Oh the much maligned, much loved, marmite of the vegetable world – the Brussels Sprout. How I love thee. You little green ball of tastiness.

It’s that time of year again – Xmas – and these little buggers come out in their bright green coats by the million. A good thing if like me you can’t get enough of ‘em.

Recently I found myself in a Toby Carvery next to the hotel we were staying in. Now as previous posts will attest I loves me some Sunday dinner. I don’t mind which franchise (Toby or Crown) they have their strengths and weaknesses, but Toby – to their credit – do Sprouts at this time of year.

So we eat the carvery on the Monday which includes plenty of Sprouts. Due to our inherent laziness, and the fact that I was down with a cold we did the same Tuesday. Nice

Lots of sprouts then. I mean a lot, I can easily eat a plate full with a nice gravy and a splash of bread sauce. Hungry?

So the next night me and m’colleague went, as a change, to the TGI Fridays down the road. To our surprise there was a choice of three hotels near here and as we were going to be working again in the vicinity we thought it would be an idea to ask about rooms. As we came out of the eating establishment we walked over to the Holiday Inn Express to ask.

Now as I have had two nights of Brussels which, as we all know have ‘side-effects’ – and now a mahoosive rack of the most delicious, tender, sweet, fat-free, cooked to perfection ribs – which in me also have the same ‘side-effect’…

I needed to fart.

Being the polite old duffer that I am I reasoned that to stop me blowing off with any noise or smell, I’d better step outside. This meant exiting through a double set of sliding doors. So I did. Unfortunately this arrangement of plate glass opening panels created a vestibule of echo and amplification. I got outside and thinking they were closed – let rip.

It was a good and wholesome botty cough and I was proud and a little amused at my gaseous exchange. Turning round I noticed to my utter amusement the doors were not closed. I walked off into the car park laughing.

M’colleague still in the foyer of the hotel had to ask about rooms and tariffs whilst everybody was looking at the staff who, knowing he had come in with me, were sporting displeased expressions. They had stopped mid sentence/action to see which filthy bugger had farted so loudly and lengthily. That would be me.

So yes, Brussels famous for generating wind so indeed. It will not stop me eating them. In fact it probably increases my consumption. So when you have your Sprouts don’t forget…

Let it out Load and Proud.

Well I seem to have stumbled into the finest sausage to pass these slobbering lips. Sainsbury’s Ultimate Outdoor Bread Pork Sausages from their taste the difference range – packaging shown above. They have 97% pork in them. That’s right 97%. Most bangers have 40-50% and the rest is crap they get off the carcass.

There is, as I type, a programme on Channel 4 called Food. It is hosted by the inimitable Jay Rayner. It has been an eye opener and very informative.

Anyway on one of the episodes they talked about sausages. I love sausages and especially like the Lincolnshire sausage – only sage, no parsley or thyme please – but I do like a nice pork one.

Trouble is I’m a crap cook and especially bad at bangers. I either have stripes – as if they were octagonal and there were alternating bands of burnt and raw or burnt all the way round. Not very appetizing for sure. I like to fry but health dictates grill (broil for our American Cousins)

Onto the 97 percenters. I grilled them, but I stood by the grill and gently turned them often and with tongs. No stripage or black bits, cooked all the way through.

Holy shit. What a banger. They were pure meat. There was no gristle, there was no obvious filler. They were nice and firm to the touch. Not greasy or fatty in any way. Biting into them was a joy but the taste. They actually tasted of pork. I have never tasted a sausage that tasted of pork. There was a hint of pepper, onion and a smidge of sage. Not spicy just seasoned right. Delicious.

I hope they continue to offer these delights as I’m hooked. Even the youngest of my offspring loves ‘em and she normally shies away from my chubby monstrosities.

Next time I will fry them, I came across a technique that may work. I also want to try the others in the range. Obviously this require me to sample the Lincs. I think I’m up to the challenge and am willing to take one for the team.

Sausage heaven at last. It’s not often you find a product exactly how you would make one yourself but this is it. They go perfectly with mash, however I might try them in a casserole.

So in conclusion if you like a good porker try these, you’ll love ‘em.

Food glorious food. I love food, I have tried the meats of quite a few animals –for example: beef, lamb, bacon – oh the bacon – pork, gammon, chicken, goose, duck, partridge, horse, ostrich, venison or curries made of indeterminate breed or species – all delicious. I have tried fruits from around the globe – too numerous to list, all delicious. I have enjoyed vegetables, nuts, grains, pulses and beans of all shapes and sizes that have been presented to me hot and cold – including the truly wonderful Brussels Sprout. Again all delicious.

I would say my favourite ‘type’ of food is seafood. I have a passion for fish, Sea Bass being my No.1 cooked fish and Yellow fin Tuna my preference raw. All kinds of seafood from prawns to whelks; Razor fish to Octopus.

I am getting hungry so enough with the lists, you get it – I like food. Oooh I just thought of toast.

Anyway…

I have sampled cooking from most genres – English, French, Indian, Chinese, Greek, Italian, Cajun, American, Japanese, Thai, Barbeque to name a few.

However there is one foodstuff that is truly and without question the most evil substance with calorific value… the loathsome coconut.

I have had an aversion to this white seed for as long as I can remember. It is all things to do with it. Yes the taste is something I would not like if that was it. But it’s also the texture. If however the coconut is desiccated then a whole extra level of unpleasant is piled on top.

To describe the texture of desiccated coconut I have a little story. Back in the day my wife had a green skirt. This green skirt was made from, if memory serves, polyester. Now we have all worn something made from or with polyester. However this green skirt was made of a polyester with remarkable properties. It had a kind of nap. When dry it was soft and, I don’t know – furry?

Wet straight out of the washing machine however, it took on a strange touch. If you rubbed it between your fingers it had the ability to render your whole arm numb. Tingly at first in the fingers and then just plain numb. That in a nutshell is coconut (‘scuse the intended pun)

It’s like that sound you get when you scrape a knife on a plate. I know it’s a bit tenuous to liken a texture to a sound but you get the metaphor.

I can just about stomach coconut milk in curries, but not coconut flesh. No Korma for me then.

Don’t even show me a Bounty either. I would rather lick the bottom of an ashtray.

It’s quite amazing that a £1.00 piece of white plastic can surprise you into being a great cooking aid. I am referring to the very cheap, very basic, microwave egg poacher. This little gem is the gateway to a great Egg Muffin.

Simple ingredients:

2 English Muffins
2 eggs
2 cheese slices
butter and pepper to taste

Open the lid of the poacher, place an egg in each bowl – for there are two. A little splash of water and then prick the yolk and white with the sharp pointy end of a knife. Close the lid.

Cut the muffins in half and pop in the toaster, set to low. Put the loaded egg poacher in the microwave. I have a category ‘E’ machine so I set it to high for one minute. If you have a different power microwave, experiment with timings. Once that minute has expired, leave them in there standing for a further minute.

By this time your muffins will be done. I am looking for a slight browning of the inner surface. Butter to taste.

At this point I look at the eggs. If they are a little too runny I blast them for another 20 seconds. I do this so as not to spill any yellow goodness whilst eating. It’s a pain in the arse when you bite into the sandwich and the yolk explodes and gets wasted. If however you have poached eggs on top of ‘Beans on Toast’ then forget about the extra time. I digress.

Plop those steamy ovum out of the poachers’ plastic embrace onto one half of the muffin. Next a sprinkle of Black Pepper if that is your thing. Cheese slice. Close the sandwich with the other half of the muffin. The beauty of the plastic microwave egg poacher is the finished egg is pretty much the ideal size and shape to fit on an English muffin.

Eat and enjoy. They are exactly like the McMuffins from McDonald’s but without the Bacon or Sausage element. These can and have been added to the home made recipe at times, but I like the plain old Egg Muffin at chez Tucker.

A glass of orange juice and a great breakfast is made. It’s quick and tasty. Try it.

If there is one meal I love it’s a Sunday Roast. That’s not to say it is restricted to Sunday as the only day you can eat such a hearty meal. When it comes to roast dinners, every day is a Sunday.

Now then, cooking such a feast is all well and good. Yes you can choose your best ingredients and prepare them in your favourite way. I like my carrots a little crunchy, al dente if you will. The oven goes on and the meat gets treated to

whatever preparation is needed for the type. Gammon, for the sake of illustration, gets a good wash and placed in a roasting tin lined with foil, then it gets lovingly covered with a glaze of honey and mild mustard. A goodly slug of water to keep things moist and cover with foil before popping in the oven at a medium heat (about 170°C) for 6 hours. During that time occasionally bring that baby out to top up the water otherwise it just dries out and fails miserably. This method does not include the usual soaking of the joint. Soaking is for the removal of salt, yes I know it’s not good for you, but I like my meat salty so I skip that step.

Likewise the veggies:  sometimes there maybe a little cheat here and there, tinned vegetables, frozen roast potatoes, you know to save the time and bother of pots and pans and 11 steps just for spuds. It usually results in edible but bland spuds but hey I never claimed to be a chef.

Then after the feasting has ended there is the small matter of washing up. There are disproportionately more implements, pots pans and utensils than a meal of any multiple ingredient number should have generated. Still someone has to do it, me, and after a belly full of tasty I really can’t be arsed.

So step up to the plate Carveries. Did you see what I did there, step up to the plate as in the Baseball reference, but used to infer flatware because we are talking about foo… no, OK back to the diatribe.

There are many pubs doing food nowadays, most of which serve up stuff you get out of the freezer section at [insert name of supermarket here], it’s a way of stemming the outward flow of patrons. People go to the pub for the drink and the atmosphere. Trouble is now that smoking is banned in public houses, that atmosphere mostly consists of body odour and urine. Not something to be savoured whilst eating a ploughman’s. So they temp us back in with the smell of gravy (for full disclosure it’s not the smell that temps me it’s the thought. Due to Anosmia, I sadly don’t possess that facility. My Olfactory cavity is a barren wasteland of nothingness)

The Carvery: There are two main chains of pub that do them here in the UK. I am referring to Crown and Toby. Both very good, nevertheless I prefer Crown. Toby do have a pudding that will blow your socks off, Triple Strawberry Sundae, but the main course – the reason for this – is ever so slightly superior at Crown. Plus it’s cheaper and closer to home – always a good thing. We frequent The Green Tree at Hatfield just outside Doncaster, which is a 36 mile round trip.

So, great food – yes
All you can eat spuds, stuffing, Yorkshire puddings and veg – yes
Tasty and succulent meats – yes
Great atmosphere (it’s always packed) – yes
Everybody loves it – yes
No washing up – holy crap yes

At time of writing £3.50 during the week and £5.95 on Sunday is great value. Just think of the mountain of food to be consumed at a cheaper price than a fast food restaurant. Bargain.

Only down side is the omission of onion and cabbage, also sprouts, but they have to cater to the lowest common denominator. Peas, carrots, sweetcorn, cauliflower cheese, green beans are the vegetables on offer as well as new and roast potatoes.

So I say to you if you live in the UK find yourself one of these establishments and try it out. If you likes a roast dinner then you cannot go wrong.

Additionally if you know of a different Carvery chain or a Pub grub place that serves proper food then let me know. I also like a good ploughmans.

EDIT: They have a download for both SatNav and Google Earth HERE.

Is it me? I love fried eggs, but I’m particular in the way they are cooked but more so in the way they are consumed.

The best way, for me at least, to cook an egg to perfection is a three point plan.

• Point 1: Don’t have the oil – or to be really great, lard – too hot. It makes the white bubble, not good, and produces that brown crap around the edge and underneath, also not good. A perfect fried egg’s white should be just that, white.
• Point 2: Don’t, I repeat Don’t, ever, and I mean it, pop the yolk whilst cracking the egg into the pan. Ever.
• Point 3: Flick not flip. Flick the oil/lard over the yolk. Don’t flip the egg – this could produce the nightmare situation of yolk sack breakage. Too horrible to contemplate.

We have the perfectly cooked chicken ovum on our plate. Time to eat the treat. Now I have been called weird and strange – on more than one occasion, and to be honest on many a subject * – but I eat my eggs in a regimented and structured way.

First off, I cut the white off, using straight cuts with the knife. So as the yolk and a little white is left. Then I eat the rest of the breakfast or dinner. It has to be stated here and now that a ‘Full English Breakfast’ is the daddy of all meals, and a personal favourite.

Then, once the meal has been consumed. The Yolk. Slip it onto the fork with care and attention, mustn’t break that delicate membrane keeping all that yellowy goodness intact. One fluid motion and it’s in the pie-hole. Slowly break the seal with the tongue, and let the flavour flood out into the mouth and then I take my time to savour that flavour, for it is a fleeting pleasure. And remember, there is nothing more heart breaking than egg-yolk on porcelain.

And there we have it, the perfect fried egg experience. I have been eating eggs this way for as long as I can remember and today at work, a kindred spirit arose from the mire of philistine yolk breakers. Brian, a gentleman of advancing years revealed his credo of egg consumption. Exactly as above described.

I am not alone.

( * buttered Weetabix anyone? )