Have A Sausage

 

I love a big thick long one in the morning, there's nothing more satisfying than to have a mouthful. I'm obviously talking about sausages, that staple of the great fry up and something that recently has taken a battering in my view.

Over the years during our travels we have stayed at many hotels and B&B's, one things for sure, you can judge a place on the quality of its sausage. It's true I tell you, there's even a formula for it.

Clean (nice smell x shoe mitt) = great sausage

If any of these fail, you get the sausage equivalent of a rubber band. I blogged a while ago about the virtues of finding a shoe mitt in your room so I won't bore you any longer ( you can read about my shoe mitt exploits here ). Nice smell is a must, if you can smell the carpets as you walk in its a bad sign, if you can smell chips or other fried wares then that too is a bad sign, both point to a tired place relying on clientele who still regard a prawn cocktail with Marie Rose sauce as a bit Mediterranean. Whilst we are on about that why is hotel room service food so bad? We have had some shockers over the years and it seems the posher the hotel the worst the room service, only recently were we served a 'club' sandwich that I can only assume came from a club called 'piece of turd betwix slices of Tesco value bread' and cost the equivalent of a taxi fare from London to Glasgow to bring to the room.

Anyway, where was I? Turds? Ah, close, sausages. It's always a joy to find a good sausage, although it always throws the staff when I first enter a hotel and my first question is 'where do you get your sausages from?' Seriously, if they can't answer this at reception walk out and find a better holstelry, it is a duty as a hotel to know where your sausages come from, forget learning about the emergency toothbrushes you keep at reception or the little sewing kit, learn about sausages, get that right and you will have a never ending line of smiling faces parading away first thing in a morning. Although shockingly I thought there was a program about sausages on last night, it turns out it was all to do with hiding them and I had misread what that filthy Sex Box was about, although it did confirm my suspicions that yes, indeed, we as the human race are de-evolving, I'd give us ten years at the tops.

I'm rambling again aren't I? Possibly the worst sausage I have ever eaten was served to me in Bath, quite a surprise but then again in a hotel that warns you to only drink bottled water it was only to be expected especially after the toilet roll holder collapsed as I reach out and I ended up on the floor sans trousers. That is indeed another story, oh, and the bed hole that I slowly sank into until the spring caught on my pyjamas.

We had already witnessed the waiter roll up his sleeves to retrieve a small pot of conserve he had dropped in the orange juice, he delved right up to his elbows too, when placed before us was a comedy sausage. You can always tell the bad ones, they have wrinkles, no, seriously, think about it. You know when you had a microwave sausage and said to yourself never again, well that had wrinkles too, bad sausages ALWAYS have wrinkles. The breakfast looked a bit like a swimming pool of grease with assorted breakfast items taking a casual dip. The egg had never ever seen a sunny side and lay there rubbery and grey, hash browns were included but these had been deep fried from frozen and remained black and crunchy on the outside and subzero on the inside, a texture and taste sensation I had never experienced.

The sausage stared back at me, it was about the thickness of a finger, around four inches long and very wrinkly, it looked wrong for a start. Jayne giggled. I didn't know how to approach it, it looked, menacing. Glistening with a grease sheen I decided to go for a stab and went for the middle. I didn't expect it to bend in the middle so both ends met in midair before it sprang back into its usual sausagey shape, the damn thing was made of rubber. I tried again but this time only managed to dislodge a mushroom onto my lap. Every time I stabbed it it folded and made a clapping sound as both ends met. Amused by this I decided to entertain Jayne and stabbed it to music turning my sausage into a manic clapper until it exploded.

It's didn't exactly bang as a such but it did get a puncture and sprayed hot fat on my sleeve and face, as I watched it shrank. You probably think I'm making this up but no, it really shrank as it created a little fat fountain from its new hole. Pinning it down with a fork I cut it open to release the pressure. It looked like the inside of a dust bag with flecks of pink and I'm sure I could make out mixed in there meat polo's, or arseholes to you and me. Vile, tentatively I tasted a bit then regretted it as I realised I had nothing with which to wash away the taste and I certainly wasn't going to have any of the orange juice that had just washed the waiters elbow.

So, sausages can be the make or break, in Edinburgh a week or so ago we had two ends of the spectrum, the first a nice round plump meat laden example, the second a mass produced wrinkly object from a self service section. The strange thing is the worst sausage came from the most expensive hotel. Weird isn't it, but really we should have known, you could smell the carpets.

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Foreverbunny and the Impossimals

Buffet Barmy

We were invited to a small party, nothing too fancy just a small collection of friends and in this case a friends family. One thing you can always be sure of at a party of this nature is the buffet, a selection of sandwiches, sausages on sticks, cheese and pineapple skewers, sausage rolls, crisps you get the idea, party food. I love party food, in fact I'd gatecrash any party just to raid the buffet, food when layed out on a big table and left to warm and curl a little tastes wonderful. Even more so if you have some cheesy music playing and maybe a tipple or two in your hand. You know from that point onwards its downhill and you will be bobbing about like a nutter on the makeshift dance floor a little later regretting that small slice of quiche that tasted 'funny'.

Anyway, we arrived and as you do on these occasions sought out our hosts by way of the buffet table. My, what a table, it was probably the most gorgeous buffet table ever, anywhere. It had everything, even vol au vents and little Melba toasts with pate, we are talking Lurpak here, not a Stork SB kind of buffet this was serious party food. The little pork pies wafted their aroma towards me picking up the tang of pickled onions along the way I literally glided past the table on thin air mesmerised by the unfolding deliciousness which was already making my tummy leap with excitement.

Half an hour later we were stood, drink in hand waiting for the moment the cling film would be removed and the buffet would be officially 'open'. Our hosts who we had only briefly managed to see spied us from across the room and came across for a bit of a catch up. We chatted and chatted and very pleasant it was too when out of the corner of my eye I saw a little hand reach up to the buffet table some feet away and remove part of the cling film to grab an egg sandwich. From that point onwards I was only half joining in as the buffet bandit struck again, this time with a handful of crisps. I wanted to shout 'no!' but instead just mouthed the words and ended on 'O' so my face looked like Paul McCartney pulling off one of his 'Ooooo' expressions, you know the one I mean, the one that makes you sick.

My mouth started watering, hand after hand picked away at the table I longed to pick at myself. I fidgeted, wanted to walk right over and strike the thief down, it was not buffet etiquette. A heavy distraction bought back to earth as my host turned their questioning back to me. Looking back I was in an almost dream like state, carrying on a conversation as the buffet was slowly being reduced. Then came the hammer blow. 'The buffets open folks, help yourself!' shouted our hosts then immediately turned back to continue questioning me.

Hundreds of hands plunged into the buffet, festoons of cheese sandwiches flew up in flurries, lavish bursts of crisp explosions filled the air. Children laughed with glee as they stuffed their faces, adults walked away from the table with sometimes two or three plates piled high whilst I was engaged in conversation struck with a sense of duty not to disrespect our hosts completely by pushing them to the floor and trampling their bodies in my haste to grab a crab paste snack.

I imagined all sorts of hideousness to the buffet bandits as the contents of the table reduced, I mentally ate the food with them when I saw particular favourites being consumed. Little groups of people stood munching away, plunging fistfuls into stuffed mouths. It was a torture like no other as I watched with mounting horror the table laid bare.

Our conversation ended. I looked at Jayne, she had the same pained expression, our host had kept us occupied the whole munching session and ended on a cheery 'Help yourself to the buffet, we ate earlier.'

Did you now, bloody did you now! I starved myself all day so I could pig out and all I'm left with is a plastic fork, two smoky bacon crisps, a half eaten pork pie that had been kicked around the floor and a sausage with teeth marks. Disappointment, you don't know the half of it mate, I longed for that buffet and now it had been cruelly taken away before my eyes. Honestly dear blog I didn't know where to look, I could hardly look anyone in the eye as all I could see was what they consumed, and yes, I had memorised everybodys plates as they past me the greedy people.

Now I understand all this may sound a little rude, you only go to parties to eat food do you? Well, quite frankly yes, I don't get out much you see. Our hosts have read this blog entry before I posted it and laughed immensely, they have even asked me to add 'You did seem very distracted that day we thought you were constipated'. Their words not mine.

So if you are ever at a party and see me fidgeting in a corner trapped by some conversationalist pillock when the buffet is being unwrapped please, oh please come and rescue me. Treat it like a mission of mercy, I don't think I can survive seeing another buffet disappear, I fear the shock may be too great.

 

www.petersmithcollective.co.uk Home Of Foreverbunny and the Impossimals