I went to Fat Jim’s for dinner.
Fat Jim likes to experiment with food. As I have written about in the past. He is a bit like a really bad Heston Blumenthal. But with hair.
To his credit, the actual dinner was quite nice, though I suspect his new wife has to take much of the credit for that.
Then it came to time for the dessert.
“I thought we’d try something a little different.” said fat Jim to the assorted dinner guests in what I sincerely hoped wasn’t his sex voice.
This is never a good sign. I have barely learned to tolerate the normal Fat Jim without him trying something a little different.
“We’re all going to have a go at making dessert.” he continued, completely ignoring the dinner party convention of preparing all the food for your guests. But he wasn’t finished.
“..,out of Yorkshire puddings!”
“That’s not a dessert!” I helpfully pointed out.
“Well, not on it’s own. No. But we have chocolate, and cream and nuts, and fruit and alcohol and all sorts for you to try and sex them up a bit before cooking them.”
I was less than convinced. Yorkshire puddings are best served slathered in gravy and next to a big slice of topside roast beef. Not underneath chocolate shavings and crushed nuts and with a hint of Cointreau.
I am not in the habit of admitting that Fat Jim was right, and I don’t want to start now, so I’m going to leave this story right here.