I’m not convinced it’s worth eating meat if you have to trim all the fat off it before cooking. Last night we have pork loin chops [that's pork chops, off the bone, and with the 'tail' end cut off by the butcher]. I carefully trimmed all the fat off the meat and grilled the remains gently, on a wire rack to tease any residual fat out and away. No problem, this. Graham much prefers meat done this way. Me, I don’t reckon pork is pork unless it has a nice crinkly-crisp edge of fat–we call it ‘crackling’.
Now, though, on my minimal-fat diet, I have to do the same with my share, and I found the result glum, sullen, and almost devoid of flavour of any kind. All that was left was a neat, portion-size helping of completely lean meat that could have been almost anything. Certainly, it was a long way away from the pig.
We bought a family size pack and froze half of it. On last night’s experience it’s likely to sit in the freezer for a good long while and then be thawed out and soaked in a good, gooey marinade. It’ll still be a long way away from the pig but it will pick up a bit of flavour on the way.
Speaking of grilling meat, well, not really, but I do like neat connections…
It seems that the Roman Catholic church is opening up an escape route for disenchanted Anglicans and encouraging them to return to the Popish fold. Can’t say I’m much bothered. Most churches are empty, damp places in this increasingly Godless Kingdom and those that still have congregations aren’t much like the churches I remember from when I was a kid. And an attendee.
It was a small item, buried at the bottom of the home news page, and passed pretty much without comment. Sign of the times, I thought, and I was just about to ignore it myself when I realised the historical significance of it, just in time. Three hundred years ago, perhaps even less, it would have been a matter for riots in the streets. Blood would have been spilt, and catholic priests would have burned at the stake. The nation would have reeked of burnt flesh. [Here's where you can pick up my neat connection if you haven't done so already.] Now, we smile gently, if we notice at all, and wish the travellers a good trip. Bless ‘em all.
So, anyway, this talk of food has made me feel hungry. I seem always to feel just a little hungry these days but then I suppose it’s part of the point of dieting.
“I’m hungry,” I announced just now as Graham popped into my study to see what the silence was about.
“Well, have your nice sawdust and glue breakfast then.”
“Nah. I want something naughty.”
“You can’t have something naughty. Just think of all the good that this is doing you.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
Tonight, though, we shall have mackerel fish cakes with mashed potatoes, grilled pomodorino tomatoes, brocolli and broad beans. And I shall be sure not to let him see the cheese I put in the sauce…
Anyone tempted to inform on me would do well to remember what happened to them there smoke-grilled priests back in Tudor times. Bless ‘em all.
