The Hangover is Over - Let's Rock and Cook

My Dear Gastronauts,

I am sorry I have not updated the blog. The fact is, over the last couple of months I have been so busy in my attempts to open Floyd’s Brasserie at the Burasari, I've been absolutely thwarted by the charming inefficiency of my colleagues.

I have to apologise for the fact that Burusari have pronounced that Floyds Brasserie was open, and it is in fact not open. It will open in the month of February, or possibly March.

Today has been a better day - I have just bought a Jack Russell puppy, called Florence. Who is in no way related to Milverton Blackfoot. Sometime soon I shall be creating the first Floyd’s Cookery Theatre at Linthwaite; sometime later I shall be hosting the World Gourmet Summit in Singapore at the Grand Hyatt.

Recently, on Antony Worrall Thompson's Saturday cooks, I made a bit of a prick of myself by saying that the food police were a "bunch of spastics". In my words, common parlance in the pub absolutely does not denigrate or vilify disabled people. If I offended, I apologise. On the same programme, I apparently said that celebrity cooks are so up their own bottoms that they do not realise that food should be fun, not a station waiting for a train to arrive to take them to a destination to learn how to cook.

By the way, for my friends from Australia who visited Burasari, who were disappointed and my friends from Singapore who were equally disappointed, I will correct this.

Checkout my bandleader Bill - bill@billpadley.com. Who, by the way, won the Ivor Novello award.

Your comments and your complaints please, at any time, please leave here on my blog.

But listen to me. Food is life, life is food. If you don't like my approach you are welcome to go down to MacDonalds.

Bon Applebite

Floyd

p.s. I've just had an email from Milverton Blackfoot. He has been arrested under suspicion of money-laundering by the HSB. How can you arrest a man for laundering money, who has none?

to be continued...

Look for my new website

Please visit my new website on www.floydonline.co.uk and see whats on it

THAILAND

Only days to go before the opening of 'Floyd's' at the Burasari Hotel www.burasari.com and, really looking forward to 'Floyd's Cookery Theatre' at the Linthwaite House Hotel www.linthwaite.com and also looking forward to a couple of gigs on ITV's Saturday Cooks, with my mate Anthony Worrell Thompson. I notice in Marco Pierre White's autobiography that he mentioned me very kindly.

Look out for our diary from Thailand.

Linthwaite House Hotel

It is good to see Raphael's choice in the Sunday Times, 10 gormet hotels. Delighted my old friend Kit Chapman is still blazing a trail at the Castle Hotel in Taunton, but much more pleasing is that my friend Mike Bevans, at Linthwaite House was also included, and, by the way, he has just won just another award as the best Country House Hotel.

Mind you, I am not sure that Mike knows too much about char, a wonderful fish from the lake district and parts of Wales and of course the Arctic Circle, I shall, over time, be starting a gentle campaign against the well intentioned, but misguided, enery that country house hotels put into baking their own bread

.... watch this space.

Swelters cooking tips number 2

Swelter would like to point out that the onion, the lemon and the thyme stuffed into his Christmas turkey, is just there for flavouring the bird and is discarded after cooking.

Blackfoot Hall

Yes, Blackfoot Hall, a wonderful place, still got it's old but unused chapel, the absurd folly that you can see across, on a fine day, the rolling acres. It is just one of those magical, quintesentially English piles. In former times, the estate was vast. The kennels were full of hounds and the stables full of hunters. The estate manager had an imposing house and the farm cottages were quaint with their uniform battleship grey painted woodwork and porches and most of the village, including the brewery, were property of the Blackfoots. But, the ebbs and flows of outrageous financial fortunes and of course, missfortunes, have taken their toll. Now the farm cottages have porches and range rovers parked in their little drives and the acres have been, over the years, leased out or sold off.

But, the river still runs through it and Milverton has managed to retain the fishing rights.

I remember shortly after his father died, and after a bitterly disputed will and death duties and debts were sorted, Blackfoot phoned me to say that things had come to a pretty pass. He had inherited the Hall with just four acres and that was mostly the roof tiles that needed replacing.

I believe he still ownes the Blackfoot Arms and probably, under some dubious covenant, the brewery. In order to make ends meet, he and his wife Florence take in paying guests. They have a mottley crew of loyal retainers who administer to the needs of the guests. First and formost there is, of course, Chef Swelter, a huge man, probably in his late seventies, who presides, in his subterrainian kitchen with its coal fired ranges, in chef's whites, so starched, that should he make a sudden movement, he would crack open.

The intense heat of the kitchen and his fondness for copious pots of local ale, means that he perspires profusely and the sweat drops like balls of mercury onto his starched chest and slide down and plop onto the floor.

There is Brittany, a vivacious, but totally stupid young woman from the village. An immensely hard worker who peels, chops, washes up, burnishes the ancient copper pans and sometimes comes in slightly late and breathless in the mornings either flushed with love and romance or tight lipped and moody after an unhappy binge drinking session.

Mrs. Worthington, a benign, unflappable housekeeper, who is a culinary saint when it comes to making jams, chutneys, pickles and other preserves who along with Ben the kitchen hand, manage to provide and general dogsbody, take care of the food.

Then there is the magnificent Mercedes, a voluptuous 40 year old who waits at table. She invariably wears dramatic purple or black dresses, her thick black hair is coiled above her head as high as a bishops mitre and when a little tipsy is prone to bursting into arias.

The gardener, Lovegrove, formerly a gamekeeper, but now a dedicated poacher, keeps the larder full of game and fish.

Florence Blackfoot, somehow, manages to preside over this bizzare household. Florence has the alure of Isadora Duncan and is often to be seen plucking bouquets and peaches when in season, from the orangery.

The Chronicals of Milverton Blackfoot

To be continued .....

Provence, 31st October 2006

We had a cracking weekend at the Blackfoot's, but it is great to be back home in my house, here in Provence. I have known the Blackfoot's for about 40 years. I met him first when he was a dashing young officer in a smart calvary regiment attached to my brigade in Germany. We had set up a huge marquee on the mess lawn in order to host a most important guest, a colonel in chief of our regiment, no less a personage than H.R.H. Princess Margaret. On the day before her arrival, Blackfoot and a couple of his pals, invaded the marquee on motorbikes and smoke bombed it. There was hell to pay. Dismissed, of course, as a youthful prank. But our colonel was not amused and demanded that Blackfoot face disciplinary action. Actually there is so much I could tell you about Blackfoot, that I have decided, from time to time, to recount some of the adventures, experiences, catastrophies and assorted mishaps that have befallen Blackfoot over the years.

Hence...

Swelters cooking tips No. 1

To Roast A turkey

Make sure your turkey is at kitchen temperature and totally dry. Make sure the oven is pre-heated to at least 200 degrees.

Have at hand a large roasting tray with a wire rack sitting in it. Chop 1 onion, 1 carrot, 1 stick of celery, 2 cloves of garlic very coarsely. If you are lucky enough to have giblets with your turkey, chop them into small pieces and place those, along with the chopped vegetables, along with a good sprig of thyme underneath the rack. Pour in 1 bottle of good red wine (if you can't drink it, don't cook with it) and a half a pint of water. Next, cut a lemon in half and an onion in half and stuff these, along with a quarter of a pound of butter, into the turkey. Next, rub the turkey well with lemon juice and cover it all over with copious amounts of butter.

Place the turkey breast down on the rack, cover the bird with tin foil and set to roast for 1 hour. After 1 hour take the tray from the oven, reverse the turkey onto its back and continue cooking until the bird is done. 20 minutes before the bird is cooked, remove the foil so the skin can brown. Remove the turkey and keep warm, strain the liquid from the pan through a sieve. Whisk in a tablespoon of chicken gravy granuals to thicken the sauce, season with salt and pepper and whisk in a nice knob of softened butter to create a rich, shiney, delicious cheats gravy.

I was talking to Mr. Floyd the other day about turkeys and I know for a fact he will not be having one for Christmas, he always has a goose. He has also asked me to point out that a turkey is for Christmas, not for life, and he will not be asking me to give me to give you tips on how to use the leftovers, these should be given to your pets, off the bone, of course, and bin the rest.

Mr. Floyd takes no responsibility for the wrath you may incur from your local council for dumping your carcass in your re-cycling bin!

Normally on Sunday mornings, particularly the fine autumnal mornings, we fire up Tess's 2CV - the trusty Florence - and bounce over to Isle sur la Sorgue and the brilliant Sunday market. Truth to tell, we know the market so well, we spend most of our time sipping Pastis in the Cafe de France, or sipping wine in Rocky's wine bar, but a couple of weeks ago, completely out of the blue, my old friend Hector who I had not seen for years and years, turned up on our doorstep clutching his gladstone bag containing his worldly posessions, his shotgun case and his backgammon board.

'It has been such a long time, old boy' he said 'I thought I would come for Christmas to catch up on old times'.

He hadn't changed much, still slim, still immaculately, though fadingly dressed, his face, as ever like a highly burnished walnut, but despite years of hard living, his brown eyes still held their sparkle.

At the same time as Hectors arrival, I got an e-mail from my old mate Milverton-Blackfoot. So this Sunday we find ourselves with Hector who drove the works Bentley, at Blackfoots pile up in the Borders.

It is a gorgeous Sunday morning and we decide to ride down to the pub 'The Blackfoot Arms' for a pre-lunch drink. Neither Blackfoot nor Hector are up, they spent the night playing backgammon. Florence, Blackfoots wife, is swirling about in the orangery. The pub is busy, the usual old boys are playing dominoes.

Blackfoots gardener, Lovegrove, is dispensing 20 year old carrot wine, which is staggeringly good. But, it is all going to end in tears because also circulating around the pub is a two litre mug of malt whiskey donated by Mac to celebrate his birthday. The talk is of darts, parsnips and football.

Mick, the landlord is putting out plates of roasted potatoes on the bar. He disappears into his kitchen and emerges with a 15 lb pale looking turkey on a roasting tray and says to Tess 'ever seen that before Tess?' he points to a little plastic implant on the birds breast. 'It is an amazing thing' he says 'It pops out when the turkey is cooked. what do you think?' 'Cor. What will they think of next' she says. But I know what she is thinking. 'How is it this nation is obsessed with Turkeys and almost no-one knows how to cook one'.

Diary 29th October 2006

Normally on Sunday mornings, particularly the fine autumnal mornings, we fire up Tess's 2CV - the trusty Florence - and bounce over to Isle sur la Sorgue and the brilliant Sunday market. Truth to tell, we know the market so well, we spend most of our time sipping Pastis in the Cafe de France, or sipping wine in Rocky's wine bar, but a couple of weeks ago, completely out of the blue, my old friend Hector who I had not seen for years and years, turned up on our doorstep clutching his gladstone bag containing his worldly posessions, his shotgun case and his backgammon board.

'It has been such a long time, old boy' he said 'I thought I would come for Christmas to catch up on old times'.

He hadn't changed much, still slim, still immaculately, though fadingly dressed, his face, as ever like a highly burnished walnut, but despite years of hard living, his brown eyes still held their sparkle.

At the same time as Hectors arrival, I got an e-mail from my old mate Milverton-Blackfoot. So this Sunday we find ourselves with Hector who drove the works Bentley, at Blackfoots pile up in the Borders.

It is a gorgeous Sunday morning and we decide to ride down to the pub 'The Blackfoot Arms' for a pre-lunch drink. Neither Blackfoot nor Hector are up, they spent the night playing backgammon. Florence, Blackfoots wife, is swirling about in the orangery. The pub is busy, the usual old boys are playing dominoes.

Blackfoots gardener, Lovegrove, is dispensing 20 year old carrot wine, which is staggeringly good. But, it is all going to end in tears because also circulating around the pub is a two litre mug of malt whiskey donated by Mac to celebrate his birthday. The talk is of darts, parsnips and football.

Mick, the landlord is putting out plates of roasted potatoes on the bar. He disappears into his kitchen and emerges with a 15 lb pale looking turkey on a roasting tray and says to Tess 'ever seen that before Tess?' he points to a little plastic implant on the birds breast. 'It is an amazing thing' he says 'It pops out when the turkey is cooked. what do you think?' 'Cor. What will they think of next' she says. But I know what she is thinking. 'How is it this nation is obsessed with Turkeys and almost no-one knows how to cook one'.

So, I will tell you how to cook a turkey, and these will be my final words on the subject. After this I will brook no further queries or conversation on the subject.

HOW TO COOK A TURKEY

Hello Gastronauts - Welcome to my blog

Well, it is not exactly my blog and it was not even my idea. My son Patrick said, 'hey dad, you have got to have a blog' so I picked up a large glass of wine and said to my wife Tess, 'what in heaven's name is a blog?' She said, ' I am not entirely sure, I will ask Denis. Denis, a fine, full blown two and a half year old Chinchilla Persian cat, was unfortunatly asleep at the time and offered no comment.

However, knowing Denis as I do, he would undoubtedly, along with his adoring mother Tess, make his views known from time to time.

So, what am I doing?

I was reading the Daily Express the other day and the article said that I was opening a cookery school and I was taking my one man theatre show back on the road. There was some truth in this but the facts are the next 'Floyd Uncorked' my award winning one man show (I won some kind of presigious award at the Brighton Festival the other year) is going to be at the Dorchester Arts Centre on December 15th 2006. Needless to say, I shall not be cooking, but I shall be having a glass of wine while I attempt to regail you with myamusing little anecdotes (n.b. not antidotes!)

As far as the cookery school rumours are concerned, it is true to say that Tess and I will be opening a cookery school in 2007 and when the negotiations are finalised, you will be the first to know. In the meantime, however, I do the odd session with my great mate Jean-Christophe Novelli at his Academy Novelli.

You can check him out and his terrific restaurant 'The White Horse' on his website

You might be interested to know I have a couple of new books out in time for Christmas. One is called 'Keith FLoyd's Thai Food' which brings me on to another exciting event - the opening of my one and only restaurant in the world simply known as 'Floyd's' which is at the delightful Burasari resort in Phuket, Thailand. Their website is www.burasari.com I shall of course be creating classical Thai dishes and my own special 'Floyd' dishes gathered from roaming around the world over the last 40 years. By the way the book is published by Collins.

The other book that is coming out in time for Christmas is called 'A splash and a dash', published by Cassels. This is a load of my favourite dishes, most of which require some kind of wine or alcohol to enhance their flavours.

Thats all for now. Bonne Applebite

Floyd

And another thing:-

My son Patrick, who started me off on all of this, has got his own blog which is www.menscookeryclub.com