Queer Eye For the Snarky Food Lover...

The Fab Five - Kamaro, Antoni, 
Tan, Bobby and Jonathan

Queer Eye is back! Wooohoo! Netflix's rebooted makeover show has returned for a second series. You've either seen it or you haven't, but worry not. This blog is not about Queer Eye in its own right. If it's all a mystery to you, don't panic. There's a couple of paragraphs to get through before we move on and I get to my point. But seriously, if you haven't seen it and you have a Netflix account, do yourself a favour and give it a go. 

On a superficial level, Queer Eye is a classic makeover show. Five men who happen to be gay, invade someone's life for a week, to improve areas of their existence. From their clothes and hair, to their home and organisation, to their emotional literacy and ability to feed their loved ones - each area is titivated and elevated. (Elevated is a very Queer Eye phrase.) That's the superficial level. But on a much more profound and deeper basis, Queer Eye opens up conversations around mental health, toxic masculinity, self-esteem, pride, body image and fear. The individuals concerned have been nominated by their friends and family because they are worried about them. They've lost their spark, let themselves go, or are struggling to reach their potential. The Fab Five rock up, focus on the external image of the person which then kickstarts some seismic internal changes from within. I've said it before, but this programme should be shown in Primary Schools. It debunks so much shit that society casually piles on kids as they grow. Anyhoo, that's what Queer Eye is and it's totes marvs.

The lovely Antoni.

There's a reason I bring this up now. Basically, one of the Fab Five makes me laugh a lot. Let me give you a bit of context. In the week someone's life is being transformed, we see Bobby working his ass off, refurbing multiple rooms in their home. Tan revamps the person's wardrobe, throwing out clothes that don't fit, suit or show off the wearer's assets well enough. Jonathan is the groomer. He cuts hair, shaves beards, provides skin care advice and boosts confidence. Kamaro is in charge of culture. This takes the shape of counselling-esque chats about what has gone wrong so far and how the person can take back control of their life and be a better person. So far, so good. All team members pull their weight and take their share of the responsibility of the makeover. But then there's Antoni. It could be said that Antoni coasts a bit. His role is to improve the culinary skills of the makeover-ee, so they can feed their families, confidently invite friends round, or just ditch the takeaways and become heathier. This is great on paper, but in reality Antoni's contributions are basic. In the first episode of Series One, he teaches Tom how to make guacamole. (It's mashed avocado with a bit of flavour. What's to teach?) In later episodes he branches out into grilled cheese, a salad, and hotdogs. His tips are laughable and every time he's on screen I find myself amused at how little cooking expertise he demonstrates. Series Two is the same, perhaps with less effort. In Episode One, Tammye is already accomplished in the kitchen. So Antoni asks her to show him how she makes macaroni salad. So she does. His contribution for the whole show is asking how much mayo she puts in. The fact he is a full part of the Fab Five camaraderie and has very beautiful brown eyes, means no one really cares too much, and his basic skills are treated as nuggets of genius. Indeed, as I was watching Series Two this week, I found myself writing down and adapting one of his 'recipes'. I had to have a word with myself, but I still scribbled it down.

And when I think about it, maybe there is a place in the world for Antoni and his 'bestest food tips.' Most days, I spend about two hours prepping and cooking my tea. I know this is ridiculous, but I like it. I like standing up after sitting for most of the day, and stretching as I chop, soak, peel and boil. I like the drawn-out ritual of making interesting meals from scratch. I like the process as much as the consumption. And this is fine most of the time. But sometimes, time is tight. Sometimes I really want a quick, snacky tea. Sometimes an hour and a half is an absolute faff. And sometimes Antoni's words of wisdom come floating into my head, even though I know fancier, more time consuming ways of creating sustenance.

And so, in homage to the hidden genius of Antoni Porowski and his hands-off kitchen talents, I offer you five basic, piece-of-piss meals that I've made in the past week. Time is tight at the moment. There are football matches to watch in addition to book-editing and publishing prep to complete. My usual kitchen-heavy routine feels stressful. So the meals are getting simplified. It's my only concession to the lack of time. That, and the fact my roots are shocking. See what you think (about the meals, not my roots), mix them up, and make them your own. Or don't. It's just a bit of fun. (For those who care about such things, the Weight Watcher's Smart Points are in brackets after the 'recipe'.)

Big Mac Salad
(This is in no way endorsed by
 McDonalds, and I should probably
call it Large Burger Salad instead.)

Big Mac Salad
Take any burger. Cook and chop it up. Place on a bed of iceberg lettuce, chopped gherkins, diced onion, and grated cheese. Top with a drizzle of burger relish, American mustard and tomato ketchup. Mmmmmmm. (5sp for an average sized burger, 1sp for 50g protein cheese. Everything else is 0sp as long as it's just a drizzle.)

Antoni's Nuts

Antoni's Nuts
In Season Two, Episode Four, Antoni made this with peanuts. I've swapped them for chickpeas just to be healthier. Drain a can of chickpeas and bake in the oven for at least 30 mins. In a bowl add diced red onion, chopped coriander, chopped garlic, chilli, and lime juice. Add the roasted chickpeas to the bowl and stir together. Excellent snacky football food, to be eaten with fingers. Babywipes essential. (0sp)

Loaded Nachos

Loaded Nachos
Nigella has a cracking salsa recipe that I use here. It's red onion, garlic, cumin, tinned tomatoes, jalapenos and salt. Chop everything and dry fry until the onion and garlic soften and it's all mixed together. That's the salsa done. Then, take a large bag of lightly salted tortilla chips and layer an oven dish with a quarter of them. Sprinkle over grated cheese, add a layer of salsa, and some kidney beans. Repeat until, all the Doritos, and salsa are used up. Bake in the oven until the cheese is melted. Football-friendly, snacky-but-healthy, fit-as-frig food to titilate your taste buds. (12sp for 86g Doritos, 2sp for 100g protein cheese. Everything else is 0sp.

Egg and Beans on Toast
(For clarity, these beans
are the real deal, not
home made healthy ones.)

Egg and Beans on Toast
The best hangover meal ever! First off, make your own baked beans if you're arsed about sugar. A can of haricot beans with some passata and seasoning does the job. Or just buy the Heinz version. Then, toast a slice of bread, spread with Vegemite (obvs) and add a slice of low fat cheese. Dollop on some scrambled eggs, and pour the heated-up beans over the top. Properly stodgy, filling-but-not-too-unhealthy loveliness. And it's ready in minutes. (If beans are homemade, it's just 4sp for the toast and cheese. If using the Heinz version, the meal will be 15sp.)

Dippy Crisps. Naturally.

Dippy Crisps
I WILL NOT APOLOGISE FOR CRISPS. Especially when the accompanying dip contains two of my Five-a-Day. (Fat free Greek yoghurt, whizzed up with chargrilled peppers, chillis, some lime juice, salt and pepper.) I think my inner-Scandinavian has been acting up for Midsummer, and I've been influenced by their Friday night, crisp tradition. (Click the link - it's a thing. A perfect, Friday-night-crisp-eating thing.) (14sp for 90g of Walkers Ready Salted. 0sp for everything else.)

So happy eating! Whatever you make, however long it takes, and however much of an absolute blag it is, enjoy every mouthful. Fair play to Antoni. I'd have never thought about the nuts thing, even though I ditched his peanuts for chickpeas without a second thought. Inspiration can come from anywhere. It's all about keeping your eyes and mind open to new ideas, wherever they come from. Life tends to get a bit samey when we forget that. 

Have a lovely week, folks.


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You'd Think I'd Change the Record...

I've been thinking about representation recently. You know, because the day of the week has a Y in it. So fasten your seatbelts and let's crack on. First of all, the World Cup.

If you can handle the grainy tape
that's been uploaded to YouTube, this
is a spot on way to pass an hour and
seventeen minutes. If you're up for
some Italia '90 nostalgia, that is.

Yay, it's the World Cup! Leaving aside the problematic political issues surrounding this event, let's shout, 'Yay it's the World Cup' loudly and in unison. Except deep down I'm not really that bothered. Not yet anyway. Since discovering the joy of women's football and watching matches where talented sportswomen compete for little reward, I've found myself increasingly indifferent to the male game, with its ref abuse, blatant diving and aggressive sections of fans. But, yay, it's the World Cup! I realise for many others, this is an exciting time. I'm getting there. Just a bit slower than most. And the greater visibility of female pundits and presenters across the channels is most welcome and makes me want to stick with it. I'm sure when England kick off later today, I'll have re-discovered my inner fan and got behind the whole shebang. 

Last weekend, in a bid to whip up some excitement, I watched a documentary called One Night in Turin. The Italia '90 World Cup tends to be a nostalgic cockle-warmer for many people of my generation. I loved that tournament. I remember that tournament. Despite being mostly dead on the inside, I still feel the full range of human emotion when I hear Nessun Dorma. But this documentary just turned me off. Whether it was the blokiness of Gary Oldman's narration (it really didn't need a voice over in the first place) or the lack of female perspective or inclusion, (apart from Maggie Thatcher, obvs. She was there, representing all women, natch) it missed the mark for me and that's a shame. I was really interested in the topic but I struggled to stick with it because of how it was presented to me. 

My feminism, sympathy to
 the cause, and love of a good
political t-shirt all converge in
this photo.

Next up, the Irish referendum. Last month Ireland voted in great numbers to repeal the part of the constitution that said the life of a foetus was equal to the life of a pregnant woman. Much has been said about the referendum and a quick Google will give you the entire range of arguments and think pieces from both sides. Regardless of viewpoint, there's a general consensus that the Yes side won - and won big (66.4% were in favour of change) - because women's voices were heard. It wasn't led by politicians and strategists, although their contributions were valuable too. It was a grassroots campaign where women from all over the country, stood up and shared their stories. The secrecy and shame surrounding abortion was cast off as women shared the highly personal and varied circumstances surrounding their experiences. Experiences that flew in the face of the No campaign's preachings that sought to keep the status quo. Women spoke up about an issue with which they had been dealing privately for years, and it changed minds. Powerful stuff. 

'Imposing'

Finally, my most recent pilgrimage. In April, a new statue was unveiled and added to the ones in Parliament Square in London. The eleven existing statues include Winston Churchill, David Lloyd George and Benjamin Disraeli. In fact, all eleven are men. Not all Prime Ministers - hello George Canning and Mahatma Gandhi - but political, notable men. Now here's the thing. If I'd have walked around Parliament Square before April and seen these statues, I'd have probably noticed that they were all men too, but shrugged it away as crappy sexism. Then I'd have gone to the pub. I might have moaned about it to whoever I was with, and that would have been that. But I'm not Caroline Criado Perez. She spotted the lack of equality on a routine jog, and decided to write an open letter to Sadiq Kahn. Fast-forward two years, and her campaign resulted in the unveiling of Millicent Fawcett - the women's suffrage campaigner who would have celebrated her 171st birthday last week. I'd followed the statue campaign via Twitter since it started. Just as with Criado Perez's campaign to ensure female achievements were represented on bank notes, I was glad someone with more strength and savvy than me was in my corner. Someone was fighting to amend the one-sided view of history that the world is regularly fed. Once the statue was in place, I knew I needed to go and see it. Last week, I finally managed to put a day aside for a trip to the capital. 

The banner doesn't lie. 

As I approached Parliament Square, the first thing I saw was Winston Churchill. The word 'imposing' doesn't seem imposing enough. 'Looming' is another word that springs to mind. His statue is large, creating an impression of bullish power. I am sure that was intentional. Moving on, I passed Lloyd George, General Smuts, and a couple of people whose names  I didn't recognise on first sight. All on huge plinths, towering over little old me. Then I saw the statue of Millicent Fawcett. Created by Gillian Wearing it was not imposing or looming at all. It was approachable. Indeed, it's tweed-effect texture on the Edwardian clothing invited touch. There were people milling all around, some sitting, some waiting for a turn to be up close. And in the centre of all that was the statue, standing square on, holding a banner, and facing the world. The plinth below included pictures of female contemporaries; of women that she had stood and fought alongside. Over fifty faces are included, highlighting the heroic team effort that the fight for women's suffrage was. 

And so I waited my turn, took some photos, and was grateful to the kind man that offered to take one of me in shot. For some, it's just another statue of a long-dead person. For me, it gave me shivers and a lump in my throat. Not only because Millicent Fawcett did marvellous things herself. But because this statue pays tribute to fifty-five other campaigners via the photos on the plinth. It represents Caroline Criado Perez's campaign as well as the women that supported her, and it showcases the talents of the artist Gillian Wearing - the only female artist to be represented in Parliament Square.   

Look, I can cope without enjoying a documentary about the 1990 World Cup. My life is no worse off without it. But being included, having my viewpoint considered, and seeing myself represented in the world is important. For me and for everyone. Because of Ireland's referendum, the fight for the same human rights in Northern Ireland has been reignited. Hearing and seeing your views represented in others is powerful and prompts change. 'Courage calls to courage everywhere.' A statue of a historical figure might seem meaningless when it's done purely with sycophancy. But highlighting the hidden voices and secret experiences that have shaped our present is essential, for all our experiences. Everyone needs the security of being known and understood. Whatever our viewpoint, whatever our diversity. Because at times, the lack of voices can be deafening.

Have a lovely week, folks.
  

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Warning: May Contain Humour and Feels...

Things are ticking along nicely regarding the next book. That's to say, I am so far gone into the process that I can't give up, but whenever I re-read it, it feels like a massive bag of shite. Hey ho, I believe this a perfectly normal stage to go through. Publication is still October, I just have lots of brushing up to do before then.

The 'every word I write is shit' feeling is not unique. All writer's forums talk about the same phenomenon. And as much as my inner critic can be loud at times, it never takes over. I can keep going until the self-doubt disappears or shrinks enough. It doesn't impede my life. Just yesterday, I read the entire book from start to finish - all 69,000 words of it. And as much as there's still stuff to do with it, I felt like I will get there one day. One day before October, is the plan.

Yesterday's read through took about six hours. The vast majority of that was spent reading the text, but it did include breaks. I needed time for cups of tea, wees, and YouTube breaks. YouTube breaks are the thing I do when I need a new burst of energy without moving. I have a go-to list of videos I watch. They can be categorised as 'Amusing', 'Hilarious' or 'All the Feels'. A few minutes of something new wakes me up and refreshes me before I move on to the next chapter. They can be applied at any time, but definitely useful when a lull needs to be energised. So without further ado, let me share my current go-to enliveners. 

1. The Queen and Cows

At five seconds long, this is definitely short and sweet. I tend to watch it over and over until I'm mentally replenished. The Queen spotting cows. It's as simple as that. As Patricia Hodge might say, 'Such fun!'

2. Marion's Big Break

I can't tell you how many times I searched for this video when I've wanted to perk myself up. For cloistered nuns and solitarily confined criminals with no Internet access, this is the BBC interview with the expert on South Korea - Robert Kelly  It's the clip that keeps on giving. First it's young Marion trying out a comedy strut, then it's baby James entering on wheels, and finally it's their mother, Jung-a-Kim realising what's happened and trying to sort it. It never fails to make me howl.

3. Madeley and Partridge

It's been a long-held jape that Richard Madeley and Alan Partridge are the same person. Indeed, I've taken quizzes where I've read a statement and had to decide which of them said it for real. The fact that one of them is a fictional character and the other a DJ on North Norfolk Digital is neither here nor there. (See what I did there? Ha! I'm funny.) This clip is a recent addition to my brain-break video selection but fits in perfectly. Comedy gold.

4. Giggling Victoria

OK, I'll hold my hands up. This one might be a bit niche. If you don't know the quiz, Only Connect, you might not find this anywhere near as heart-warming or amusing as I do. But for those that do, the sight of the magnificent Victoria Coren Mitchell, losing her shit and laughing in the faces of the struggling quiz team is perfection. 

5. Jimmy and the Busker

I love this. Soz, but I just do. A lone busker singing an old Bronski Beat song in Berlin. A random guy walking his dog, stops and joins in. The busker takes the tune, the dog-walker takes the harmonies. They sing to the end. At that point the busker looks at his singing companion and realises it's... wait for it... the lead singer of Bronski Beat, Jimmy Somerville! Cue smiles, sighs and happiness from me, every single time.

6. Remember Henry Kelly?

This one should be classed under 'Comedy' and on one level it is. But that doesn't explain the goosebumps and nostalgia that the theme tune of Going for Gold brings. Relive your youth with this  - Ambassador, you are spoiling us! - theme music, and enjoy the verses, key changes, and what musician types refer to as 'the bridge'. It makes what was once an innocuous daytime quiz appear more like a motivational tool for Olympians and the armed forces. Listen and feel stirred.

7. Satire at Eurovision

I know, I know. It's done for another year, I have to get over it. But look, this is funny for ESC haters as well as those of us that love it. One of the Swedish interval acts in 2016 was this beauty. Taking the absolute piss out of the entire shebang, the hosts - Petra and Måns - delivered a song and dance belter, with cracking lyrics and a tonne of in-jokes. The result was a brilliant song that was a gazillion times more enjoyable than the eventual winning entry that year. #imho #sorrynotsorry

8. Our Graham with a Quick Reminder

Nearly there folks, last but not least we have this offering. I've alluded to this opinion before, but it bears repeating. Graham Norton is marvellous. He is so marvellous that I never think of him as a person in his own right but as an institution. He is always there, solid, commanding and reliable. I know it's Friday night because his TV show is on and I know it's Saturday morning because his radio show is on. My weekend involves four hours of his entertaining output and I wouldn't have it any other way. But it's easy to take him for granted. Luckily the National Television Awards have not, and in 2017 he got a special award. There are a couple of things to note about this clip - the one that was played immediately before he received the award. First of all, his career has been so much more than a chat show and a radio show. I know that on one level but forget it on another. The other point to make is that watching Graham's reaction to the celebrities singing his praises, is properly lovely. And when his Mum rocks up, it's perfect. Knock yourself out and enjoy.

So, I've either shared a bunch of links you'll never bother to click, or I've just perked your morning up no end. I hope it's the latter, and that now you're mentally rejuvenated, you can crack on with whatever your day requires. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

Keeping it Real on Insta...

I'm not going to lie. I'm still struggling with Instagram.

In terms of breaking global news, I appreciate this isn't much of an issue. But honestly, it's taking me ages to find a comfortable position in which to embrace the photo-posting app into my hectic online life. 

My hashtags of #brown, #1978 and #rockingit are all this picture needs.

When I first started, I aimed to post a picture a day. LOLZ. That went out the window after a couple of weeks. Because the problem is, it can't just be any old photo. It has to be Instagram-worthy. It has to be photographically photogenic. There's a pressure to make it look good. Often, my photos do not meet this criteria. My photos tend to be blurry or too random to share. The most recent pictures on my phone include two of the back of my head (to see if I could pull off a new bobble) and one of my ear to see if my 1996 cartilage piercing is infected. (The jury's still out. I'll keep you posted.) Literally nobody - not even the most perverted of ear fetishists - wants to see any of that. So instead, what should I do? Should I do what the majority of Instagram users do and stage photos? Take photos that specifically make my life look fab? Take photos that specifically make the minutiae of my existence seem fun-loving and carefree? I've resorted to this a couple of times and Reader, it's all a load of bollocks.

I'm not saying my life isn't amazing and carefree at times. It is, for a brief spell before I have to crack on with something non-amazing and care-heavy. But to only share times when everything rocks, feels disingenuous. I don't like doing it. But on the other hand, I'm not going to post pics of my throbbing ear hole. There has to be a middle ground. I'm still trying to find it.

Wise words.

Rob Beckett (yes, that Rob Beckett from the telly!) tweeted recently about remembering that Instagram is full of lies. (I may have paraphrased. He went on to make a much more serious point about mental health.) It's true though - no one's life is perfect, so don't assume that one carefully selected photo tells the full story. 

When I look back over all the photos I've posted, there's a reasonable mix I think. Some nice scenery, some nights out with a beer in my hand, but regular injections of mundane detail too. Most recently, I uploaded my hay fever medication. It summed up, in one photo, how crap my throat feels right now. Don't mention it, World, you're welcome. My Insta account has become a visual diary of things that I've experienced, but is not exclusively full of amazing, 'Isn't life wonderful!' times. I feel more comfortable with the app if I make sure I add nitty-gritty, boring stuff along with the sea views. My one fundamental rule remains...I never use a filter. There are no filters in real life so take my unsanitised reality or leave it. (To illustrate my point, there's a pic of my sweaty forehead and grey roots, after a walk last month. Knock yourself out.)

So for those that don't use Instagram, or that would rather eat their own faeces than follow me on there, here's an inkling of my more mundane posts. I've weeded out anything of any visual value, and instead concentrated on 'keeping it real'. Don't say you aren't spoilt.

I've focused on the empty chair, rather than the beer. It looks far more poignant than the moment actually was.

Recorded for posterity - the accidental combo of slippers with ears, paisley 'leisure pants' and a summer dressing gown.

Hair mousse. No idea why.

All the essential food groups.

It's not glamorous but Widnes Kwik-Fit has saved my motoring ass on many occasions. 

Let me introduce you to a good friend of mine - This is Dark Brown Garnier Nutrisse. She is nothing if not reliable.

Weren't they fun? Don't you wish you were following bondiela now? And I didn't even include the weekly photo I upload of the opening paragraphs of Monday's blog. I'm truly subverting the visual medium by taking a photo of tiny unreadable words, and throwing it into the mix. Take THAT, yummy mummies, skinny dieters and eternal travellers with their sunsets in every continent. You can't compete with a photo of a screen! But I digress. I'm going to keep going with Instagram. I'm going to keep posting the Monday morning screen of writing, as well as the boring details of day to day life. And every so often I'll throw in a decent night out or particularly well-arranged cheese platter. It's all a fine balance.

Have a lovely week, folks.

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