Tag: restaurants

Tiggy’s Shopping Bizarre – Sticky Butter Butter Stick

It's butterly friggin' brilliant!

Gourmet chefs! Working up a sweat to earn another Michelin star for your restaurant? Too busy sculpting carrots and flambéing guinea pigs to tackle that pile of unbuttered bread? Banish your kitchen nightmares with this handy Sticky Butter Butter Stick!

Top shouting chef Gordon Ramsay would probably be even more successful if he had this powerful grease gadget in his f*#*ing kitchen!

* Sticky Butter’s computer-designed ergonomic shape means it can tackle even the most exotic bread shapes – and rolls too!

* Don’t stop at bread! Butter Stick can also be applied to crackers, asparagus and as a soothing balm for insect bites.

*Collect the whole range of great kitchen accessories including Ketchup Rifle, Spray Can Jam and Lard Pen!


Is That Supposed To Be Raw? Mysterious Restaurant Meals

Yum! Spaghetti and... Veal? Beef? Badger?

After this weekend I will never visit a fancy restaurant again!

Last weekend I went to a smart restaurant for dinner. I eagerly scanned the menu, only to recoil in horror and confusion. The menu was all in foreign! There were some words I understood, like fried and with, but the dish descriptions were alien to me. The waiter sneered as I pretended to study the menu. He knew I had no clue, the bastard. Panicking, I picked the cheapest dish and hoped it didn’t have tentacles.

If you are intending to visit a fancy restaurant this weekend, here’s a few translations you need to know. Unless you like dining dangerously.

Mmmm, organic shitty soup with emulsion and pond weedStarters is not called Starters any more. It’s First Dish, Amuse-Bouche or whatever the pretentious phrase is this week. Soup is no longer soup, it’s bisque. It isn’t cream of mushroom, it’s organic shiitake bisque with crème fraiche emulsion . If you are unfamiliar with those ingredients, who knows what could arrive on your plate? A shit biscuit covered in cream paint?

How about panko encrusted scallops with tamarind drizzle ? Anything with a panko encrustation should be examined by a doctor. I don’t know what a tamarind is, or that it causes drizzle (or indeed any sort of damp weather).

The next danger dish is carpaccio. The description sounds innocent enough – warmed winter salad with organic carpaccio . Carpaccio must be like some kind of goats’ cheese, right? No.
Carpaccio is RAW MEAT. Just-dead. No flame has touched its bloody mass.
You end up with raw beef and cooked salad. The chef must have some serious issues.
Perhaps stick with the bread rolls for now.

Now for the main course, sorry, Dish Principal, Fourth Course or whatever the hell we’re up to by now. Attempting to impress your fellow diners, you order boneless grain-fed Cornish Rock with a compliment of seared potato shards and a blemish of spiced Peruvian tomato reduction . Your friends are not impressed when waiter serves you chicken and chips with a dollop of ketchup.

Pan-seared halibut with... green things! Eww.Those dastardly chefs can’t even leave simple Italian food alone. For years I avoided pizza topped with pomodoro, assuming it was some kind of chewy squid. Pomodoro means tomato. Why don’t they just say tomato? And calamaretti is not like spaghetti; it’s some kind of chewy squid.

Sometimes you recognize all the ingredients – except one. Roast (ok) pork (ok) with apple sauce (ok) and seared Ulluco. Uh-oh. Ulluco sounds like it may still have eyes attached. Pan-seared halibut sounds familiar, but unfortunately that psychotic chef has coated it in rocambole jus . Some poor rocambole (which I imagine is some sort of shrew) has been squeezed all over a nice bit of fish. Time for another bread roll.

Thank goodness for dessert! You won’t find any raw cow or crusty crustations in that. Probably.

Although you are reasonably safe ordering anything from the dessert menu, don’t expect your expectations to match what is plonked in front of you.

Four things are guaranteed:

Chocolate cake! With shrew!– Your dessert will be six times smaller than expected.

– There will be a single strawberry and two blueberries somewhere on the plate.

– The plate will be coated with a squiggle of unidentifiable brown sauce (probably chocolate and rocambole jus).

– Your dessert will cost six times more than expected.

If you are invited to a fancy restaurant this weekend, be prepared. Be prepared to face three courses of embarrassment, indigestible food and disappointment. Or tell your host you refuse to eat there as you contracted food poisoning after your last visit. Their carpaccio was suspiciously warm.


I Wanna Be A Hooters Girl!

Oh good! A Hooters restaurant. Just what we need.

A bright orange roof and gaudy neon sign signaled the arrival of our latest neighbourhood eatery – Hooters. I imagine a lot of women sighed in despair as the restaurant opened its doors to the crowds of excitable young men. The prospect of being served sizzling wings by a girl in tangerine hotpants isn’t my idea of fun. Yet I can’t help glancing longingly through the windows every time I drive by…

Hooters girls - their bums never look big in this.OK, I admit, I want to be a Hooters girl! I don’t really want to be a waitress – I tried it once, but my lack of balancing, pouring and social skills meant that career lasted one night only. No, it’s because all the girls who work at Hooters are pretty.

They have skinny legs, shiny hair and white-toothed smiles. Their orange hotpants don’t make their butt look like two bouncing pumpkins.

If I was a Hooters girl I could use my female assets to hide my lack of waitressing skills. It wouldn’t matter if I dropped the salsa or poured hot gravy into the slightly bulging lap of my diner – he would be too busy trying to get a glimpse down my t-shirt to notice. And then he’d leave me a big tip! Now that’s job satisfaction.

The reality.However, I think I’ve left it too late to pursue my dream. Most waitresses at the restaurant are students, so I’m probably 10 years to late to be a Hooters girl. Although I was probably 10 years too late 10 years ago.

Come to think of it, there’s never been a period in my life when I haven’t looked dorky, awkward or lumpy in the wrong places. I’m just not Hooters girl material.

I wonder if other Hooters wannabes have landed their dream job, only to be greeted by screams of horror as crowds rush to the door to escape the sight of their wobbly orange-peel thighs.

On the other hand I probably look as good as it’s going to get, so why not try? If I land the job I’ll let you all know. You could all come in and ask to be served by that cute waitress with the matching colour hair and hotpants, no, she’s not a freaky old hag, she’s just, erm, womanly.

Would you mind doing that for me? Just don’t order anything with hot gravy and you’ll be fine.

Mind you, there is another place where I can wear hotpants, serve men beer and get lots of tips. And the place is so dark I could easily hide my dorkyness. Although I don’t think I could manage that pole…

Hotpants are tight and wings are hot over at Humor-Blogs.com