twochubbycubs go to Ireland – part 5 – plus beef chow fun!

Let us return back to misty old Ireland for one more post about our holiday. There’s still a few gags I can bust out about the whole debacle.

The day for us leaving came around quicker than you can say ‘hot-tub indiscretion’ and we left the cottage at a bright and breezy 7am, taking a long video of the place to show that we’d done do damage. Ever the tightarse, me. We immediately ran into a problem – we had to take our bag of general rubbish down to a waste disposal centre as the bin lorries don’t operate up to the cottage. At 7am on a bank holiday weekend in rural Ireland, that’s quite hard. We spent thirty minutes driving around, with Paul wedged in the passenger seat with a honking bag of rubbish in between his legs, leaking nasty bin juice in my car. After several attempts at finding somewhere to ditch it (there, of course, being no bins anywhere) we eventually tied a five euro note to one of the handles and left it on someone’s drive. Well honestly, I wasn’t going to take it home as a bloody souvenir. Sorry Ireland.

Of course, thanks to my keen-as-mustard driving (plus the 85mph speed limit – so that’s 95mph in real money) and excellent navigation skills, we arrived at the port a good ninety minutes before we were allowed to board. Ninety minutes isn’t long enough to go anywhere and do anything so we ended up having a morose coffee in a service station served by someone who clearly used the same cloth for cleaning both his armpits and the grill-pan. Every time he leant over our table to pour a coffee I felt the skin on my face tighten like I was looking into a bonfire. There’s no excuse for body odour at all – a bottle of Mum can be picked up for a matter of pennies. Excessive sweating is fair enough – we’re all fat here – and it’s something I used to get so worried about that I’d barely put my arm up at school in case I had a wet-patch under my arms. For three years they thought my mother had been at the thalidomide until they saw my arm at full length reaching for an extra slice of chocolate and orange cornflake-cake at lunch and called off the doctors. We supped our coffee and, noticing that I had a few Euros scratching around in my pockets, I bought a scratchcard for €2. And won €4. So I bought a €4 scratchcard and promptly won €5. I chanced my luck, bought a €5 card and won another fucking €5. So I doubled down and bought a €10 scratchcard, with B.O Bill congratulating my excellent luck. I won fuck all. You may think I’m being melodramatic when I say I left the place in tears but I wasn’t upset, my eyes were just streaming from the vinegary heat-haze rippling from his armpit. I’ve never known the air in a café to shimmer.

The ferry crossing was uneventful – nothing more to report than the hilarity of watching people trying to light a cigarette on the deck when faced with a nice gale and the swell of the sea. By god they were determined, and I know the feeling being an ex-smoker, but it looked bloody hilarious. I swear you could drop a smoker behind the engine of a Boeing 747 going full-pelt and they’d still be tucking their head into their jumper and spinning the wheel on their lighter like a desperate suicide bomber. We tried to gamble but without any pound coins, we couldn’t, so we spent three hours playing Peggle and cramming as many free cans of Diet Coke as we could into my suitcase. If the ship had taken a lurch and I’d slipped over on deck I reckon the resulting explosion of fizz on my back would have sent me clear into the Irish sea like the gayest distress flare Holyhead had ever seen. Upon disembarkation (really) it was like we had cataracts – the fog was so heavy and dense that suddenly a 250 mile drive back to Newcastle at 50mph didn’t seem so alluring. We tried to book back into the Bangor Premier Inn for another night of unrivalled Welsh glamour only to be told that there was no rooms left. Bah. Obviously everyone had the same idea as us – get to a hotel and sleep out the fog which was blanketing the country. A desperate search on a shite mobile reception told us that there was two rooms left at a Premier Inn in Widnes, but due to us stopping to buy some sour strawberry laces and Paul needing his usual eighty nine pisses, we got there just a moment too late as a family checked in just in front of us. No idea if they’d had a room booked for months and were just there as planned, but I was so put out that I did a silent fart on the way out to foul their reception. And trust me, after a week of rich food and Irish treats, it didn’t smell of peaches.

We decided to head for Wakefield. The glitz! The glamour! The incest! I joke. A room was secured and comfort awaited but before we got there, we pulled over for our evening meal at a services. By, was that depressing. At 11pm on a Sunday the only option open to us was a Ginsters pasty, a Kitkat and a bottle of water. Delightful. I did spend a few minutes playing the slots despite knowing it’s a mugs game but actually, we won £20. Tell you what though, we left depressed. See, next to us was a middle-aged woman who was feeding £10 notes into the machine and spinning the slots for £2 a time. She was there when we went in, she was there as we played and she was there when we left – if she hadn’t spent over £200 I’d eat my hat. Whilst we were in WH Smith I was being nosy and keeping an eye on her (well, truth be told, I was waiting until she fucked off so I could empty the machine myself) and in walks her husband, rolling along like a disgruntled potato. He asked when she was coming out, she said ‘I’M ABOUT TO FUCKING WIN’. He had their tiny daughter with him and she looked knackered. Suddenly it wasn’t quite so funny. As we left, the mother was still there pumping the notes into the machine, and the dad and daughter were outside sitting in a car. Nearly midnight on a bank holiday. All I could think was what the money now sitting in the machine could buy the kid and how shit her homelife must be. Paul and I are lucky that we can chuck £20 into a slot, have a gamble and walk away if we lose, but this was the ugly side of things. Those machines are nothing other than pure evil – you can gamble £2 every five seconds or so and whilst yes, personal responsibility should kick in, that’s easy to say if you don’t have a gambling problem.  These machines are so good at getting you to risk a bit extra, to gamble your wins, to chase your losses. There’s a reason there’s always someone playing them. Bastards.

Anyway, onto lighter things. We spent the night in the Premier Inn Wakefield and only woke when poor Svetlanka brayed on the door like we were on the Titanic. We decided on one final naughty meal so nipped over the road to a Brewers Fayre. I’m not a fan of this type of pub – it screams ‘Access Day’ – but nevertheless, we ordered nachos, hunters chicken and something else so delicious that I’ve clean forgotten it. Well fuck me, we were back to English food alright – the nachos were a pack of Doritos with some guacamole shoved on it with all the care and panache that an arsonist applies petrol with, the chicken clearly died from thirst given how dry it was (I had to suck the beermat just to moisten me lips) and Paul didn’t finish his meal. That’s only happened three times in our relationship that I can recall and one of them was when I set the kitchen on fire making cherry samosas. We hurtled back up the A1, said hello to the brassy old tart known as the Angel of the North, and we were home. Cats welcomed us back warmly by showing us their pencil-sharpeners just in case we’d forgotten what they looked like and them immediately meowing to be fed. Don’t know what their problem was, we’d left a tin-opener.

Crap, the time. I’m going to do another post soon summing up Ireland and all the little extra bits, but I bet you’re all a bit tired of my shamrock-scented shenanigans. Tell you what you will not be sick of – this fabulous bloody recipe.

Yummee! It’s essentially just beef and noodles but it tastes bloody amazing.

ingredients: enough noodles for two people, a drop of sesame oil, 450g of beef frying steak, 1 large onion, 4 large spring onions, a bag of beansprouts, salt. For the marinade, you’ll need three garlic cloves, 2 tbsp of dark soy sauce, 1 tbsp of normal soy sauce (no need to get fussy, three tbsp of dark soy will do the same), 1tbsp of rice vinegar, 2tsp of grated peeled ginger (remember to keep the leftover in the freezer, it’ll keep – or use a tiny bit of dry ginger), 1/2tsp of cornflour (hence the syn), salt.

recipe:

• make the marinade first by whisking together everything I’ve put above and put aside
• slice the beef into thin strips, the spring onion into decent chunks, the onion into thickish slices and mince the garlic
• hoy the beef into half of the marinade and chill, preferably overnight but for at least 30 minutes – keep the other half of the marinade aside
• when you’re ready, cook off your noodles and once cooked, put into icy water to stop them cooking and sticking together
• heat a good non-stick pan with your drop of oil or frylight, and using a slotted spoon, put your meat in to cook – fry nice and quick and hard, fnar fnar
• put the beef to one side and throw in the onions – both the large onion and the spring onions and stir fry on hot for a minute or two, then add the beansprouts, the noodles the rest of the marinade and the beef and stir fry for a few moments more until everything is piping hot
• serve hot and with chopsticks, unless you’re a clumsy oaf like me.

Enjoy!

J

right, we’re off – the extra easy diet starts anew! stuffed omelette for tea

Now that we’ve got Christmas out of the way (and our anniversary, and Paul’s birthday…well no that’s Thursday, but ssh) we’re back on it.

Had a proper road rage moment driving home from some absolutely tiny man (seriously, I could just see the top of his male-pattern baldness peeking out over his steering wheel) in a BMW, who decided that because I was in front of him and doing the speed limit (actually, a shade over) that he had the right to get right up my arse and swear at me in the mirror. I have to admit, I love it, I can’t fathom why people get so apocalyptically angry when driving, especially when he had nowhere to go but maybe 100 yards in front of me. I put it down to the fact he was driving a BMW and was sick of always being the last person to realise when it’s raining. Actually, there seems to be a proper surfeit of arsehole drivers on the road at the moment – predominately those wankers who drive along on a clear night with their fog lights on and, in some cases, their side lights, full beam and the light off their phone lighting up the inside of the car. That’s quite possibly my biggest bugbear. The fact that your 0.8l shitwagon is illuminated like a dressing room mirror doesn’t add any points to your driving! I’m not irrational, but I can’t help but feel it would be best to find them on fire in a ditch somewhere later down the road.

Anyway enough whingeing, I’m pushed for time tonight, so here is tonight’s meal:

ingredients: for the omelette, three eggs, sliced ham, sliced onion, sliced peppers, sliced tomatoes, sliced mushrooms if you want them and crumble 45g of feta as your healthy extra if you want it cheesy! Salad is just any old bobbins you have in the fridge (for me, peppers, sweetcorn, carrot, rocket and lettuce) and the wedges are just a couple of sweet potatoes cut into thin wedges and put in the actifry (or do them on a tray in the oven – I don’t add any fat or oil, they cook nicely without).

recipe: prepare your salad and wedges and about ten minutes before the wedges are done, start your omelette.

There’s no real secret to this other than I use a big frying pan as opposed to those little omelette pans, because I like the egg to be thin and more like a wrap to contain the masses of stuff I stick in my omelette. A squirt of Frylight (I actually use olive oil, a tiny teaspoon – and I don’t syn it, never have, I don’t like frylight – but if you want to keep your syns down, strictly speaking, use frylight). Get it nice and hot. Whisk three eggs in a bowl – add some onion powder, or chilli, or in my case, peri-peri seasoning if you have some. I’m not a fan of ‘eggy’ omelette so flavour it!

Tip the egg into the pan and let it spread, and then as soon as it has a bit of a ‘skin’ on it, chuck your contents in the middle in a nice block. Let it sit for a minute or so, and then fold one side of the omelette over the top, followed by the other third. This should cover your filling easily.

Now listen – if it breaks, so what – it’ll still taste nice, so don’t be put off! I usually let it sit for another minute, and then slide it out onto the plate. It’s that easy! It really is just an omelette. Serve hot and enjoy!

extra-easy: definitely, everything on here fits the bill, and your salad and some of the contents of the omelette make up your superfree. If you’re doing EE-SP, as long as you omit the sweet potato and change the feta cheese to low-fat cottage cheese/quark – both of which work well – this would be a decent meal. I’m very new to EE-SP and I’ll talk about it more tomorrow, but I think this is right!

top tips: an omelette can be boring unless you absolutely stuff it full of bits and pieces you like. It’s a great way to sneak in some superfree too, and can be tweaked into an EE-SP meal. I think a lot of people are put off by the eggy taste, but just add any old shite you can find in the cupboard to make it taste decent!

Tomorrow’s chilli is already in the slow-cooker…

Goodnight!

chicken kiev, slimming world style

Before we get started tonight, can I explain one of my irrational dislikes? I’m a big quiz-show fan, so I’ll often pull a 15-to-1 or Countdown out of the Sky planner to watch when I’m bored. I know I know, but we all have quirks. My annoyance stems from Countdown, and in particular, the precocious ‘youngsters’ they occasionally have on. I get that they are geniuses, but the sight of all their weird ‘never-left-the-house’ tics and pallid skin makes my skin crawl. They nearly always look like in ten years time they’re going to be talked to by the police for masturbating into the coat of a lady in front of them on an escalator. Still, that’s easy for me to say, I don’t have the balls to go on, even though I’m pretty decent at anagrams. It’s easier to sit at the computer and be a TOTLACNUT about people.

Actually, that’s a fib. Paul and I did apply to go on Coach Trip and got put on the waiting list, but never got any further. Probably for the best, Paul has a potty mouth and I reckon the bus would barely have a chance to back out of the car-park before we’d be booted off and Channel 4 shut down. I find Brendan hysterical though – he’s exactly what I imagine Paul will look like in twenty years, perhaps minus the tight shirts.

Tonight’s recipe is the good old chicken kiev. It was tasty enough, but it did miss the ‘ooziness’ of a traditional chicken kiev, and every time we step on a duck it smells like someone has died behind the radiator, However, a decent chicken kiev will set you back around 12 syns (which will be the butter and breadcrumbs) so this is a good cheat – and served with fancy sides, will fill your hole. Recipe card then:

ingredients: two decent chicken breasts, no skimping- you want ginger spice, not posh spice, when it comes to breasts, the ubiquitous fromage frais, garlic, frylight, egg, golden breadcrumbs, bit of hard cheese.

recipe: piece of piss, to be honest. Cut open a big gash in the chicken breast, and spoon mixed up fromage frais, garlic and a tiny bit of hard cheese into it. Coat in beaten egg and dust with breadcrumbs. Secure with cocktail sticks (last thing you want in life is your gash leaking when it heats up) and hoy it in the oven for 30 mins. We had cheesy mash with it (boil sweet potato, carrots and potatoes together, when soft throw it through a ricer, et voila. We added a knob of Primula to ours (2 syns a squeeze) because we’re decadent sluts, but if you rice it so it’s super smooth but not starchy, it’ll be just fine without. Chuck on some broccoli for good measure.

extra-easy: yes – though not syn free. the breadcrumbs are synned – 28g of golden breadcrumbs for 2 syns – but that’s more than enough for two big breasts, I reckon you could easily do for. Bulk out the dinner with superfree veg – we were a bit short here, but the mash had carrots and sweet potato in, and broccoli on the side. We served with gravy with I’ve always synned at 1 syn per teaspoon and will continue to do so until the day I die, god-damn it. Other than that, we’re all good.

top tips: I keep mentioning a ricer for the mash – they look like this:

You can buy the one we use here – they’re great. Cheaper ones are available but when it comes to kitchen stuff, buy cheap, buy twice – you want a good heavy duty bugger to handle anything you throw at it. They’re brilliant if you eat a lot of mash – as they create incredibly smooth mash that tastes creamy as anything, thus reducing the need to add fattening things like cream, milk or lard. Though here’s another tip – crack an egg in your mash and then stir like buggery – it’s called ‘enriched mash’ and you won’t taste the egg, but you’ll get a lovely flavour without needing to add syns.

That’s it for the evening!

If anyone is reading this, I’d be incredibly obliged of a favour if you’re enjoying it – spread it out a bit! Facebook, talking or just plain old shares. The blog is getting a good readership and I’ve been impressed by how many people seem to want to read my daily taradiddle, but I can always use more! That would be grand!

mustard chicken and a singing turnip!

apologies for not updating yesterday, but I sat down at my computer chair at 8am and didn’t it until 1am today. Bit tired. I bet I end up being one of the unlucky fuckers who end up getting DVT from working on the sixth floor. My office is absolutely littered with sweets – Haribo on one desk, Celebrations on the other. One of my colleagues seems to be systemically buying out the sweets counter at the Sainsbury’s next door. Not that I mind, she’s a very kind soul and I’m a proper greedy sod.

So, because it’s late, let’s have a simple recipe:

At first look, it looks boring as hell. It isn’t! The key is microwaving the turnip/swede. Cut a little hole in the top, and stick it in the microwave for 15 minutes. After a while, it’ll start whistling. Take it out, spoon out the flesh, mash it and mash it hard. Chicken was just fromage frais and a tiny dollop of mustard. Maybe a syn for the mustard but come on.

Now – I’ve got to cut a dash. It’s a night off, I want to watch old Scrotum Face Alan Sugar fire people, and Paul has bought me a new Pedegg after I wore the last one out. Eeep.

J

cheap-ass syn-free onion jam

proper proud of myself and my penny pinching. Normally I don’t give the reduced section in the supermarket a second glance – not because I’m a snob but because I don’t like fearing for my life and jostling with people with no teeth for 13p off a fizzy egg and ham bap. I mean honestly. I shit you not when I say I’ve seen a proper physical fight over a Whoops trifle in Asda in Blyth, with security being called and everything. I do love the fact they call their reductions ‘Whoops’ though – it’s so camp – you might as well stick ‘What am I like’ after it and have a small photo of a man holding his fingertips to his lips. In Waitrose you don’t get any of that puff and bluster, just a discreet sticker that you can hide under your copy of the Daily Mail and quinoa-soaked-in-tears salad. Anyway the reason for all of this is because I managed to get a 2kg bag of red onions from Morrisons after class yesterday for the grand sum of 35p! yes, 35p for a bag of on-the-turn onion already chopped up and ready for action. I couldn’t freeze them as our freezer is full of lollies, dough and about eighty-eight bags of cod fillet that we keep buying at the supermarket and telling ourselves we’ll eat more fish. We never do, you’d think we’d learn.

So, I put out a question onto a SW group on FB, which has been invaluable in providing tips, and the general consensus was that I should make a chutney. Someone very thoughtfully provided a recipe, so as one good turn deserves another, here is a recipe card:

Because I’m a bit prissy, I generally don’t like sweetener as it’s an awful amount of chemicals for nothing at all. Just use a bit of sugar or even better, honey. If you want to make it with sugar, add a good tablespoon and call it five syns, but sweetener will be free. Add to sterilised jars (dishwasher, highest temp, leave to air dry) and it’ll keep for a few days in the fridge. Perfect with meat!

J

syn-free chicken korma and saag aloo: not already eaten, despite pictures indicating otherwise

A minor catastrophe this morning. Having been asked to go into work early, I find that my wonderful work colleague has kindly left me a pain au chocolat and croissant on my desk, still warm and freshly baked as compensation for the early start. Now, if I had wanted to be a rude arse, I would have declined and stuck to my banana (er, as in the fruit, not a euphemism for wanking) but because you ‘fit Slimming World into your life’ I took the pain au chocolat and enjoyed every last buttery morsel. My colleagues are used to me spraying crumbs everywhere when I talk so that was no great problem. 12 syns! But worth it. I did give my croissant away, and spent the next twenty minutes crying curled up in a foetal positions in the gents. Generosity doesn’t come easy to me! Anyway, today’s recipe.

BTW, I think Paul got sick of me shouting SAAAAAGALOOOOO like Olivia Newton-John’s Xanadu about four minutes into cooking. He should be grateful I didn’t come wheeling into the kitchen dressed in Bacofoil and wearing skates.

I apologise for the standard of photos in this recipe card. It’s quite hard to make a curry look appetising when you’re using fromage frais rather than oil! It does, unfortunately, look like someone has been sick into my Le Creuset pot. Let me tell you now, if that happened they’d find themselves detesticled quicker than you can say boiled eggs. Both the saag aloo and the korma are completely syn-free on extra easy and I’ve included the spice mixes after the recipe as they’re quite comprehensive. My favourite spice? Ginger. Wrecked the fucking group when she left, mind – Holler was NOTHING.

The full recipe can be found in Slimming World’s fakeaways recipe book, which is genuinely really good. Both the korma and saag aloo are a case of preparing the meat or potatoes, adding spices, adding stock, boiling down and for the korma, a couple of dollops of fromage frais (let the sauce cool before adding or it’ll curdle and look like a pavement pizza).

Saag aloo spices: 2tsp cumin seeds, 2tsp black mustard seeds, 1tsp cumin, 1tsp ground coriander, 1/2tsp turemic, 1/2tsp garam masala, 1/2tsp chilli powder

Korma: 1 cinnamon stick, 1tsp cardamom seeds (crushed), 1/4tsp ground cloves, 2tsp cumin seeds, 1tbsp ground coriander, 1tbsp ground cumin, 2tsp mild curry powder.

It’s worth getting yourself a good range of spices if you haven’t already. They’re a great way to add flavour without adding syns to a meal, and a small amount goes a long, long way.

warning: take heed of the warning about the fromage frais, because it looks bloody rotten if it curdles. You can still eat it but there’s no guarantee your body won’t think it’s already tried it and chucked it. Nothing else to say here, you can’t go too wrong with a curry as long as you’re not pouring bloody Gold Top into it.

extra-easy: completely syn-free. chuck it full of peppers, onion, tomatoes and chilli to boost your superfree.

double warning: Paul accidentally used red-hot chilli peppers instead of the milder version, so that’ll be me on the toilet firing a chocolate laser out of my nipsy tomorrow. Cheers love!

Enjoy!

J

sunday lunch: slimming world curry loaf and sweet potato wedges

well – here’s the first recipe, a recipe for a curry loaf which rocks in at 2 syns for the lot, but serves 4. Or two fat sods, like us. Hope you like the recipe card idea, seems a bit better than reading another boring recipe.

extra-easy: no syns to be found (sweet potato wedges are done in the actifry with a bit of frylight), and meet your superfree target by bulking out the curry loaf with two giant leeks instead of onion and adding tomatoes and peppers if you like them, all of which are superfree foods!

warning: make sure the chickpea dahl you select is syn-free – usually ASDA’s own brand and this natty number from Morrisons fit the bill, but a quick google search will tell you. Also, you can switch the rice out for some of those Batchelors rices, but again, check the syns – the Ainsley Harriott rice above is 1 and a 1/2 syns. The extra half syn comes from the tiny bit of olive oil I used to grease my loaf tin. And that’s not a euphemism.

top tips: you can turn the heating down in your home after this meal, as you’ll be farting like a brewery horse and the smell of said flatus will be so ripe it’ll put you off snacking, or indeed breathing, for several hours. A big loaf like this means you can take some for lunch the day after, and combined with a healthy green salad means an ultra-low syn option!

J