Souper Douper

Mr Katja and I were travelling by tube the other day.  As we walked onto the platform, we were faced with a large ad for Heinz Taste of Home soup on the far wall.  As one does when waiting for a train, we both stared vacantly at it for a while – and then turned to each other with identical looks of confusion and horror.  “Serial killers!” said I, at the same time as Mr K blurted out, “Paedophilia!”

When I say that the ad features a pot of soup with the words “Ingredients: Aunties and Uncles who aren’t really aunties and uncles” on the side, I think you’ll probably all see where we were coming from.

Not so edible underwear …

Gentle readers: if you were to go into that bastion of English women’s knickers through the ages, Marks & Spencer, looking for tights/stockings, where would you look first? 

If you’re like me, you’d head for the lingerie department, which is exactly what I did a few weeks ago in M&S Oxford Street.  The store is currently undergoing quite a major refurb, so when I couldn’t find the stockings where I expected to find them, I assumed it was because the entire shop is a bit topsy turvy at the moment.  I did think it was a bit odd that they had been moved to the basement, next to the food hall, but was just pleased to have actually found them at all, so didn’t question it too much.

Yesterday I went into Fenchurch Street M&S, again in search of stockings.  Once again, I headed for the lingerie department.  Once again, however, I discovered no nylons.  This store, in contrast with the Oxford Street one, is shiny and new and in full working order – no workmen or dust blowing around – so there seemed no reason for tights to be anywhere other than their rightful place: next to the knickers.  In confusion, I asked a shop assistant, who directed me two floors down.

Into the food hall.

Call me crazy, but I suspect that the person currently responsible for the store layouts in M&S may just be a man. 

Perspective

Apparently I’m too thin to feature in an ad for Special K bars. I’m not sure whether to be pleased at relative slimness or disappointed at missing out on the potential for getting paid.

A Bug’s Life

Archipelago is the place to go if you fancy something different for dinner. They specialise in the weird and wonderful – from bugs to exotic meats to seriously strong drinks. Happily, however, there is more to the food than just its novelty value.

I started with crocodile marinaded in chilli and garlic, wrapped in blackened vine leaves and served with a plum dipping sauce. Two of the other diners had eaten crocodile before and both proclaimed that it had been fishy-tasting and not very pleasant. This, however, was delicious. The meat is dense and white and satisfyingly filling, and the charcoal taste of the vine leaves took the edge off the heat of the marinade. A caramelised duck breast served with pomegranate and pistachio nut salad was also excellent, the sweet sauce being particularly good. Peacock-on-a-date served with a tomato and vanilla confit, however, failed to excite. The vanilla was overpowering and the peacock meat itself somewhat dry.

For the main course, I plumped for peanut-crusted wildebeest, served with a lemon balm soba noodle salad and a garlic and ginger dipping sauce. The meat was disappointingly tough and the salad insipid. Zebra served with a port, juniper and blackcurrant sauce, however, was fantastic, the meat being like a particularly succulent beef steak, and the sauce providing a sweet, tangy contrast. The love-bug salad which many of us decided to try was also good, being a green salad in an enjoyably spicy warm chilli dressing, served with two crickets and three locusts. The bugs were, from the taste of them, marinaded in garlic and then deep fried. There is actually very little taste to the insects themselves – it was rather like eating somewhat substance-less king prawns.

For pudding, the obvious choice was chocolate-covered scorpion served with a shot of Sauternes. Once again, there was very little substance to the scorpion. If it hadn’t been for the extreme crunchiness of the shell, one would be forgiven for thinking that it was merely a chocolate mould. A rather more exciting choice, taste-wise, was the baby bee brulee. This was an orange-blossom honey and stem ginger creme brulee, served with white chocolate honeycomb and a tiny bee with the sting removed. The bee itself burst in the mouth like a ripe berry, releasing a surprisingly tangy, honeyed taste. The brulee was deliciously creamy, the ginger counteracting the richness.

Looking back on the evening, Archipelago wasn’t the best choice for a large group (there were 13 of us). All dishes are cooked to order and the space itself is small. I would happily go back again, but only as part of a much smaller group – four maximum, although I think the ideal would be an intimate tête-à-tête. Just make sure that your date has a strong sense of adventure.