Food Lust

I’ve spent the morning looking at hundreds of macaron recipes.
They look like tough little feckers to make, but I can’t afford to satisfy my cravings at Ladurée anymore ever.

Haven’t made desserts in a while so I may spend the next week warming up with simpler recipes like Panna Cotta.
I’m sure The Boy won’t complain about the sudden influx of pastries and pies as I practice!

Wonder if I’ll ever master my all-time favourites, Rose Macarons….

PS: I know of some job openings right now in Dublin for people who speak English and a second language!
It really is a great company to work for and if I was even remotely capable of speaking another language, I’d be all over it!
Mention in a comment here if you’re interested or email me if you’re worried about privacy (email on Contact page).

The Tale of Three Prawns

Were you guys aware of how scarce decent prawn cartoons are on the internet?
Well neither was I until I started searching for one today.
Why was I searching for prawn cartoons, I hear you ask.
Well because this post encouraged this blogger to demand a post on prawns:
So here I am.
Writing a post about prawns.
And their weird staring eyes that just won’t let you eat in peace.
All that judgement from one little crustacian.
They actually upset me.

I was in Pamplona a few years ago visiting a friend of mine and in one of the eateries we, you know, ate in, I ordered the seafood paella.
When in Spain and all that.
The ordering was left to my Spanish friend to avoid any confusion with the waiters and she specifically asked for there to be no prawns on the dish.
When it was put in front of me, there were three giant prawns looking at me.
She offered to ask them to get me my actual prawn-free order, but I said there was no need.
I could eat around them, right?
Wrong.
They sat there on top of the lovely rice.
Just looking at me.
No matter what angle I put them or me at, their gaze followed me.
I tried hiding them under the rice, but it was no good.
I knew they were there.
Maybe they could see me through tiny gaps in the rice.

Sensing my very real pain, my Spanish friend being the guapa that she is took them from me and ate them herself.
But I couldn’t really enjoy the dish after it.
Their little eyes haunted me.

So there you go, Dave - the wonderous co-worker who I still doubt actually works in my office and instead just stumbled across our Christmas party – there’s your prawn post.
You’ve dredged up the traumatic memories.
I hope you’re happy.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well

Those of you who follow me on Twitter or Facebook would’ve seen the following this morning:

Some of you were lovely and sent supportive messages.
The rest of you who abandoned me in a moment of need(iness) will be shunned for an entire hour….starting now.

Obviously you’re all wondering why I’m putting myself through these horrors.
Why is Hermia - consumer of all things full-fat and flavoursome, worshipper of Lyons Tea, scorner of the healthy-eaters and veg-heads – eating that healthy crap and currently drinking a cup of peppermint tea (that tastes like ass, btw)?
Because Hermia’s bad luck gets a little worse every day.

Last year I went to the doctor with horrible stomach pains.
(REALLY horrible….I’m no wimp, me!)
After the oul fossil spent ten minutes asking me is I was SURE I wasn’t pregnant, she eventually concluded it could be an ulcer….or something.
She gave me some tablets that were supposed to relax my insides.

A few months later it kicked off again.
The next doctor told me it might be some small gastric infection.
It might also have been something stress-related.
He gave be some tablets, told me not to get too stressed and sent me on my way.

Back in September, I went to see the doctor again.
Oh uhm…yeah, this time it’s probably really stress-related.
“Doctor, is there anyway it could be something else like IBS or something because it does happen when I’m not stressed?”
Oh uhm, maybe….but he was going to say stress for now.
More tablets (that didn’t even help a little) and I was kicked out of the office.

The last month has seen me in terrible pain with a horrible bloated stomach and messed up insides.
This time I was taking matters into my own hands.
I turned to The Internet.
The initial investigation didn’t go too well:
Eventually I had it narrowed down to IBS, Coeliac’s Disease or a Lactose Intolerance, just judging by the fact I’d been eating a lot of wheat and dairy products recently.

I went to the pharmacy to have a nice public chat with a 30-something awkwardly-cute pharmacist about my bowel movements.
Yes there was a nice private room a couple of feet away, but he obviously thought it was way more fun to discuss this in front of the oul wan buying her cotton swabs and the teenager working behind the counter.
He agreed with my IBS guess and suggested that it was caused by an gluten and/or dairy intolerance.

So now I’ve to seriously reduce my wheat intake, as well as dairy.
And take over-the-counter tablets that haven’t started working yet.
And drink peppermint tea to soothe my spazzy intestine.
I know it could be worse, but this is a little like a death sentence to someone who loves food as much as I do.
Bread and pasta and dairy products….they make my life worth living!
So now I am sulking.
Good day to you all.

Let me tell you about the time I….ended up at an awkward house party

My own first house-warming party was a sweaty drunken affair that ended with a fire alarm being set off and security breaking up proceedings.
This girl I worked with in Lentra - let’s call her Belinda - tried to organise a formal affair.

Most of the people we worked with wisely made excuses not to go, but myself, Boy and Sinead (sister to this girl) said we would go -me because I was told there was food, Sinead because she’s a nice person and Boy because he was secretly in love with me.

We eventually made it to Belinda’s house, after some near-death experiences courtesy of Sinead our driver, and as we’d been told to save lots of room for dinner, we were starving.
As soon as we took off our coats, the three of use were put sitting with Belinda’s fiancé and his 50-year-old friend, while Belinda sat with a couple of her friends in the kitchen area.

We sat in awkward silence as the two grown-ups talked over us.
We had nothing to say to them.
In the car, we’d been talking about our toy pet snake, Sinatra that we kept under the tills in the shop.
Boy eventually turned the conversation to football so he could talk a little to The Fiancé, while The Friend sat staring at me and Sinead.

Eventually Belinda came over to us with plates.
“Do you guys like lasagne?”
Pfffft, do cows…eh…poo!?
As she lowered the plates towards us, our faces fell because before us were the smallest portions known to man.
And that was the end of the promised food.

After another 20mins of listening to awkward conversation, I couldn’t stand it anymore
“Let’s make an excuse and leave,” I hissed
“We can’t! It’s only….” Sinead checked her phone. “…OMG it’s only 9 o’clock!”
Crap.
“Pretend Orla wants you to collect her now,” I said, remembering that her sister had been asking for a lift if she didn’t get into a club that night.
“No, I can’t. It’s wrong.”
Damn that stupid nice Sinead!

Her resolve cracked a little while later, when she got a call from Orla.
The call went something like this:
Orla: Hey, you don’t need to collect me!
Sinead: You need me to collect you!?
Orla: No no no, we got in!
Sinead: You didn’t get in? Oh ok, we’ll come and collect you then. *makes apologetic face at Belinda*
Orla: No Sinead, we got in! You can stay at the party.
Sinead: Ok, we’ll be there soon.

We had our excuse and Boy sprinted out the door with us.
First we rang Orla to let her know Sinead hadn’t lost the plot.
Then we went to the nearest Eddie Rockets for giant burgers and chips, as well as chocolate malts.
The food was demolished in record time.
And we avoided adult gatherings for a long time afterwards.
In fact, we’re still avoiding them.

Hermia vs Dunnes

I was doing my grocery shopping in Dunnes last Wednesday.
I know…it’s a thrilling life I lead.
Anyway, after I found what I needed, I then queued up for 10mins while the dizzy middle-aged lady took her time scanning in the groceries belonging to the man in front of me.
He had about 15 items.
I thought his head was going to explode.
She had some unbelievably shameful moments during this process, but my personal favourite was when she picked up an onion and said “So…this…is………………… an onion?”
Did she raise her voice at the end of that sentence?
WAS THAT A QUESTION!?
She looked at the man for conformation.
He nodded in disbelief.
She looked pleased with herself.

Eventually she got to me and thankfully didn’t take too long scanning my items in.
“Emmmmm….that’s twenty euro aaaaaaaaaaand…..seven cent,” she told me.
I handed her a fifty-euro note and a ten cent coin.
She looked at the money in her hand for a minute.
Till Lady: Emmmmm….*looks at the screen*…..a fifty and a ten….emmmmm. I don’t know how to put this in.
Hermia: Em, ok?
Till Lady: *looks at me for help*
Hermia: *looks confused*
Till Lady: *turns around to another till girl working behind her* Louise!!?
Louise: *flinches* *ignores her*
Till Lady: LOOOUUUUIIISSSEEE!!!?
Louise: *sighs in resignation* Yes?
Till Lady: I have a fifty and a ten! *waves fifty euro note in the air*

Fudging hell, Woman!
This is TALLAGHT!
I’m going to be attacked and mugged when I leave here if you keep waving that around!

Louise: *looks confused*
Till Lady: How do I put it in?
Louise: Oh, put it in as 5 0 1 0.
Till Lady: 5….?
Louise and Hermia: *looks of disbelief*
Louise: 5 0 1 0 and then press ‘cash’.
Till Lady: 5…..em….*looks at screen*….5….*looks back at Louise*…5…
Louise: 5 0 1 0 and then press ‘cash’!
Till Lady: …..wait, what do I press?
Hermia: 5 0 1 0 and then press the ‘cash’ button.
Louise: *smiles her thanks*
Till Lady: *looks at me* *looks at till* *looks confused*
Hermia: On the screen, press 5 0 1 0 and then ‘cash’. You don’t need full stops or anything.
Till Lady: *presses 5* 5….
Hermia: 0
Till Lady: 0
Hermia: 1
Till Lady: 1
Hermia: 0
Till Lady: 0
Hermia: Now press the ‘cash’ button.
Till Lady: Cash button…..?
Hermia: The ‘cash’ button.
Till Lady: Cash button. *till pops open* Oh….oh right….and now your change?

Yes that was a question.

The End.

Living for the Weekend

So I think I’m somewhat recovered from Friday’s rant.
I’ve started to boycott Tesco and am now buying my meat in a local butchers and doing the rest of my grocery shopping in Dunnes and Aldi.
I’m taking a stand against The Man.
I’m sure he’s shitting himself right now.
*rolls eyes*

Anyway, I had an unusual break from blogging over the weekend.
As you’ve probably gathered at this stage, I post five times a week, usually Monday to Friday because I have a life and need some free days away from responsibility, otherwise my head will explode.
This very rarely works out though
I nearly always miss a day during the week or fall behind on returning comments because of work and general stuff, and have to make it up at the weekend.

Not this weekend though.
This weekend, I was organised.
So organised that I didn’t just sit around the apartment in my underwear…I actually made PLANS!
*cue headless horsemen and other signs of an impending apocolyspe*

Saturday, myself and The Boy got up at a decent time and visited the Farmer’s Market in Temple Bar.
I didn’t actually end up buying anything, because there seems to be some stalls missing since I was there last and naturally they were the stalls that had the things I was looking for.
After that, I finally persuaded The Boy to replace some of his tattered jumpers and tops so he looks like a respectable human being again.
I’m a humanitarian, really.
Saturday was actually a rather momentous day for The Boy.
I finally had my wicked way with him and convinced him that he needed to watch the original Star Wars movies.
That’s right.
He’d never seen them.
(He’d also never seen The Goonies, Back to the Future and other such classics, but I’ve sorted that out already).
I took a trip to my childhood butchers to get a pound of hands-down the GREATEST sausages in the world and bribed him with sausage sandwiches and tea to watch New Hope that afternoon.
He liked it.
But I don’t think he’ll ever really appreciate the original movies.
Philistine.

That night, myself and The Bessie decided to have The Laugh and head out for some dancey-dancing.
The Laugh was at full-throttle.
We ended up dancing on a stage.
I was channelling my inner slutty-indie-biker-girl apparently.
We finished the night eating chicken balls and curry sauce in Charlies, which is how all good nights SHOULD end.
Needless to say, The Laugh gives you a hangover and thus in Sunday’s story.

Happy Monday!
I’ll have a decent post for you guys tomorrow!

Hermia vs Tesco

If you know me at all, you know not to come between me and food.
I have been known to throw tantrums of epic proportions if I have my heart set on a meal and I don’t get it.
I’m not even joking.
I’m frickin’ TERRIFYING!

Those of you following me on Twitter or Facebook know that I spent most of yesterday drooling over this recipe, which I then decided I would make for dinner.
I did my grocery shopping in Tesco when I got back to Tallaght after work and unusually, found everything I needed.

That should have warned me something was going to go wrong.

I went to the Self-Service checkouts and scanned in my items.
The last item I scanned was my mini bottle of wine for the sauce.

PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE

Oh ok.
I waited patiently as Tesco Girl (who was usually at those checkouts) took her time getting around to me.
She was the stereotypical Tallaght Girl: overweight in ill-fitting clothes, vacant expression on her face, mouth hangingy open and an accent that made your teeth itch (the majority of people in Tallaght are actually very respectable, normal people, but this is the label we have *sigh*).
Eventually she got to me.

Tesco Girl: Can I see your ID.
Me: Excuse me.
Tesco Girl: I need your ID.
Me: *not really understanding* My ID?
Tesco Girl: Yeah.
Me: ….but I’m 24 in April.
Tesco Girl: It doesn’t matter. I need to see some ID.
Me: But I don’t carry ID. I’m 24 in April.
Tesco Girl: I still need your ID.

I’m not one for having a go at shop staff, because they usually get abused for things that aren’t their fault.
I used to get abused by 12-year-olds who wanted to buy cigarettes when I worked in a shop.
But they were obviously underage and as I am no lawbreaker, I wouldn’t serve them.
I would never do this though.
I would have to be (A) A sad individual, desperate to wield the only power I had in the world, or (B) slightly retarded not to serve me alcohol.

Me: I don’t look even remotely 17.
Tesco Girl: *shrugs shoulders*
Me: I got into a 21s club a little while ago without being asked for ID, but you’re asking me for it now for a tiny bottle of wine obviously being bought as an ingredient for a meal I’m making.
Tesco Girl: If you’re under 25, you need to show me ID.
Me: *spots The Boy coming over* Urgh, hold on a second.
Tesco Girl: *also spots The Boy* I can’t let anyone else buy it for you.

See?
She KNEW me.
She recognised HIM as MY BOYFRIEND because SHE KNEW US!

Me: *ignores the stupidity in front of me* The Boy, do you have ID on you?
The Boy: *looks confused* No, why?
Me: *to Tesco Girl* This is ridiculous. I’m 24 in April, he’s 24 now.
Tesco Girl: I need some ID.
Me: Why? You know I’m not 17.
Tesco Girl: I need it so I can scan it through.
Me: So you can scan my ID?
Tesco Girl: Eh, no.
Me: So you don’t need to scan my ID.
Tesco Girl: No.
Me: So since you know I’m not underage, you can just allow it without me needing ID.
Tesco Girl: Eh, no.
Me: You know me! You know him! We’ve been coming here for over a year! You know us! You know we’re not 17 years old!! We come here nearly every day!!
Tesco Girl: *shrugs shoulders* I haven’t seen you in a while.
Me: And what!?? WAS I GOING TO HAVE AGED BACKWARDS IN THAT SPACE OF TIME.
Tesco Girl: *speechless*
Me: This is madness. I don’t have ID on me. I have no need to carry ID.
Tesco Girl: I can cancel the wine from your list for you.
Me: *can’t understand why she said that like she was doing me a favour* You know what, you can cancel the whole feckin’ lot! *storms off*

So I couldn’t make the dinner.
We ordered Dominos instead and I sat in a rage for the rest of the night, because I didn’t want pizza.
I wanted the chicken thing.
Which I made tonight instead.
It was lovely.
The End

Let me tell you about the time I….was asked for my number

I was standing at the bus stop freezing my ass off this morning when a rather familiar young chap appeared at the other side of the commuter group.
Hmmmm….where did I know him from?
He glanced in my direction, caught my eye and looked away immediately, looking uncomfortable.

Jesus, he’s obviously not pleased to see me.
That really didn’t narrow it down.
Who the hell IS he!?

Eventually I remembered that he used to work a couple of shops down from Lentra.
Ah.
Mayo Boy.
Cue the lightbulbs and falling pennies.
Now I know why he’s not pleased to see me….

Flashback
Flashback
Flashback

Every Saturday, he’d come in for his lunch just before we closed up the deli
And every Saturday we’d make awkward conversation until I’d made his sandwich.

See, I attract weirdos.
I always have and probably always will.
I think it’s because I’m so socially awkward and uncomfortable when I meet new people that I willingly latch on to anyone remotely friendly (weirdos are normally over-eager to make conversation) and then the connection has been made before I realise that I’m about to befriend someone who probably has a creepy doll collection and dresses up as his mother.
At that stage it’s impossible to shake them.

Mayo Boy wasn’t VERY weird, but he was definitely a little strange in the I-wouldn’t-feel-comfortable-being-left-in-a-room-alone-with-you way.
He was also about a foot shorter than me.

This particular day he came in acting stranger than usual.
Mayo Boy: Can I get a *insert ingredients here* roll
Me: Sure. Do you want butter or mayo?
Mayo Boy: URGH! NO! Not mayo!! Just butter! Not mayo!
Me: Eh…ok…no mayo then.
Mayo Boy: Mayo is TERRIBLE.
Me: *shrugs shoulders* Well I like it.
Mayo Boy: You shouldn’t eat it. Mayonnaise makes you die.
Me: *pauses* Excuse me?
Mayo Boy: It makes you die.
Me: Eh…right…but not really.
Mayo Boy: No, it does. It makes you die.
*awkward silence ensues*
Me: Well here’s your roll.
Mayo Boy: Can I get your number?
Me: *looks around in a panicked manner, partly hoping no one heard that, partly hoping someone would rescue me*
Mayo Boy: *looks painfully hopeful*
Me: Eh….no….sorry.
Mayo Boy: Oh…why?
Me: *can’t believe he’s asking that question* I have a boyfriend.
Mayo Boy: Oh.
Me: Yeah.
Mayo Boy: *continues to stand there making eye contact*
Me: *wondering if he’s attempting Jedi mind control* Well, I’ve got to go do stuff in the back room.
Mayo Boy: Ok. *walks off slowly*
Boy (now known as The Boy): *appearing from nowhere* Why is your face so red? What happened? Did something happen with X?

After forcing me to tell him by applying the art of merciless pestering, Boy then proceeded to vandalise my Bebo page with drawings of the event…
And that is how Mayo Boy got the name ‘Mayo Boy’.

EDIT: Some genius readers suggested posting the drawing The Boy did, which is obviously an AMAZING idea, making me an idiot for not thinking of it. However, The Boy thought he was really cool and deleted his Bebo account a couple of years ago and when he did that, all the comments he left and pictures he did were also deleted, so I don’t have them anymore!
I will see if I can persuade him to recreate one of them tonight though!

Lazy Days

*yawn*

I’ve had a lovely sleepy weekend.
The snow and ice appeared on Friday night, which meant that I wasn’t even going to consider leaving the apartment.
I feel a little frustrated at the moment, because it seems as though there isn’t a single time of year that I can relax!
I love autumn and winter, but in the last few years autumn has been overly warm and humid and the winter has brought nothing but ice for me to fall on (I have no balance).
Summer and Spring have been dreary and humid and suffocating.
Damn global warming.
I’m leaving Ireland for another climate.
*sigh*

But it hasn’t ruined my weekend!
We put up our Christmas tree and decorated the apartment on Friday night, settled down with a pizza and some goodies and watched the Toy Show (this is a show that happens at the end of November in Ireland and pretty much kicks off the Christmas season for us!).
An amazing job by Ryan Tubridy and his team made it the best show since Gay Byrne retired 10/11 years ago.

We watched Christmas movies, like Home Alone and Elf, drank tea and ate tummy-hugging food all weekend and I now feel thoroughly relaxed and ready for the week ahead.
How strange to hear me say that!

Now please enjoy these Jacob Sadrak portraits of Hanne Bruning…

Cooking up a storm

The other day I found out that I’m A Celebrity harpie Gillian McKeith is the same age as Nigella Lawson.
Nigella Goddess Lawson.
The two are only a few months apart with McKeith turning 51 back in September and Nigella hitting it in January.

Isn’t it just shocking!?

And I think people around the world cheered when they found out.
McKeith,who promotes the vegan lifestyle, opting to live on aduki beans and miso soup, is tired, wrinkled and sad looking with bad skin and a bad attitude.
Nigella, who lives on chocolate and carbs, urging us all to use fatty everything in whatever we make, is beautiful with great skin, great hair and wonderfully curvy finger and is not unlike a sexy dose of sunshine!

If ever I needed validation that my shirking from all things healthy is right thing to do, this is it!

I bought the Nigella Express book after work today after watching some Youtube videos of her last night.
She gets me.
I never appreciated how fantastic she is until I had a full time job that saw me getting home in darkness and then had to cook for myself and The Boy after 90mins on the bus!
She’s my Queen!

I’ve just whipped up a batch of a cheater’s homemade chocolate croissants (see Twitter feed) and now I’m boiling macaroni for a tummy-hugging Mac&Cheese dinner for myself and The Boy who has had a pretty horrendous day in work and is currently heading home on the tram, most probably looking like a sulky teenager.

I love you Nigella!
I’m so delighted to be spicing things up in the kitchen!

Wish me luck!