There was a suggestion made a couple of months ago that we might round off the first year of the Food Urchin Supper Club and kick start the Christmas celebrations by throwing a couple of turkeys into a fiery pit, you know the kind of thing that we were doing this summer with hunks of lamb.

 

Ah, Autumn. Leather elbow patches, flat caps, woolly scarves, scuffed boots. Pies, game, dark amber beer, bonfires, dry leaves scattered upon dusty forest floor. New pencil case, pressed grey trousers, long corridors, tennis ball goal keeping and knotted, peanut ties. Old low light, damp, musty corners, underwear blown from peg, strewn across the garden, spiders retreat into the house and the smell of decay and death is all around.

Ah, Autumn, what a wonderful time of year. I love it and it really is a great season to get stuck into after the usual disappointment of summer. Because we can truly begin to eat again. Screw you, light alfresco bites with yer picnic blankets, wasps and pale, pasty legs. Give me the stodge, give me the lard and give me a huge fluffy jumper to hide it all because Winter is coming and we need to store up all that fat. Hahahahahahahaha.

We are NOT The Klopeks......I promise

What would you do if you saw your neighbour suddenly stop on the street, delve into the bag he was carrying and whisk out a pig's head to examine before furtively putting it back into the paper bag and walk into his house? And what would you do if you saw the same neighbour come running out in his slippers to greet another chap in the road who is smartly dressed in plus fours, carrying a large Canada goose under arm. To which the neighbour takes by the neck and skips back in the house with a strange, childlike grin? Imagine peering out your front window on a cold, wet, windy day and seeing the same guy hopping around the tall grass in his front garden, plucking from something from the ground . Would your face wrinkle into a perplexed frown as it becomes apparent that he's picking up snails and filling a Tupperware box up with them? What if you looked out the back window and spied the same man in his back garden, digging away, burrowing down and shovelling out lumps of earth to create a huge hole in the ground. A hole that is big enough is hold another human being. Would you question his sanity? Would you be worried? Would you call the police?

I am that neighbour and I am guilty of all of these actions (and there's plenty more) and it's only some time after the event, that it ever becomes apparent to me just how bizarre it must all look sometimes. If I lived out in the countryside, then some of these practises perhaps wouldn't seem so strange but in suburbia, I suspect from the quizzical eyebrows and twitching curtains that this is not deemed normal behaviour. But with a devil-may-care attitude, I've decided to up the ante again and get tongues wagging by holding another Imu or pit barbecue Greek stylee for the Food Urchin Supper Club. In fact, I am doubling the ante as the first one to be held on August 13th has already sold out so we've decided to do another one a week later on August 20th for which there are 16 places. The menu for both nights will be as follows:

A selection of Cold Mezze with Grilled Halloumi.

Old School Kleftiko with Greek Salad and Roast Potatoes

Poached Pears with Filo, Pistachio, Praline and Vanilla Ice Cream

Suggested donation will be £25.00 which includes homemade bread, palate cleanser and tap water (vegetarian options are available on request)

You may notice a small hike in the price but I will be digging a bloody hole in the ground, whatever the weather like poor ol' Hans had to do in The 'Burbs. And plus I have to suffer the scrutiny of the neighbours. I wouldn't mind but we all know that Barry down the road likes to sunbathe in a basque.

STOP PRESS

A proposal to run a supper club this coming Saturday (16th July) has been scraped because someone didn't check the diary but that's ok because no-one was bloody interested anyway.

It's lamb Tom, fer gawd's sake!

PS You can now become a 'liker' of the Food Urchin Supper Club at http://www.facebook.com/FoodUrchinSupperClub

I had a little chat with the twins* this morning which went something like this:

"Right kidleewinks, tomorrow is Father's Day. And before you start banging on, going "oh Dad it's just another assault on the consumer, a jigsaw piece in the sordid cycle of capitalism, it's like totally against my principles" I'm telling you this right now. Shut it, you brats. If for one day of the year (as opposed to all the other days), Dads across the land can legitimately spend a whole day in the garden, sleeping, reading the paper, drink beer and fart without reprisal then I am all for it. So I don't want any nonsense tomorrow you hear? If I want anything at all, I want you to cook me a steak and cook me that steak rare. Dunno how? Well here's a quick trick.

First of all make sure the steak is at room temperature and well seasoned. Heat a pan on the hob until it's hot as buggery. Thwack the steak in. After about a minute and half, flip it over. Whilst the second side is cooking, open your hand like this:

See that squiggy mound just under your thumb, well gypsy fortune tellers call that your 'Mount of Venus', this is going to be your point of reference. Pinch your first finger and thumb together and prod it. And then prod the steak. They should both have the same give and softness of touch, this is how a rare steak should feel like. Once you've got there, take it out of the pan and leave to rest for five minutes. Now you might have taken your eye off the ball for a minute and left the steak in tad longer than you should have done. Pinch your second finger and thumb together, feels a bit tighter yes? But hey we're at medium-rare, I can live with that, get it out of that pan and leave to rest for five minutes. What do you mean you want to put Toy Story on? No you're not paying attention and if you let your mind wander like that, then where going to end up at medium which I can just about live with. Go on pinch your third finger and thumb together, so that's what medium is going to feel like, you won't totally spoil my day but you might have to go to offie to get me 20 Rothmans to make up for it. That's a good point, try to go to the potty before you start cooking the steak because if you decide to go halfway through and you end up spending more than five minutes trying to squeeze out a poo poo then my steak is going to end up as tough as arseholes, like the palm of a Gruffalo's hand and seriously, Daddy will not be happy about this. And for further point of reference, my steak should be caramelised like this And be as rare and bloody as this.

Now kids, you've got one shot at this and if you get it right, you'll make Daddy a very happy man. If you mess this up, you are grounded for three months with no pocket money or CBeebiesC. Got that? OK, now run along and go play in the garden, I've got to study the form for the 2:14 at Kempton."

The steak in the photographs is in fact a 32oz rump that Morrisons are selling for Father's Day. If you decide to get one of those for the ol' man then I would consider grilling for about five minutes on either side for to get it that rare and rest for at least 10 minutes in a warm oven.

*Isla and Fin are 3 years of age