Cloning

Years ago, part of my misspent youth involved running a cocktail bar in Brixton. It was messier that you can imagine and enormous fun. As an example, there was always a really long queue for the toilets but only a very few people actually wanted to use the loo. One of the guys responsible for our security, enjoyed bacardi breezers and asked why we didn't stock them.  "Cos they're shit", I told him. "Let me make you the real thing". In two goes I had not just recreated the sugar filled rubbish using proper ingredients but improved on it. He never asked me to stock breezers again.   Over the weekend I went to a birthday meal of a friend of a friend. It was at a distinctly mediocre Italian restaurant who relied on their west end location to pack 'em in and kick 'em out. What I ordered and what arrived were similar in spirit but it would take the most generous soul to describe them as the same thing. In most other situations I'd have sent it back but it was at a big birthday bash so I chowed down.   To be honest, though the plate of food was only a distant relative of its description, it was quite enjoyable. Not only that but kind of inspirational. So tonight, I took the essence of their idea and had a go at recreating it. The glimpse above isn't very helpful so let me explain.   It was a stir fry of cod with potato, fried onion, egg and some herbs. Adult nursery food and easy to eat. I upped the ante with the addition of a little sophistication. What you see is fried onion, blanched leeks, boiled new potatoes, egg, brown rice, cod, garlic and king prawn all stir fried and topped with smoked salmon and spring onion. Most of the cooking was preparing all the elements with a little frying frenzy at the end. You'd be amazed how easy it is to recreate restaurant food and pay a lot less for the privalege. ​​​​​​​  Instead of a punchline to tie up today's post, let me tell you about today's excitement. I saw a couple of fuck-wit toe rags on a scooter pull up near my bike in a manner that was clearly malicious. By the time I had emerged on a balcony one floor above them to check them out properly, one had got off to check my bike out. This is the conversation that ensued,   What are you doing?   Stealing your bike   No, you're going to fuck off.   Do you want to come down?   Fucking right! I strode towards the stairs so they rode off. Cheeky tossers. But at least they didn't fuck with my bike. Kirk out Chefsebastian.com