Pumpkin Publog

walluc bistro

ramshackle in a way you (i) don’t associate with london — candle-lit and shabby — walluc is the kind of place that you think mightn’t be there the very next morning; by day there’s a laundromat there, you can only find it and enter when the moon is up or something similarly folk-tale-ish

the walls are dense with weird bric-a-brac, posthorns, ladders, a silhouette of a scarecrow; they don’t take credit cards, they forgot to even offer us dessert, and weren’t around to be asked for stuff half the time — there was a mysterious noisy party going on somewhere deep in the bowels of the place; the pictures on the stairs down to the kitchen and washrooms were just frames with no pictures in; the menu is italian on one side, french on the other — tho fondue is surely swiss… and it was totally haunting and recommendable

40 redchurch street, just off the brick end lane of bethnal green road

THEY DON’T SERVE BUTTER <— wtf?? this is bafflingly awesome

instant nutritious summer salad for when it’s too muggy to even think

sistrah doctrah becky taught me this when i left home: maybe she invented it!! i’ll have to ask…

YOU WILL NEED:
Young spinach leaves
Avocados
Pine nuts
Haloumi*
Vinaigrette**
Tomatos (optional)
Peppers (optional)
Crispy prefried bacon slices (optional)*** … read on …

lunatic food trumps

so i was in chinatown with T and she was stocking up in the lisle street mini-supermarket and i was really just tagging along, low on cash — and i felt, as i always do in that particular supermarket, that it was incumbent on me to buy something i never et before, because what is life if we merely troll along in our own safe space all of it eh, i mean, EH? (obv this is where i sarcastically link to an ENEMY’S BLOG to underscore what a feeb he is compared to mighty me)

er ANYWAY yes, what i bought was FRIED DACE WITH SALTED BLACK BEANS, and i just et em cold and they were nice, in a salty-ish way — the fish was crunchy brown in its friedness, and about sardine sized, and the black beans were er er as you’d expect if you’ve had em… ie i’m not going to attempt a description, so boo to you if you wanted one

bonus translation komedy: on the tin, which is labelled in chinese (cantonese i imagine), dutch and english, it says “DO NOT CONTAIN THE ANTISEPTIC” and “BEWARE OF CAN OPENING”

Nick Sanderson 1961 - 2008

Apologies that this is a month late, I only learnt of Nick’s death from cancer earlier this week, although obits did appear in the guardian, independant and mojo as well as on Quietus (although there seems to be something up with the main article).

The first time I saw Earl Brutus was at Glastonbury in 1998. MyPete had been raving about them for months having seen them in Amsterdam. After four days of torrential rain, spirits were low and, to be honest with you, I didn’t get it. Lots of shouting, sampled glam drums and a funny Japanese bloke who didn’t really seem to do anything. Everyone else was buzzing but I was just a bit confused. It was only when I saw them a second time, at the Attic in Cheltenham a few months later (and then every three or four months after that, well, MyPete booked the bands you see), that it clicked into place. There was lots of shouting, sampled glam drums, and a Japanese bloke who didn’t seem to do anything and it was ASTONISHING. A bunch of grizzled, rather scary-looking blokes making an almighty racket and central to it all, Nick screaming lyrics about army boys, suicides with stars in their eyes and asking us to show him our minds. The one thing that brutus gigs never were was boring, shambolic often yes, but visceral and communal. Watching non-believers faces as we punched the air, joining in with the terrace chant choruses, trying to keep up with Sun-Yu’s drinking speed (the main thing he did, i soon realised, was drink lager). Given that the post-britpop landscape was such a graveyard of plodding sub-travises and ska-punk it was only Earl Brutus and Arab Strap (more grizzled old men getting pissed) that seemed to do anything for me.

The last time i saw Earl Brutus was the weekend of the jubilee in 2002, at the ICA. As we sat in the bar we saw the huge crowds of people being marshalled away from the palace as a fire alert or bomb threat or something had caused the whole area to be evacuated. Safe inside the 10 foot thick walls, we were left alone to continue with the gig. I never quite worked out why they’d been booked for this gig, they were supporting the Parkinsons and hardly anyone else seemed that botherd about them, but, down the front, the hardcore had come out of the woodwork and the band didn’t disappoint they were the same drunken, shouty, visceral, idiot genius they always were.

I missed the “re-elect ken” gig they did in 2004, but always had half an eye out for them when looking through the guardian gig guide. Surely, i thought, one day they’ll be back, nearly every other chancer from the era has reformed, but now, I guess not.

Here are some shamefully underwatch youtube clips. Thank you Nick. … read on …

Baking “Conversions” Gone Wrong

This is mentalist stuff!

I pretty much believe the internet is full of great recipes to try, but the world of American volume-based recipes using cups and “sticks” of butter just doesn’t work in the UK. I end up poking anxiously with floury hands on my laptop trying to check whether a teaspoon is a teaspoon is a teaspoon. Well, NO MORE. I am coming up with a definitive cheat sheet for the fridge, but it is NOT HELPED by finding ridiculous sites like the above which claims the UK equivalent to 1 US “cup” is “3/4 of a cup and 2 dsp”. Leaving aside the fact that I am British and am not quite sure of the difference between a desertspoon and a teaspoon (the REALLY weeny spoons, I guess?) - NO! UK measurements do not involve cups! They involve weights, in grams, or at a PUSH I can accept pounds and ounces in old money. What NONSENSE is this site claiming?!

Or if anyone would like to say that the UK started it with Pints and Imperial Pints and I am just thick, they are welcome to Try It, but frankly - weight based measurements are the way to go. I mean, even if you DO measure by volume, a cup of flour is different to a cup of WALNUTS or whatever. The standard in the UK is metric, I just find it downright bizarre have NO clue what that site is referencing. I now judge it: UNHELPFUL! And my cheatsheet is back at square one as how can I trust anything else on that site?

And speaking of which, where can I buy a set of balance scales from these days? Are they the sort of things found in Past Tymes stores and bought by Live Roleplaying Enthusiasts? (Sorry Tom).

A thing I did not know and a thing I did know

i. Tooty Frooties are still being made!

ii. They are still completely horrible :(

Chestnut Cupcakes, a recipe

(I made these chestnut cupcakes a while ago and forgot to post! Naughty me. But never too late for fairy cakes, eh? Based on a recipe I found here. Followed that with some tweaks - my version is below, nicely metricised as well)

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Chestnut Cupcakes with Chocolate (Kate) Ganache ♥♥♥ - makes at the least 12, probably some more depending on how much you fill the cases innit. … read on …

political correctness gone sensible

News reaches us from blackleg our intrepid reporter, MattDC, that scenes like the above are no longer permissable at Glastonbury as THE MAN has BANNED brothers from selling plastic 2 litre bottles of their yellow nectar. We are not yet sure if this is due to the plastic making a right old mess or the fact that each bottle contains approximately 14 units of alcohol.

If you have joined our Pilton Boycott this year (and thank you all 850,000 of you* that have) but are still hankering after peary goodness, brothers is now available quite widely. Use their excellent ciderfinder to find yr nearest stockist!

UPDATE: This just in “Theres a dude selling rockingdadchairs! ACTUAL ROCKING DADCHAIRS! Omg”

*based on reports in previous years of a million people trying to get tickets on the first day

How To Make The Worst White Russian Ever

As previously posted on Livejournal:

Here’s how to make a Caucasian when you want your customer to look at you with a mix of horror, pity, disbelief and contempt! As practiced by the horrible shifty barman at the London Excel Novotel.

AVOID THIS HOTEL FOR DRINKING. It’s SURROUNDED BY BARS, for a start, and the bar people are USELESS! If you’re with a large crowd who ‘have seats’, convince them that their seats are only making them weak. I failed in this task and my punishment was to drink this concoction.

HOWEVER - I recommend scamming a free breakfast at the Novotel as they have large hem-hem ‘decorative’ yellow peppers which are delicious when hungover, as well as large amounts of smoked salmon which you can pretty much scoff whole as they bring another bucketful instantly. HURRAH FOR CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION AND THE SOULLESS AUTOMATONS WHO PARADE THEIR FILTH IN THE DLR ZONE.

Anyway, here’s the recipe: … read on …

I Drank All Night: Bass

We had a lovely night out last night, to celebrate Carsmile Steve’s birthday*, in the Ship, a wonderful Fitzrovia tat filled boozer. We’ve been there before, and as then, and now the key thing to note is that they only have one ale on offer, and that ale is Bass. Bass is a wonderfully historic beer brand in the UK which I have not seen on a pump in the UK for almost ten years. The Red Triangle on the side or outside a pub was one of my earliest remembered pieces of branding**, and Bass were known as much, if not more, for their pub ownership than their beer. Merged, merged, and merged again, this ex-Burton brewer no longer seems to exist. The beer can still be bought abroad, it is the “British Beer” often available on draft in New York. And yet I have not seen it in the UK for ages. Owned now by InBev, the beer is now brewed in the UK by Marston’s (back in Burton-Upon-Trent) though Coors own the brand. And in the States our friends at Anheuser-Busch licence and brew it keg style. (As ever thanks to the Wiki). … read on …