know what a pain they are to de-bone. I'll feed back to the chef about the filleting. Did you enjoy the rest of your meal? Is there anything else I can do?"

Aah, what a nice waiter I am (inadvertently I also seem to have changed sex here - but go with it).

Instead I got:
(shrugs, grunts) "Yeah they come served whole".
(Walks off, chats to other staff who turn and stare at me)

And the moral to this story/play is - I won't be going back there for a while then. Bravo.