I’ve always thought that Duncan was talking out his “R’s.”
Hello and once again welcome to ratty cooks, a weekly column dedicated to the pursuit of culinary delights from all four corners of the globe, delights that can be replicated in your very own kitchen.
This week your column host is in northern Spain in a simple and unpretentious backstreet situated far from the hustle and bustle of main stream Benidorm with its skyscraper-lined coast and the incessant roar of cement mixers.
It’s 7.30 in the morning and I have arrived at La Restaurante y Bar – “Guillermo Yago Ricardo.”
The reason for my visit to this establishment is to discover the true and authentic recipe for the world reknowned Tortilla Españole (Spanish Omelette) and to facilitate this I had the forethought to previously arrange a meeting with the Proprietor/Chef, a Señor Guillermo.
Hello and welcome to ‘ratty cooks.’
Today my wife took the kids, wished me a two-fingered goodbye and
stormed out of left the house.
Don’t go jumping to silly conclusions. This wasn’t the result of any marital strife or friction between us. Oh dear, no. It’s just that she wanted to visit her sister,
and she can stay with the bloody old interfering slag until she climbs down off her fucking high horse and comes crawling back to apologise !
‘Twas in the annum, circa 200, (or around about then) that a tribe of Nomadic peoples settled and prospered on a mightie terraine in Northerne Englande.
Ffolke-lore has it that one of its inhabitants, an unfortunate of the male sexe in his forth decade, contracted the Devil’s deformitie of what was called ‘MOOBS’ and the settlement became thereafter known as Man-Chester.
In a secluded quarter of this idyllic paradise lived a commune of peoples who, due to their propensitie for consuming anciente, festering porke, had their village named accordingly.
Mightily, the Llorde, in His Mighteousness, visited a plague on them for their dietary transgression, rendering them just two bushels in vertical stature.
He, the chieftain of the Clan, was knowne to alle as NobblySan, the terme meaning . . . (Censored) . . . who was betrothed to a faire maiden who went by the name of ‘Happy.’
Today, Kimers an’ Gentlemen readers, is th’ occasion ay Duncan’s 94th birthday.
At th’ top ay his present list is a bottle ay scotch, incontinence keks, a zimmer frame and/ur a bathchair.
Guid oan ye, Duncan. Hae a stoatin day.
Time is like a river.
You cannot touch the water twice – because the flow that has passed will never pass again. Enjoy every moment of life.
As a bagpiper, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man.
He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper’s cemetery in the Nova Scotia back country.
As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didn’t stop for directions.