A ham and cheese toasty in brown sliced toast.

I missed the nosebag of oats, yogurt and fruit pieces this morning. All that was left in the canteen at work were the ready-made sandwiches. It's difficult to dress a goat's cheese, rocket and pesto panino as breakfast, plus it foreign, so I took the lonely ham and cheese toasty back to my table with a small cappuccino in a branded paper cup (Despite asking for it "for here" not "to go".) 

        

        This was a master stroke of comfort eating. A cheese and ham toasty is the Epicurean equivalent of a soft fleece baby blanket to an over tired toddler. I was late for breakfast and so ate alone in splendid isolation. 

Ein kleine kaffee und käsebrot mit schinken

A nice Germanic breakfast

Granola-gay should have stayed at home yesterday

Remain indoors. 

I guess since everyone's days since 2020 feels much the same as the last, please consider this a repost for the last 300 days. If you want to know what I had for breakfast a week ago - just re-read this post.

Remain indoors.

I've settled on Granola, with natural yogurt and berries as my no-think go to breakfast. Muesli is better for you as it has less sugar, but Dr James Caleb Jackson decided that muesli needed sugar. Dr J. C. Jackson ran a sanitarium, which sounds like sanatorium, but isn't. Don't confuse the two. Sanatoriums are where people who contracted TB¹ went to hide the shame of family illness form the world, sanatoriums are where people went to get granola.

Remain indoors.

I’ve also started adding milled flax seed to my Granola. It is tastless and imperceptible in the mealy toasted brown of the granola but my GP told me it would help my blood pressure and, you know, it’s his job to find out what helps and tell me to do it.

1.     Tuberculosis

Poached Egg on English Muffin with Asbestos

Let's talk about the asbestos. Nobody wants to read about English muffins. That's not entirely true, but the kind people who would rather be regaled with twee stories about a morning of muffins and perfect sunrises when asbestos is on the cards aren't holding a strong Darwinian suit.

It's the same reason the discovery channel runs a week of programs about sharks and not goldfish. Goldfish are nice but everyone has seen at least one and nobody has ever been eaten by a goldfish. Sharks, like asbestos, are dangerous. I suspect a shark is a more easily identified than asbestos.
Since Asbestos is banned in the EU, most people are happily ignorant of it. I can't blame them, it's not used in new houses and a lot of old houses have gotten rid of it at some stage.

I was surprised to learn that Asbestos, according to the World Health Organisation (WHO), is listed alongside cigarettes and tanning beds in terms of its cancer causing ability. I'm not sure whether that makes Asbestos less dangerous in my mind, or Tanning Beds more dangerous (or the WHO less credible), I stay away from all three.

I had a nice Frenchman remove all the Asbestos from my house. All that is, except a small six inch flu that runs hidden withing the core of the house. Don't worry, it's sealed in, and safe enough as long as I don't start breaking it apart.

English Muffins are known in England as crumpets they make a delicious alternative to toast in the morning but should be used sparingly as they are quite heavy.

Marmalade on Toast Versus Jam on a Croissant a Comparative Study

This time last year I read and article about people not eating as much marmalade as they used to. If people don't like marmalade, that's fine. But I think people do. I've tried to do my bit, my mother made me a nice pot of it and I went through it like a divil, but I couldn't tip the trend.

Marmalade, like butter, and other breakfast-y, things suffers from a bad reputation. A bit like that girl with the dyed-streak in her hair and the nose ring, that your mother told you wasn't to enter her house. As with that buxom lass, it's bitter and sweet at the same time, it livens up your stale bread like she livened up your adolescence. Pause before reading the next paragraph and think about how she might have grown into her looks.

Marmalade on toast was last week. Today, I had a croissant with blackcurrant jam and one of them fancy cappuchinos (La-de-fuckin-da). Neither breakfast contains eggs¹, and are all the poorer for it. (Although the pastry of the croissant may contain one egg, but it's just not the same.) Croissants aren't all that bad but they're certainly not healthy, they are France's answer to American fast food it turns out. It's a shame because what the french cook slowly they cook very well.

1. Yes, I know that a croissant contains egg but if you can't see the egg on the plate then it's not really breakfast.

Cuisine de France Croissant

Yuk, dry tastless fast food. Hates it we does. Plus a loud talker got on the train the other day.

What is it with these people? I don't even think the people he was talking to wanted to hear about his docu-drama for Canadian television. I'm certain I didn't. The rest of the train looked like they were ready to caste their ballots too.

Imagine a world where nobody has an indoor voice. Libraries would be as busy as shopping malls. The theatre would be a burly hum of vain comments¹. I wouldn't ever bother going to a hear any classical music whatsoever unless I was the entire audience.

1. The internet, perhaps?

The Full Anglo-Irish Breakfast

If you are looking for information on the Irish Bank Resolution Corporation look in the Irish Independent, this is about these great islands formidable breakfasts.

Much loved by truck drivers  the humble plate of egg'n'pig that makes up 98% of breakfast served in tawdry B&B's on these islands gets a bad reputation. Rightly so. Michael Bywater, in his book Lost Worlds laments, that while other nationalities lend their names to acts erotic adventure¹, (c.f. Greek) or a particular passionate kiss (c.f. French). The English have an associated 'pork orgy', and since the Irish insist of claiming this as their own also, then I say let them have it. I would have thought to 'Irish' would  mean to add alcohol. After all Irish Coffee enjoys a fairly decent reputation and it's not nearly as bad for your health².

What  a shame to single out the least delicious breakfast as the national dish. If this blog aims to provide anything it's the wealth of breakfast that are steadfast traditions of this proud Atlantic archipelago.

I've been told to watch my cholesterol so the full English is something of a hazardous material in my blood vessels. I've never been much of a fan however since like most popular foods it's been subject to a race to the bottom as competition has driven the costs down. The only thing worse than cheap bacon, after all, is a cheaper sausages. On a boozy lads night out in Donegal I was treated to a 'Full Ulster Breakfast'; how this local delicacy differs from every other fried or grilled swine-fest by the addition of some fried bread, leaves me mute. It's purpose is to act as a sponge, just in case you missed some of the rendered animal fats as they ran from the pan. But that entirely points to how lacking in imagination and versatility this dish really is. Ultimately it's not it's health issues that will kill it, (but probably will kill us) but how boring it is.

1. Greek sex is basically sex when your doing it wrong³

2. As everyone know caffeine and alcohol cancel each other out. Right?

3. Not wrong as in; mortal-sin⁴ wrong. More wrong as in; that's-not-what-the-Ikea-instructions-say-where-it-goes, wrong. If that sort of thing melts your butter and you can find a willing friend who has a single room apartment in Paris and a pack of Lurpak, you go like the clappers. Then blog about it and the Guardian will not doubt give you some sort of award.

4. All sex acts can be put into context. Weirdness becomes relative when one thinks about the fact that some people get their jollies from axillary (armpit) sex, so much so that it even has a slang term.

Road rage before breakfast, then some sensible porridge walnuts and honey.

The other day I was involved in a spat of road rage. I wasn't the raging one, but I did feel pretty aggrieved that someone felt that they could raise their voice to me. Nor was I the one driving dangerously/aggressively. I did beep at the other driver's behavior (in a car park) at which point he got out of the car and started shouting.

"Don't you beep at me! Don't you fucking beep at me!"

He was probably in his mid-fifties, stood about 5'6'' tall weighing in a about 170 lbs, portly, not athletic, with a white handlebar mustache rolled up shirt sleeves to show off his blurry tattoos, an open collar to show off his flattened herringbone gold chain that snaked over a rug of white chest hair. Maybe he was older than think. He walked around to the driver side window eyeballing me. I stayed in the car and lowered the window enough to hear him and look like I was legitimately interested in what he had to say, but probably not enough that he could reach in the car. I suddenly felt a conflict between being very much restrained by my seat belt and the desire not to look like I was taking off my seat belt to confront him. I figured it would pan out like this: He would shout at me; I would make small slow nods but wouldn't appear too supplicant to him, he is after all, behaving like an ape. Then he would get back in his car and drive away.

"Don't you beep at me! Don't you ever beep at me again, d'ya hear me?"

I'm tempted to hit the horn at this point, but instead, considering I've never met him before and will probably never meet him again I simply say,

"Okay, I'll never beep at you again. Do you know what you did?"

That last sentence didn't help the situation. He started to go purple and repeat himself further. You'll excuse me if I don't write it out again. By that stage there was a queue of cars behind me trying to get out of the car-park and the bus couldn't leave, because his car was blocking the exit. I'd made a decision, unless he attacked me or the car, I wasn't getting out. This is my neighborhood after all and I didn't want to be seen brawling in the train station car park if I could avoid it.

After pumping out his sentence a few more times. He walked away eyeballing me then called me a rude word for a lady part and thanked the bus driver for waiting. Which just goes to show just because you're acting like a thug is no excuse for not having good manners.  He then drove off and was held up for another ten minutes as the level crossing barriers came down.

I joined the queue behind him with the bus between us. I started to think about what made him so angry. Surely he didn't go from a state of tranquil morning contemplation to Dr Bruce Banner's angrier id because I beeped at him. He had been driving aggressively and widely in he car-park (hence my beeping) so I assume he was late for work. Perhaps the the person he dropped off at the train station delayed him. As a counter factual, it's an interesting potential chain reaction considering what could happen if I had been in a fightin' sort of mood¹.

Breakfast was when I considered the what ifs over porridge with walnuts and at least a table spoon of honey. He had only shouted and used bad language, that doesn't mean you can't stand up to people who are loud and verbally abusive, but in the context of a one off I still feel it was better not to escalate the situation in to a mêlée. If he had damaged the car, well that damage to private property. Had he attacked me? I'm young enough and fit enough to fight him off assuming he fights fair and isn't a master at Krav Maga². So the biggest risk was his age weight advantage and agitated state³. I reckon I could've had him.

Lets be havin' ya.

1. I am only ever in a fightin sort of mood if I'm in a whiskey drinkin' sort of mood earlier, and since this took place at 07:30 hrs; there is no earlier.
2. Anyone will tell you Krav Maga has nothing to do with a fair fight, and more about just repeatedly punching someone's testicles until they give up their homeland.
3. Seriously I thought there was a chance he could have a heart attack. Not something I wanted to be responsible for.

Arrant Pedantry.

The casual reader of this blog might be tempted to think of me as a neo-conservative linguistic fetishiser. To some extent this is verily so. I don't mind admitting to being a bit of a grammar fascist. Less in the particulars of where the perfect comma should be placed, and more in terms of the readers right to judge the levels of education of the writer, based on spelling mistakes and sentences that are ambiguous or worse still, make no sense whatsoever.

Don't misunderstand me. I am an appallingly lazy speller and can be errantly slapdash when it comes to proof-reading my own work, but I disguise this by the use of computers' spell checker. It's not perfect, but I feel I make some effort.

The reason I make this paltry effort is less-so for the benefit of the reader, and more so to gain a grammarian high ground. I've been on the critical end of people whose grammar fantasies are wrapped up in ritualised sadistic humiliation, and it's not nice. Of those times when I've taken ten-o'-best from an English graduate, I've either been incorrect, and therefore deserving, or haven't armed myself with enough knowledge to defend my, originally correct, statement. Each time I've noted how extraordinarily effective such a distracting line of argument is.

Remember the soundness of an argument might have nothing to do with how well articulated it is and the opposite is true.

"If the glove don't[sic] fit, you must acquit."

There is a modern school of thought that says it doesn't matter how bad your grammar/malapropism as long as your point is understood. This is of course absolutely correct, and I would not be so foolish to argue against it.  But while that is particularly true of the spoken word; mistakes in the written word, like that photo of your groping a buxom coed on a boat in Cancun, just can't be undone.  There's nothing like a strongly worded letter to make ones point and for every error; subtract a righteousness dollar from the argument.

My maternal grandmother would return letters from her children with the mistakes marked and corrected. She had seven children all of whom have excellent English.

Feel free to submit your corrections in the comments section.

Things that common sense isn't.

"Le sens commun n'est pas si commun" - Voltaire.

People use the phrase "It's just common sense," a bit too often. It's tempting to think that common sense isn't what it used to be (much like nostalgia); but I suspect it has always been a vague catch-all for obviousness.

Mostly the term "common sense" is tacked on to whatever plagiarized ideology is ringing in the ears of the bien-pensant. For example: Socialists and capitalists will both contend that their theories are born of common sense (or at least common decency). The capitalist will contend it is common sense to expect people to work hard for reward (which is often true) and a socialist will counter that unless government uses taxes to provide social welfare then those without means will remain without means (also by and large true).

Common sense is probably not that complicated. It could probably be summed up within the sentiment of self preservation; not putting ones hand in the fire, not eating yellow snow, not publishing libelous material in a blog post, et cetera. We could make a list of all the things that are commonly thought of as sensible, but where's the fun in that.

Common sense cannot, by definition, be anything that is learned. And, since the lexicon of human knowledge is vastly of acquired information; common sense is very rare indeed.

By the way, if you want to sound clever¹ you can call it a priori reasoning.

1. It doesn't make you sound clever. It makes you difficult to understand to those who don't know latin².
2. It's commonsense really.

Why I hate1 the Battle Creek Toasted Corn Flake Company.

It should come as no surprise dear readers that I'm not a fan "breakfast cereals". People who don't make time for breakfast are unconsciously saying something about there own self worth. Remember: Time is not money; it is something of incalculable value.

People today think their breakfast has to come in a box and be made from mashed-up and dried, corn or wheat. I've nothing against either corn or wheat, but pre-mashing things is what mothers do to toddlers food. Let's remind ourselves why cornflakes were invented; to discourage sexual desire. They are possibly the first convenience food. We've given convenience food a try; it's turned two thirds of us into fatties, surely it's time to throw out anything that comes with a toy, or collect a million tokens an claim your nunchucks.

The misguided fools; didn't they know our sexual desire is what the soviets wanted from us all along.

Do you want that? Do you? Because that's what you'll get, that and your arse wiped for you.

1. Hate is a strong word. I couldn't be arsed² hating them.

2. I don't care if the queen likes them and gave them a royal warrant³.

3. She gave John Lewis a royal warrant but I've never seen her there.

The Copenhagen Interpretation

I was in Copenhagen a year ago where I had a little taste of breakfast heaven. A combination of picked herring, curried mayonnaise, tomato sauce, a boiled egg, capers and rye bread with lard spread.

Yes that's right; lard!

The meal cost ~110 DKK or €15. Which is about average for a pinko socialist economy like Denmark's. The tomato sauce and the curried egg mayonnaise were served in separate ramekins with the tangy roll-mops of herring in them, with a third ramekin of unsauced pickled herring.

My dining compatriots were aghast in disgust, winces all round, at both the pickled fish and the lard. I've tried to recreate the meal several times at home. For the lard; I bought a pound block of Cookeen, and like Christina, the chubby girl who used to sit next to me in my primary school; I'm both fascinated and terrified of it. The curried mayonnaise I can recreate quite well, due to the fact that it is; after all, just curry powder and mayonnaise. The tomato sauce is a different matter. I've tried plain old passata, but I think there was a more pickled taste to it. I can hardly remember now it was so long ago.

Which brings me to my noted absence. To be honest it's both a blogging clichéd and quite frankly beneath me to apologise for not posting in so long. Consider yourselves lucky you get anything at all.

Blueberry Pancakes w/ Maple Flavoured Syrup

Thick as bread and stuffed with bitter-sweetness of blueberries. Her-indoor insists on spoiling me at the weekend. No limp effete crêpes but three stout puddings of a breakfast and a good double of maple flavoured syrup.

This is an ideal breakfast to point out why the French are thin and the Americans are fat. Simply, the French eat less food and smoke more cigarettes. This leads on to another difference between the French and Americans; Americans are happy, the French are many things but they are never ever happy.

Savoury pancakes are a quick way to lose the will to live, let alone your appetite.

Devilled Kidneys Courtesy of HFW

It's been a while since I last updated this blog. This is mostly due to a welcome healthy repetition of greek yogurt, homemade müesli, and berries. But man cannot live on bread alone, as the health bible says.

The consumption of visceral organs is the preserve of true carnivores; dads and lions alike. Leopold Bloom, the archetype father figure in Joyce's Ulysses is first mentioned cooking "the inner organs of beasts and fowls". No doubt I might revisit them, if I remember, on Bloomsday.

Kidneys are not for wishy washy picky eaters, they smell like a cattle shed in winter and taste predictably strong. "Devilled" refers to the hot mustard and is the only way to eat kidneys. The entire set of ingredients is designed to mask the taste of the organ. The sherry masks the smell, and the mustard and paprika mask the taste. But the whole thing together is delicious.

The basis for the recipe can be found here; courtesey of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. I made a few changes, specifically replacing the redcurrant jelly with blackcurrant jam, the cider vinegar with sherry vinegar and the cream with Greek yogurt. An important tip; when you fry the kidneys put hem aside on a warm plate. This lets them rest and the blood to pool away, unless of course you're Hannibal Lecter.

From Yogurt, Müesli and Fresh Berries, to Homemade Müesli with Greek Yogurt and Thawed Frozen Berries, a Comparative Study.

This morning's breakfast was again made by 'er indoors. Normally sweet müesli doesn't do it for me, this time however the light sweetness of the honey against the pleasant tang of natural greek yogurt hit my tastenberge spot.

Made, in the 'first you must create the universe' sense. She made the granola from oats seeds honey etc. It is possible that this was because she doesn't like raisins and so left them out. Never the less it was the best mix I have ever tasted. To be honest I'm not sure I like(d) raisins in müesli. I can chew through them, but aren't raisins just a dry substitute for fresh grapes, and I'm always slightly disappointed when one ends up on my spoon. There's only one way to eat raisins really; souse them in some strong liquor.

Kellog's Krave...Here comes the rant.

I have not tasted "Krave". It used to be fashionable to bemoan sugary cereals. All the mums were at it. People thought children could catch Hyperactivity from sugar, lots and lots of sugar. After that we though Hyperactivity was down to bad parenting. Now we know better. It's actually down to bad teachers. Particularly the unionised ones.

Just to reinforce the brand in you mind; the television commercial shows a little kravicle jumping around like a child from a member of the untamed classes, biting chocolate pieces hither and thither. That's it, now you're Kraving it?

Sugar breakfast cereals are a bad idea. Not for the general tasteless public; they can eat whatever shite they think their bodies deserve. But for the people who com up with these ideas; the young graduates who land jobs in Kellogg's and Nestlé and such companies. Krave clearly smacks of an idea born of people who are driven to increase profits by their lawful obligation to shareholders. Even the name shows absolutely no imagination. I'm waiting to see the episode of The Apprentice where this lame sugary queer idea was probably thought up.

Imagine handing in your resumé to a new prospective employer, on which it read that you had been the inventor of Kellogg's Fruit Loops. It's laughable isn't it.

Bacon Egg McMuffin, Hash Brown and a Cup of Coffee

Wait a minute, what's going on? Once when I had was in college I indulged in the famous six o'clock breakfast of shame. I had been awake in the laboratory performing some vivisection on some baby rabbits to see if I could use electricity or acid burns to make them cuter. When I got carried away and forgot what time it was. There's not many places that will feed you at six O'clock in he morning covered in blood and hair, but Micky Dee's will let anyone in.

People whinge about McDonalds an aweful lot. It's not my ideal breakfast, but you won't get any self righteous hand wringing here, I find it hard to take. I'm not exempt from the odd Mac Attack, particularly when it's the only place open. I'm not exempt from the side of guilt one is made to swallow by the hippie types either. In the end I just remember nobody forced me to go.

Bacon Butty and a Cup of Tea

Slurp - ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Yogurt, Müesli and Fresh Berries

The Swiss get away with a lot. Hidden in their mountain lair keeping time to the picosecond whilst the rest of the world goes about its business, unaware it's being observed and secretly judged for being late.

This mornings breakfast was made for me by my girlfriend (yes, thank you darling it was delicious).

Initially I found it dry and dusty with the berries being the only moistness. As the oats and other magic dust absorbed moisture from the yogurt the dish became more appetising. I think a few table spoons of honey might be a welcome addition to a meal a lot of people save for an occasion such as post-cardiac-surgery-convalescence. People see it as a chore rather like classical music or fine art, instead of a breakfast to be enjoyed.

One thing is for damn sure, it's not enough. You'll need a slice or two of toast to suppliment it. The disclaiming phrase part or a nutritious breakfast springs to mind. I'm not sure what brand of muesli I ate and I've found they differ wildly in their tastiness.

Limonade sans Limone

My ire has been tickled. You lucky readers, two blog postings in one day.

Being a warm Irish summer day (18 °C), I decided to purchase a bottle of fancy lemonade to quench my thirst. I paid the €1.99 price tag, poured a good quarter of a pint down my dusty thrapple. Suddenely I was struck by a glaring absence of the taste of any kind of lemon whatsoever. A quick check of the stated ingredients confirmed the closet thing to lemon was citric acid, which it seems does not taste one bit lemony. I wouldn't care if they made the citric acid in a vat from petrol and tar if it tasted anything like lemons.

The drink in question if called "Bellot Lemon". Don't buy it. I've also raced back to the shop and tried a drink called "Lorina sparkling Lemonade Lemon" which you can get in a bottle with fancy re-corking stopper just like old timey lemonade. Don't buy it either. Lorina lists as one of its ingredients "Natural Lemon Aroma". What the fuck does that mean? Lorina also lists critic acid as one of the drinks "natural preservatives" which suggest to me it's used due to its absence of taste.

One more trip to the shop to browse the labels of rival products. It seems Fentimans is the only one that contains the juice of lemons (and pears as it happens) be it from concentrate and only 12 % its still ahead of the pack by a country mile. However it's guaranteed no more that 0.5 % alcohol (phew).

A bit of research on the web explains the entire misunderstanding. Lorina and Bellot are French names and of course are subject to wishy washy vagueness and retreat in times of battle to the bosoms of their tanned revolutionary women. Fentimans is a good British brand, and lets face it with name like Fentiman you know their cola is kosher. Plus it's got a picture of a faithful German shepherd dog on the label.

Good dog, that's a good good dog.