Archive for the ‘food’ Tag

Notting Hill Carnival 2017   Leave a comment

 

We went to the Notting Hill Carnival to drink beer (check), listen to loud music (check), look at mostly undressed folks (check-a-roonie), and to eat some Carribean food (check).

 

 

I didn’t take a lot of photos after the crowd grew almost unmanageable so this is what you’ll get from this page (apologies, but just image search “Notting Hill Carnival 2017” and you’ll find whatever it is you think you want).

 

We weren’t as drunk as the Iggy Pop looking mofo, above, but not because we didn’t give it the ol’ college try.  His dance was really not as impressive as the copper whose video turned up viral this morning.

 

 

While the crowd probably contained every black person within 500 miles, this is London so (despite racists moaning about being overrun) it was a fairly pale shade, overall.

 

 

I was excited to find an ornate VR postbox (my effort to prove myself the whitest guy at the Carnival, according to Jackie):

 

 

And, the home of one of the founding paraders:

 

 

The Grenfell disaster weighed on everyone’s minds and there were tributes to the victims throughout (and, miraculously, an actual minute of silence in this loudest of London parties).

 

 

That’s not why there was so much smoke in the next picture.  We imbibed in a modicum of hash before travel, but we could easily have sustained a contact high everywhere we went.  “Mahr-ree-wanna, mahr-ree-wanna…like the Bob Marley, mon,” intoned one street salesman as we pushed through a crowd.  That and the hundreds of jerk chicken and goat curry stands on almost every street left our clothing reeking of char.

 

 

The food was grand, too.  J had the goat and I had the chicken (contributing to the avian holocaust wherein more chicken is consumed in 2 days than in the whole rest of the London year).  I also had these numbers handed me on the Tube the day before:

16,000 coconuts
400 goats
15,000 plantains
70,000 litres of carrot juice
10,000 litres of Jamaican stout
25,000 bottles of rum.

I believe it.

 

Entrepreneurs in the neighbourhood rent out their toilets for £3 a go (£5 if you want to jump the queue).  The dry compost loos provided by the borough make it an understandable (if not justifiable) luxury.

 

 

The first and last — the Alpha and Omega, if you will — stands we saw were this troupe of God Botherers:

 

 

One of them — at the far left of the photo — gave me a leaflet with a long, preachy cartoon.  Distilled, below, are the bits I thought I could use here (but opted not to bother):

 

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WP Fish X Chips, Acton, London   Leave a comment

 

The lunch special at MP Fish X Chips is cod bites and chips for 5 quid. I expected smaller bits and less fish overall so the large portions were a nice surprise. On the other hand, the place caters to yuppie tastes so the oil they used was a healthy alternative to beef drippings making for a most bland meal. Not worth a detour, but at least you could fill up.

 

Posted August 25, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Fish and Chips, Food

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GB Kebabs, Ruislip, Middlesex   Leave a comment

 

There is a pharmacy right next to GB Kebab.  This is probably a codicil of the business license.  On the other hand, my gut microbiome will never be healthier or more diverse if I can ever flush away the salt.

 

Posted August 11, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Food, Kebabs

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Breddos Tacos, Clerkenwell, London   Leave a comment

 

I know better, but I fancied some tacos and made my way to Breddos.  I reckoned it would be full of yuppie scum, and I was right.  I watched the bartender make some lovely margaritas, though, while my food was prepped.

 

 

I got the lunch takeaway special: choice of 3 tacos from the menu for £9 including some fried tortillas and salsa.  “The dark one is chipotle and the other one is a bit spicier with habañero.”  Mmm-hmm.

Everything was tasty.  Nothing was spicy.  And, it was really, really small.

 

Posted August 10, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Food

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Streatham Kebab, Fish and Chips House, Streatham, London   2 comments

 

Up at 5:30 Monday and out of the house at 7:30 without breakfast, I had a pint at 9 then three more at the tail end of the day’s run.  I was starved as I ran the final segment to the station when the aroma of fetid lamb fat (my favourite!) wafted out of the Streatham Kebab, Fish & Chips House.  “Döner meat and chips, please,” and I waited patiently as the elephant leg spun slowly before the heater.  The chilli sauce could have been thicker and hotter, but I couldn’t fault any of the rest of this divine ½ kg of stomach distress.

Yummy.

Posted July 13, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Food, Kebabs

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Market Gardener, Heathrow Terminal 3   Leave a comment

 

With Jackie’s flight arriving early, I thought I should get to the Arrivals lounge early, too.  But, I didn’t reckon on the early arrival coinciding with so many other international flights.  She’d be in Passport Control for ages.  I had time for a pint, at least.

I was a little amused that the pub was called the Market Gardener.  Operation Market Garden was the name given to the Allied assault on Nazi occupied Holland following the D-Day landings, àpropos of the D-Day stuff spotted on LOOP Sections 22-24 just the day before this visit to Heathrow.  I knew it would be lost on her (what with the jet lag) but I considered making Hiroshima Okonomiyaki for dinner (but, instead we ordered pizza — a bit out of chronological order, but still within the WW2 theme).

 

 

Posted May 28, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Baseball, Hot Dogs, and Beer (Memorial Day Weekend)   1 comment

Fat kids,
Skinny kids,
Kids who climb on rocks,

Tough kids,
Sissy kids,
Even kids with chicken pox.

Love hot dogs,
Armour hot dogs.
The dogs kids love to bite.  (from a long running Armour Hot Dogs commercial with lyrics that could never be aired today)

We don’t have Memorial Day in England, but the last Monday of May is a Bank Holiday so we consider it the equivalent at the house.  The Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1968 moved Memorial Day from May 30 (regardless the day of the week) to the last Monday in May.  I still find this a travesty and something implemented for the sake of industrial convenience over tradition.  By the time we returned to the States from Australia in 1974, Georgia had adopted this as well so the holiday no longer fell on my birthday but on the 27th of May that year.

 

 

It was 2 months to the day until the House Judiciary Committee passed the first of three articles of impeachment.  The White House had been stonewalling the independent prosecutor and the Congressional investigations and trying hard to rewrite the narrative of its high crimes and misdemeanours.  I had been reading the transcripts of the White House secret recordings since they had been published in April and would most likely have had my copy open next to the pond to read between dips.  Does any of this sound familiar?

 

 

I don’t know specifically how I spent that Memorial Day but I know I didn’t start smoking pot until the 4th of July that year so I probably just sneaked a few beers from the folks’ bottomless stash and listened to some baseball on the radio (WSB, Home of the Braves with your host Skip Carey, and the Braves, uncharacteristically, won 9-1 over the Phillies).  Inevitably there would be a cookout with ribs, burgers, and of course hot dogs.

We don’t have proper hot dogs here, either, but at least I found some that aren’t in a can (yes, Americans, tinned wieners!).  We set up our network speaker to stream the previous night’s Cubs/Dodgers game which the Cubs, uncharacteristically, lost 4-0.  Everything, as far as we could do it, was like it was in 1974.

Come on Judiciary Committee.  You can do it!