I just bought some still cider to marinate some ribs in. But then I decided to hell with that, the ribs can marinate themselves, I will marinate myself with the cider.
But then I noticed something. The back of the bottle detailed the recommended daily alcohol intake for a man. 3-4 units. Whats that then, 3 to 4 bottles of wine? A pint of vodka maybe? My eye was drawn to the right of this information; a small picture of a bottle with a 3 in it. The bottle of cider I was holding contained 3 units of alcohol.
So basically I could drink that bottle of cider, not even a pint, and according to government scientists, that’s would be it. No more. Risk of death or liver damage or some horrendous mental breakdown would follow if I cracked open another.
Well come off it. They don’t make bottles of cider on the presumption that you are going to buy four in a pack and then drink one. There is a disconnect between what we see and what we are told. Maybe its the Scientologists trying to mess with our minds. Or maybe its the people who run the country being as stupid as we hope they aren’t.
Anywho this caused a small flurry of debate. Secretly everyone is sloshed. The wife pointed out a friend who posted a picture of a gin and tonic cupcake. A new government survey claims that everyone who is over 40 drinks 3 bottles of wine a day and will be dead by the time they retire. So good, that means in 20 year time we won’t have to worry about an ageing population.
It won’t be a problem for me though. I incorporate alcohol into many recipes. Its helping me develop a super-enhanced tolerance which will actually prolong my lifespan.
Here’s a classic example. These Pulled Beef Burgers contain Guinness, red wine and Jack Daniels. But fear not, the alcohol boils off so its absolutely not a problem to stick four, i mean one, bottle of cider down your neck while you stuff them.
First a joke.
A woman walks into a bar and asks for a double entendre, so the barman gave her one.
Next an observation. It’s the General Election in the UK next week. The General Election is like voting for a new President in the US, except the difference is that no one cares.
Now a dilemma. After much research I’ve realised I don’t need iCloud. I have 7,500 photographs and I just loaded all of them into iCloud. But they are nearly all pictures of me making food. That’s the problem with digital photography and wine. You end up just taking hundreds of pictures of a bowl of chilli which turn out all to look not quite right. I don’t need to keep them all but I cannot quite bring myself to delete them. I mean I could just leave them on the laptop but I…well I’m conflicted about the whole thing. I am starting to think that the ‘Cloud’ is a big red herring, it isn’t the future…maybe.
Finally a recipe. A nice, simple, straightforward hotpot.
This is a burger recipe. No big deal there you may well be thinking. But this is a special recipe. Very special. I shit ye not. Actually with reference to that phrase check this out. You either think that is funny or you don’t. If you think it is funny good. If you don’t think it’s funny then good for you.
Anyway, back to the recipe. What is so special about it? Well let’s have a look at the ingredients.
Have you heard? The World Cup is upon us. I’m not writing about the World Series (what is that about, World Series, comprising the USA and Canada?) I’m writing about the beautiful game, 22 men on a pitch running around for 90 minutes trying to get a ball in a net.
Only it’s not such a beatiful game if you’re English. It’s been 48 years since we won the World Cup. 48 years. Longer than I have been on this planet. And here I am watching a warm up game; England v Ecuador. Ecuador. Where the hell is that? Not too far from Miami I guess, as that is where they are playing. And losing.
Just spent a day Christmas shopping. Whilst lying in bed reading the news on the (crappy) Samsung tablet (why didn’t I get an i-Pad) it suddenly dawned on me that if I didn’t get off my arse and go shopping today then I wasn’t going to get another chance. And that wouldn’t do. A lot of disappointed sproglets, and don’t even get me started on the wife’s reaction.
So I went right on in to town. Battled the hoards. The squealing brats with their uncouth parents smoking fags and swearing at each other. Sulky youths trudging around. But I did it. I purchased things for about 10 people. It is done. No more! And to celebrate I created this sumptious creation – courtesy of my favourite Hairy Bikers!