I know that things have been a little quiet around here on the food front recently. Mrs P and I haven’t been managing to keep up with the usual standard of restaurant related shenanigans that you have come to expect from us, primarily because we’ve been gallivanting around Europe for the best part of the last eighteen months. But with only a few more countries left to tick off, we’re back home now and the invitation to take a look at the new and improved Black Horse at Great Linford arrived in the inbox at just the right time.
Being the incessantly hungry, weak willed, food-obsessed strumpet that I am, I’m constantly on the look out for the chance to visit and eat in new and exciting places. One such opportunity came recently when I saw the chance to have lunch at Hutong and I grabbed it so tightly it almost came off in my hands. I do love a drink at a bar in the sky and sitting on the 33rd floor of the Shard, Hutong has always been the sort of place that I visited for expensive cocktails on friends’ notable birthdays to enjoy the view of London as it stretches out in front of you. But not that day – that day Mrs P and I were there to find out exactly what happens when you eat lunch at an altitude that could give a mountain goat a nose bleed.
When I was 18 I didn’t drink wine, I instead relied on the power of discount vodka and cheap lager to provide the hang-over rite of passage that we must all endure. By my early 20’s I still didn’t know anything so I would try to impress girls by dropping phrases such as ‘plummy’ or ‘good in the nose’ into any wine related chat and needless to say I often walked home alone. After I hit 30 I started to understand that the good stuff was a revelation, streets apart from the paint stripper I had suffered through in previous decades. I’ve done all the supermarket three for a tenner specials, the try before you buy taster evenings and had a few subscriptions to the big online wine clubs and still usually end up with a bottle of £10 disappointment, so how does Clara offer anything different?
A cold and wet late October’s afternoon in Central Milton Keynes Shopping Centre doesn’t perhaps present one with the wealth of independent eateries that I’ve become accustomed to in my midweek London escapades, but there I was, hunting for some warm sustenance to continue braving the crowds. Strolling along I saw the lunchtime set menu offer at Carluccio’s, two-courses for £11.95 and headed on in, never having set foot inside a Carluccio’s before but having high hopes of an Italian lunchtime tasty treat.
Good Lord, what a year it’s been! A year later, a year older and we have learned a huge amount about blogging, eating and having amazing friends. We’ve written about so many different things that looking back on the 90 odd posts we’ve shared with you it’s too hard to mention them all so we thought we would give you another chance to check out a couple of our favourites that you might have missed the first time.
Milton Keynes is blessed (and I use the word only politely) with almost every chain restaurant the UK has to offer and I’ve probably eaten in pretty much all of them. We are the seeming growing go-to destination of choice for companies looking to stretch out of London with Smashburger and a Revolution De Cuba scattered amongst the bazillion Nando’s but then who can also forget the amusing if unfortunate Chimichanga incident of 2016? So some might suggest that it’s not 100% bad news. In fact, despite the over indulgence of Bella Italia and GBK’s I’m going to say it; some chains are ok – cue gasps of horror from all my hardcore foodie friends (I’m looking at you Mike…). In fact, I’m going to go further, some chains are positively nice (oh no, I may have gone too far. Mike is already on the speed dial arranging an intervention). I stand by that though, it’s true, it’s because food is entirely subject to the context of when and how you eat, or drink it. And of course, who you eat and/or drink it with. So it was with no pre-conceived opinions and only a hunger for a good plate of grub, I entered Browns* to see which side of the pitch they were kicking from.
With the express exception of Tennis – Wimbledon in particular (the event of Kings), as a general rule I don’t ‘do’ sport. Although, if there was one American sport that I could probably get a bit too involved in, it would be American Football. I like the strategic nature of it, the clear player roles and different plays needed to win as well as the hilarious opportunity for bad lip reading. However, truth be told, I’ve never seen a single game despite it’s apparent growing popularity in the UK. But this is all going to change on the 5th of February when I will experience my first advert filled, three hour long, testosterone soaked night of sweat and excitement.
But what happened to make such a change? Well as with so many things in my life, it’s all about the food; the guys behind French’s and Franks Hot Sauce got in touch and asked me to go crazy with the condiment cupboard and tell them all about what I would want to eat while watching the game. So with my head full of hotdog dreams and chicken wing fantasies I decided to pop my pretend rugby ball shaped cherry and join our ever increasingly non-judgemental and open minded trans-atlantic cousins*.