Too much cheese

Tonight was my family's last evening in Singapore, so we went to a mozzarella bar in Duxton Hill. It turns out that if you eat your own weight in cheese, you don't tend to feel so wonderful. I'd only had what felt like a chunk of mozzarella the size of my head, washed down with truffle oil, but I felt like I'd been inflated with marsh gas and then squashed into clothes three sizes too small for me.

The Consequences Of Cheese

The diet of cheese is having adverse effects. We've eaten precious little that isn't fermented dairy produce in the last week, and as a result we're beginning to solidify, the contents of our veins changing from haemoglobin to camembert as the days rush by.

Unfat

I went to see the doctor this morning, to find out how fat I was.

Some doctors have a prized bedside manner. My doctor has the unrivalled ability to convince you that he cares not a jot for your wellbeing. I arrived on time to see the patient before me leave his consulting room, and then had fifteen minutes to read the South China Morning Post before I was called in.

I fought the cheese, and the cheese won

I thought I'd gone deaf in both ears today, but luckily I'd just forgotten to bring my headphones with me. I still had my ipod, so I entertained myself on the bus to the office by watching the time on each track change.

There's a great bit on Radar Love by Golden Earring where it segues from 1:59 to 2:00; you hardly know where the time goes.

Year of Eating Differently (115): Neal's Corner Sandwich Shop, Shaftesbury Avenue

So, in a bit of a hurry today, and it's grey and wet outside, so a quick visit here was all I required. This is probably one of the best small sandwich shops that I've been to in recent weeks; bread for my tricolore panino tasted much fresher, and the avocado actually had a bit of flavour to it too (unlike say the chilled-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life-and-never-quite-revived stuff you get at Pret, for example). Service is admirably quick, and they have a pretty good selection of gooey chocolate cake.

Year of Eating Differently (112): Newsagent, Dean Street

Has it come to this? After 111 other places to eat, I'm reduced to buying a plastic wrapped sandwich from the newsagent on Dean Street, a place that has previously only been my succour against poor meals elsewhere, allowing me to supplement my tortured diet with a bountiful supply of Frazzles and Yorkie bars.

But yes, here we are, busy in the office without time to escape, and here's what I get: an albino cheddar sandwich that probably should have remained in its plastic coffin forever, and a Toffee Crisp. The sandwich didn't actually make me vomit, but that's the very best I can say for it.
And if that wasn't a sign of the End of Days, what can we make of shops selling toys that are clearly depictions of our mind-eating dark master?

Year of Eating Differently (106): Cafe Veneziana, Frith Street

Way down south beyond Old Compton Street, there's a maroon coloured cafe with a boombox parked on top of the drinks fridge, pumping out awful house music - is that to attract the clientele from G-A-Y? Surely not at midday on a Monday - there must be some time that's too early for that. Or possibly too late for the Sunday stragglers.

Anyways, got a portobello mushroom stack in ciabatta for the thoroughly reasonable price of 3.50. The combination of brie and livid orange peppers is a bit much. Now feel rather bloated, and that's before I chow down on a piece of shortbread. Adequate, then, apart from the soundtrack.

Year of Eating Differently (104): Cotton Cafe, Berwick Street

The sign at the door says to mind the step. What is ambiguous about this is that you mind the step as you walk in from the street, not realising there's another step to trip across as you step up again into the restaurant. Thankfully I didn't land face first in somebody else's lunch; not sure if I recovered or not. Had an avocado melt, which is really a panino, but a bit dirtier; avocado and swiss cheese stuck in a panini toaster for a few minutes, but slathered on the outside with butter. Somehow this was much heavier on the filth-factor than other panini I've eaten - well done. They offer chilli hot chocolate as well - not sure about whether that's a good idea or an incredibly dangerous one - but did have a piece of pear and ginger chocolate cake, which was very good indeed.
Went back to the office, found that my date for the night had gone home sick and thus I'm without company for the evening. Possibly that's justice for yesterday's post, but it is the 14th of February...

Year of Eating Differently (80): Cafe Soho, corner of Wardour Street and Old Compton Street

Nothing amazingly special here (although a bit pricey) but it was just nice. Another corner cafe, about the same size as the anonymous cafe from last week, but with cheerful, friendly staff and a 'mushroom special'. I was hoping this would be a special mushroom, but it turned out to be mushroom plus cheese, so nothing massively revolutionary there.
Good cake, coffee's not bad and there's a big window to watch people walking past. Assume this would probably be more amusing on a warm summer evening as people stagger in and out of the Village, rather than on a grey winter day when everything is dead and you're kind of cross that as well as getting a penalty fare at the station, you got a lecture from the revenue protection officer about how you need to be organised and get to the station on time. Thanks for that.

Year of Eating Differently (49): Subway, Dean Street

Long before this project started, I had the misfortune to go to the (now-defunct) Subway in the corner of Soho Square, where I had a sandwich so bland as to be offensive; I retaliatated by going to Make Mine for a few more monotonous months of filthy oil, and lo and behold the franchisee shut down. Sorry about that, but a cheese sub with nothing in it but cheese is something you should have refused to serve me, rather than pollute your brand values. Sometimes the customer is not right, and should be told.
So it was with some trepidation that I stepped out today and realised that Subway was on the menu. First I had to post something to Sweden, which necessitated hanging about in the post office for half my lunch hour, and then I had the whole Post Office depot between me and the Subway just north of Soho Square, so I ended up in the more fashionable environs on Dean Street. Slightly confused that the decor of all Subway has to include bare brick walls, slightly more confused that one of the guys behind the counter had a t-shirt designed to look like he was wearing a Hawaiian lei, and too frightened/cautious/reticent/introverted to ask to take proof.
That got out the way, was swiftly upsold from a 6 inch to a foot long sub, with a vegetable patty and cheese in it. The salad garnish is uninspired (sliced lettuce, tomato, cucumber, olives, sweetcorn, onions) yet utilitarian, so I paid (half the price of yesterday's meal) and made it back to the office.

Where I took this photo, which suggests to me that either I'm exploiting perspective for my own personal gains, orI have respectably LARGE HANDS, or that a foot isn't what it used to be.
And so to the sandwich. It stinks. This is a good thing, because it pollutes the office and annoys the drones around me who don't have their own eating-lots-of-different-things blog. And also it stinks in a good way, redolent of going to Pizza Hut at the age of 12 and then annoying your parents by (in full snotty-nosed child mode) refusing to eat "anything with tomato on it". Must be that mixture of oregano and every other herb they've flung on the bread that's provoking this Proustian type memory. Now where did I leave that madeleine?
The vegetable patty (what does that really mean? Anyone?) has the consistency of a fish finger that has been squashed flat between two volumes of an encyclopeadia (of the sort the father of my friend Barry Sheen used to hawk around post-war Germany, before selling hip replacements, but that really is another story) but has satisfying mouth feel. The salad I referred to just now is mostly extraneous, being swamped by both the texture and the flavour of the bread and the patty, and altogether it's a good, warming meal. Subway, I think you have redeemed yourself. Chapeau!
The astute amongst you may have noticed the worrying preponderance of Gallic references in today's post. (If anyone is actually reading this, that is.) This is mainly due to my brainwave today of having 'Ceci n'est pas une projet d'optimisation search-engine' as the title of the blog, and then realising that would be a mindbogglingly dense and probably quite unoriginal thing to do, as well as possibly self-effacing (see earlier)

Year of Eating Differently (44): Crepe Affaire, Wardour Street

Rather too much cheese, and the crepe can't be eaten one-handed by someone as clumsy as me, and when you try to unwrap it, half the crepe sticks to the greaseproof paper and so the whole thing disintegrates. So less than enamoured by the whole experience. However, it was swift (and pretty empty, which isn't a good sign at 12:45) and there's a reasonable selection of flapjacks and such. It stays open until 11pm on a Friday night, which raises the question of who exactly goes out carousing in Soho on a Friday and then at half-ten thinks to themselves "Hmm, in desperate need of a savoury pancake right now", but never mind that.
I will have the aftertaste of cheese in my mouth for the rest of the day, I expect. This greatly saddens me.

Year of Eating Differently (34): Nino's Paninos, Frith Street

One qualm as I explained this choice to my co-workers; panini is the plural, panino is the singular. So the name of this cafe is wrong, but perhaps that's balanced out by all the people who will sell you "a panini" or "paninis", usage that never fails to make my teeth grate after some cruel person first educated me about this point.
Anyway, it's a tiny place, about the same size as those holes in the wall that serve up pizza on Leicester Square. Recessed from the street, there's space for a table or two and a counter, but sadly the food isn't much better. I had a focaccia with cheese and roasted vegetables inside it, but the cheese was the consistency of (a) raw ricotta and (b) warmed up nasal mucus at the same time; couldn't taste the vegetables or the pine kernels nestled inside. So I doubt I'll return there soon.

Year of Eating Differently (29): Cornish Bakehouse, Dean Street

It does 'Award Winning Cornish Pasties' you know. Had the cheese and mushroom pasty, which is really rather vile, and fell apart in the bag as I carried it back to the office, and a spicy vegetarian sausage roll, which was very good, almost to the point that I suspected the regurgitated vegetable protein that made up the sausage to be animal in origin. After the weekend's exertions, just what I needed.

Year of Eating Differently (17): Paul, Old Compton Street

Sandwiched between pubs and gay bars, here's a boulangerie named after somebody called Paul. Flogging a succession of baguettes - here's one covered in sesame seeds and with camembert in it.
I don't eat many sesame seeds in my life. I always get them when I eat pizza in Tromso, but that's about the only opportunity. So this could either be an interesting diversion, or a bit revolting. Camembert, on the other hand, is rich man's brie, and I've already had a brie baguette recently, so on average, so much the difference.

Sadly, the bread is over-chewy and the cheese is just plain rubbery. Not impressed. Ah well. They've got a year to improve, after all...

Year of Eating Differently (15): Eat, Soho Square

The merchandising has gone all wrong. Suddenly Eat have these loathsome purple paper bags to put your food in. Otherwise, the song remains the same: here's a baguette (slightly stale. No, it's not 'crunchy'. It's stale. You can tell when you bite into the dried up bread and it sprays crumbs all over the desk) with branston pickle and cheddar inside. Looks a bit grim. Not sure how it tastes yet. Actually, this all sounds rather bitter but really I'm grumpy because (a) I've got a cold and (b) Eat don't seem to be doing pies this year that are anywhere close to being as good as they were in 2006. But still, the baguette isn't half as nice as a Pret one, which makes it rather a chore to eat. The yoghurts are better than The Other Place, though...

Year of Eating Differently (11): Cafe Mezzo, St Giles High Street

Well, that hit the spot more satisfactorily. 6.10 for a ciabatta and a glass of orange and cranberry juice. They also do a happily filthy breakfast, but it's going to be a while before I can justify the full egg, beans and hash brown extravaganza - time to lose a bit of weight first.
Other fun things to do on St. Giles High Street - spot the skag head tramps trolling for money from people walking from Covent Garden to Denmark Street. Or loiter outside the Intrepid Fox and wonder what idiot thought a conservatory with a fake graveyard on top was really going to be as METAL as their clientele would demand. Then pop back to Soho Square and sneer at the emo kids queuing for the Astoria ticket office.