liuzhou

Already being planned.

@kayb Oatcakes with goats cheese.

Thanks. Everyone agrees she doesn't look 90!

Soon, we received reports that my youngest brother was pulling into the car park with my mother aboard. We had a long table like the Last Supper, but with the narrow end nearest the door. I was sitting to the left of Christ's empty seat. My mother came in and was immediately surprised at the size of the crowd, but didn't really register who was there and who wasn't. She headed to the narrow end nearest her, but was soon redirected to her alloted position at the table centre. She walked down the long edge of the table saying hello to family who live near her, then stopped, saw me, pointed in utter surprise, but I like to think, delighted. Here, captured by my daughter, is the moment she saw me. and here is the gathering. My family (almost - 6 were unable to come) I suppose I should mention food, but in the excitement I only photographed my meal. Fish and chips. Very good! Hours passed in seconds and then people started to disperse. I returned to my hotel and had a pint of and to bed, tired but happy.

I arrived at the birthday venue far too early, but the logistics were that I could either be early or unforgivably late. We all had to be there when my mother arrived. This means that there may be a decided lack of images of Guinness in this post. I didn't want to be half-cut by the time she arrived, so, to my eternal shame, I requested an alcohol free drink. They gave me some revolting concoction which they called "non alcoholic cider". Now, in British English, "cider" is apple based and alcoholic. The American term ""Apple Cider" baffles me. This obnoxous "drink" was 90% sugar and 10% cherries. Disgusting. I felt quite nauseous by the time any action happened. Anyway, I was sitting at the bar of the restaurant, near the door, so I could see everyone who came in. The first thing that confused me was when a gorgeous, mid-twenty year old girl came in, looked at me, screamed and threw herself into my arms. This, I assure you, doesn't happen on a regular basis. This tall, beautiful woman looked vaguely familiar and it clicked that she must be my niece. She is now 27 and I hadn't seen her in 19 years. Minutes later, her younger sister arrived together with a bunch of children who meant nothing to me. Then the first niece ran out to the car park and dragged her mother, my sister in. I haven't seen her for 19 years, either. She just stopped dead and stared at me in confusion for what seemed a long time, then ran as fast as she can (not fast at all - she is a large woman) and gave me what is probàbly the biggest hug she ever gave me. Next was my daughter, along with her two daughters and with whom I've been in constant contact on Facebook, but hadn't seen for 12 years. Almost finally, my youngest brother's wife and his daughters and son were there. The scene was set. All we were waiting for was the star of the show.

There is zero chance of me getting a tattoo. I loathe them nearly as much as c*rn!

Yes, I experienced that syndrome. I remembered the walk from the station to that beach being a long one, but it only took about 4 minutes.

I've already had a few oatcakes! Right next door to the place I ate the Ploughman's is a bakery I first visited, as a child, about 60 years ago. They have great oatcakes. Several were purchased and consumed in the hotel room wiith goats' cheese at strange hours of the night / morning when the jet lag started demanding food.

I can now identify the secret, exotic destination I mentioned elsewhere that I was travelling to (and reveal why it had to be a secret). After a 42 hour journey by bus (2), train (4) plane (2) with various stopovers waiting for connections, I reached my first destination. A mysterious country called Scotland, full of wild people and strange food. Despite having been born there, I know very little about the place and haven't been there in decades. But I am now. The reason for the exhausting trip, which I have been planning for 10 years, is that Sunday (30th June 2019) was my mother's 90th birthday. She was expecting a simple lunch with my youngest brother and his wife, but when she arrived at the restaurant she found nearly all her 5 kids (including me), all her many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Only one of the 30 knew I was coming - my daughter. Big surprise. I arrived on the Thursday and went to the highly recommended hotel I had booked in a village a mile from my mother's home to recover from the jet lag and hide. Things began to go wrong. The hotel was closed and locked! A woman from the gift shop opposite saw me being confused and came over to tell me that the place had closed months earlier, dishonoring dozens of paid for bookings including wedding receptions and other functions. The crooks had taken my booking and payment on the 4th of June, despite them having closed in February. As far as I can see their website is still open and accepting bookings. I have reported this to the police, and I paid by credit card so should be able to get my money back. Not however, what you need after such a long, exhausting journey. Fortunately, the woman also directed me to another (better and slightly cheaper) hotel nearby where I was able to get a room for my required number of nights. I had a pint or two of that Scottish classic: and collapsed into bed. Only to wake up at 3 am craving my dinner! No chance. I had to wait for breakfast. Next day, I headed to a nearby seaside village where I lived as a kid. After exploring my childhood, I became a little peckish, so visited a nearby award winning restaurant/cafe that I'd heard of. I ordered the Washed down with a bottle of Despite the pie being out-of-focus, it was delicious. The roast ham was equally good and there was lots of it. Good home-baked bread and fine cheddar. But the star was that chutney. I had to ask what it was and ended up buying a jar to take home to China. The cider was very refreshing on an unusually warm Scottish day. After a happy nostalgic day, I went back to the hotel, downed a pint or two of and slept some more. On the Saturday, I visited Edinburgh, where there were some things I wanted to buy. But also for more nostalgia. By chance, I passed the cafe where the first Harry Potter book was written. I've never read any of them. Then lunch. I knew what I wanted. Haggis (centre), Neeps (left) and Tatties (right). Wonderful! Also later visited the Oxford Bar, famous from Scottish crime writer, Iain Rankin's Rebus series of detective novels where I had a pint of Next morning was the big day. I had breakfast in the hotel. Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon and spinach. Very Scottish! Then headed to the surprise party venue. Coming soon!

It's sashimi , not sachimi. Sashimi is raw fish or meat.

Of the many pies we make in Britain, I can only think of one which includes kidney but, for the benefit of the awful offal-haters, we cunningly disguise the fact by calling it "steak and kidney" pie. And yes, @Anna N, they are the best.

You're meant to look through those glasses not drink from them. Easy mistake to make.

I would never judge an entire cuisine by one book.

I'm old enought to remember watching this.

Pre-flight dinner in Hong Kong airport. O'Leary's Food and Drinks. Fish and chips. Good chips, but over-salted; bland tartare sauce. The fish arrived with a crisp batter which immediately de-crisped itself. The fish was mushy. Airport food! A pint of Asahi beer was spot on! The second was even better.

Georgian brandy/ cognac can be excellent.

In Chinese thinking, long noodles (including spaghetti etc) are symbolic of longevity. Breaking or cutting them is a big taboo! It will cut your life short! Stopping slurping down your noodles for a cigarette break half way through is OK, though.

For reasons I cannot disclose just yet, I cannot reveal the destination(s) now but posts of dishes shall appear in due course.

Not that old candard again!. Yes, English food was bad. Long time ago. A whole generation never reallly learned to cook because of the two world wars, especially the second when food was strictly rationed. (And was still rationed food several years after. Including when Orwell was writing that article.) People couldn't let their kids practise or experiment with ingredients as, if the food got messed up or burned or whateve, there was nothing else to eat. Everything began to change in the 1960s when cheap travel arrived and people started visiting France, Spain Italy etc. and began to want the foods they found there. That was half a century ago. Today, as @Anna Npoints out, at it best, the standard is very high in terms of ingredients, restaurants and cooking.

Early tomorrow morning, I'm off travelling for about three weeks in erotic exotic lands where I'll no doubt be eating strange delicacies and worse! Tonight's rather uninspiring dinner was a final fridge and larder clearance effort. Pork tenderloin medalions, baked spud with blood sausage, Shanghai bok choy.

Looks good to me!

I think it is, or was until I introduced it to China some 20 years ago! So far I have converted at least 5 people! Only 1.4 billion to go!

Actually, lá lốt isn't betel leaf, but a similar looking but only distantly related plant, Piper sarmentosum. They do not taste the same - in fact, I wouldn't use betel leaves; the taste is too strong. I've never seen lá lốt outside of SE Asia, but the leaves may be available in Vietnamese markets in places with a largish Vietnamese settler community, I suppose. Vine leaves are sometimes suggested as a substitute, and I can see that your lettuce worked, but you are not getting the fragrance of the real deal. I'm sure yours were great, but if you ever manage to track down the leaves, you''ll appreciate the difference.

Porkburger.