Butchering The “Prada Of Pigs”

I can barely cut bread straight without making enormous door stop slices or shearing off ugly looking butchered pieces. Tonight I'm publicly attempting to calve jamon in front of a group of strangers. Recently refurbished, La Tasca is launching a new menu and to help spread the word a group of Leeds-based bloggers have been assembled at the Greek Street branch.

We're first fooled into believing it's actually still summer by generously replenished glasses of both traditional and La Tasca's own special Cava Sangria. Originating from the Spanish word for blood and once known as “Red Cup Punch”, Sangria is traditionally made from a brandy base. La Tasca's “traditional” mix shuns this ingredient, instead using a mixture of vodka, Bacardi and orange cointreau pre-made. Of course the normal red wine, lemonade and fruits are then added.

Our barman for the night, Tom, quickly rustles up a Sangria, reminding us pre-made supermarket mixes are readily available and that sugar is a vital ingredient to take-away the bitterness of red Bordeaux wines. He uses the standard 25ml measures but encourages us to up the value once at home.

The Cava version is advertised as using La Tasca's own secret spirit mix but watching Tom's expert cocktail skills, I now know to combine the Cava and lemonade with peach schnapps and blackcurrant liquor. To finish up cranberries are added – unable to soak up alcohol, they attractively float on top, ensuring you get one of your five a day.

Two of the group try their hand at making both Sangria versions before an authentic Spaniard educates us about traditional jamon. Sergio explains Western Spain is best for jamon, siting Extremadura and Salemanca as typical areas where jamon can be found in its natural form, running around free-range munching on a type of acorn. For those of us having trouble deciphering Sergio's accent, Tom clarifies this is not Akon but the kind that grows on trees.

Dubiously but impressively dubbed the “Prada of Pigs”, this jamon leg is hung for 18 months and cured in the normal way, costing a staggering £650 for the leg. Its foot is black, indicating top range meat and “Cerdos Felices” (happy pigs). Bizarrely, we're told the fat is healthy and warned that once we taste it, we'll never eat parma ham again.

Wrapping it around plain tasting crunchy picos bread sticks, we're all in agreement it has a slightly cheesy flavour and it prompts my stomach to growl. Thankfully, we're soon ushered downstairs and treated to a feast of tapas dishes, ranging from the conventional expected chorizo, meatballs and Patatas Bravas to more unusual dishes like pork belly with rosemary infused beans and paprika and garlic chicken wings. Unsure what anything is, I even enjoy sampling fishy dishes, taking on a Montadito de Gambas (toasted ciabatta with smoked pancetta and prawns) and a Pescado Blanco Frito (deep fried white fish in batter with paprika, roasted garlic and lemon mayonnaise).

We're all encouraged to give Come Dine With Me style ratings. Our average is 7.5 so La Tasca must be doing something right. I may not be dumping the parma ham quite yet but I may well return to La Tasca.

The Perfect Ponderous Present

As the festive season draws nearer, we'll all be contemplating presents we'd like to receive and possible gifts for others. Winter is always busy for Birthdays too and as University days have well gone and many of us are pretty skint at the moment, the days of giving and receiving presents to and from friends seem to have passed.

With this in mind, I offer you the perfect economical gift. I found this little beauty in a small Asian newsagents in Leeds down the road from Kirkgate Market. I was instantly taken by its obscurity and preoccupied in guessing its purpose. With this in mind, it seemed like the ideal entertaining but useful present.

I've since given this to four unsuspecting folk and every time it has gone down a treat. The ladies seem to be more accurate judges than the gents and guesses have thus far ranged from a cancerous lung to a bib. What it actually is I 'm not going to reveal. The whole point of this gift is the fun you have guessing and the bizarre conversations it seems to prompt...

Drowning In Life's Dramas

Everyone has bad days when everything seems to go wrong and it's impossible to shake that sluggish feeling. Today has been one of those days so somewhat distracted and unfocused, I decide to treat myself to the end of season three of the excellent United States Of Tara.

I find it hard regularly keeping up with TV shows and continuing to have a life away from the box so often watch programmes in large chunks once a season or series has ended. As usual, I've finished season three of Tara months after the last episode was televised.

It's common knowledge that the appeal of magazines with real life and “true” stories lie in our own failing self-esteem. People generally read these stories in the hope that the subject has a sorrier life than theirs, to make themselves feel better and less freakish. Watching Tara was supposed to have a similar effect.

For anyone who doesn't know the show, get watching! It's a comedy-drama, created by Diablo Cody (Juno, Jennifer's Body) with Steven Spielberg as Executive Producer about a suburban mum (Toni Collette) coping with dissociative identity disorder:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dissociative_identity_disorder

Collette unsurprisingly picked up two awards for her outstanding performance as the titular character.

More surprising, was the news I read after watching season three's final episode. Rather than providing me with the warm cheesy glow I craved, the final episode left me feeling drained and of course, wanting more. A quick google search and I discover the show has been cancelled, despite one website's dubious advertisement for DVDs of season four! Why Tara is no more remains a mystery – the first season had ridiculously high ratings and after just a few episodes of season two, the third was announced.

Discovering a favourite show is ending is always a hollow blow, especially when you've invested so much time with the characters and feel almost part of their lives. Studio bosses never consider the viewer when axing shows with unresolved plots. I just hope, like Prison Break, a TV movie is made to tie-up the many loose ends and in the meantime, may even join the Tara facebook campaign for its return.

http://www.facebook.com/USOTS4

The Post-Student Paradox

I've been waiting for a taxi for some time now when a huge group of students wearing false glasses arrive. Preoccupied by the “Geek Party” they're soon to attend, they're oblivious to anyone else around them, excitably chattering and unthinkingly rushing forward as soon as a taxi arrives. We've followed the system and are doing the British thing - waiting in a queue of equally weary folk. Realising I may well spend the night outside Royal Cars if I'm not assertive and continue to allow this queue-jumping, I charge towards a taxi as it pulls up, climbing in the back, ignoring the protests of a wide-eyed boy and girl who claim I'm being aggressive.

Living in a “student city” like Leeds guarantees a population surge every September with the influx of returning students or newbie freshers. Although I was a student once in this very city, it is now over a decade since I graduated and at times, I find it almost impossible not to be exasperated by the flocks of fresh-faced students over-running the city.

Having been infuriated last summer by the tendency for everything to shut down during the university holiday period, I recognise the positive impact the student population brings. As an ex-Leeds student, I'm also of course grateful for my degree and all the fond memories I have from my student days but I can't help but quite illogically resent this student invasion.

Perhaps I'm envious of their lack of responsibility and the prospect of new beginnings but this inexplicable feeling I have, seems to be one I share with a lot of friends who were frankly grateful to have finished their degrees and finally be earning money. There may well be the perfect basis for a sociology thesis here but lacking such a degree and the jargon that accompanies it, for the moment I'm going to call this phenomenon The Post-Student Paradox and continue to display the unfathomable symptoms that go with it.

A Meal With A Poorly Hidden Agenda

I'd describe myself as entirely apathetic to most spectator sports, except of course when the virtually year-long football season begins and I suddenly migrate to the inferior-sized bedroom TV in search of alternative entertainment. Despite this, I'd go to a live football match just for the experience to soak in the scene, so stumbling across Howard's during an Internet search gives me the excuse to finally visit Leeds United's home stadium, Elland Road.

When I first discover, a new restaurant has opened, I'm expecting a packed-out pub environment with chanting beer soaked fans chowing down pies, burgers and chips in a garish backdrop of blue, yellow and white furnishings. Studying the almost elusive on-line menu is enough to convince me Howard's is worth a go and I'm soon travelling across the city, trying my best to ignore a radio discussion about the state of Arsenal.

I've done plenty of restaurant reviews before but this is my first surprise review for a new website. The venue normally know I'm coming and I have to interview the manager and tour the restaurant as part of the review. I've even had to write “favourable” reviews for higher paying clients advertising on the site but never an anonymous review.

I'm instructed to take pictures of all of my food and even the wine bottle label. I'm really not sure how I'm going to subtly carry this out and soon realise this is virtually impossible. I've attempted to make a few unseen notes and have taken a picture of the menu but as we are currently the sparse restaurant's only customers, I'm pretty sceptical I've managed to elude detection.

My doubts are confirmed when the waiter comes over handily bringing me a print-out of the menu but I'm still keeping my mouth shut, hoping I look more like a stereotypical Japanese tourist.

Later, we're given peach granite to tide us over until the starters are ready and I feel somewhat suspicious I'm getting preferential treatment until I see other diners arrive who are also presented with the same attractively presented fruity slush.

Alarm bells ring again when we're handed two champagne flutes, but I'm once again appeased as I realise everyone in the restaurant is now toasting to a Birthday celebration with the same impromptu Prosecco. It seems the restaurant manager, Philippe Lopez, is just exceedingly skilled at making all his customers feel special without hijacking their meals.

I pay up, carefully tucking away the receipt and head-out towards the taxi that awaits, cluelessly asking Philippe who Howard's is named after. He's keen to oblige, taking me to the entrance and pointing at a photograph of Leeds United's second most successful manager. “Perhaps you'd like to take a picture he says?” and I'm again wondering whether my under-cover reviewer's identity has been blown. One thing is clear, tonight has certainly been a guessing game for both Philippe and I.

Donkeys Need a Holiday Too You Know

This is the second week that I have been back from my holiday and I'm already planning the other European based break we've agreed to go on. Doing my daily sift through all the press releases I get sent, I come across something that fits my holiday mood and makes me smile. As it's unlikely many will ever see this, I've decided to share it here. The following is taken from a client survey carried out by holiday property rental website, HomeAway.co.uk:

Top 5 most unusual questions:


1. Can you guarantee the pool heat at a constant 88 degrees and if not can we get a discount for every degree under?


2. Can we have a machete/cutlass to keep under our bed?


3. Can you move the house 180 degrees?


4.Where is the nearest shop for kosher foods and what are the exact measurements of frozen food space in the villa to store the supplies?


5. What is the distance between the toilet seat and the nearest wall?



Top 5 funniest questions:



1. Is there any way to stop the church bells from ringing at 7am?


2. Could you please send a picture of the toaster?


3. Do you cater for UK swinger holidays?


4. Is it all right to jump naked into the pool?


5. What are the floors in each room made of and can we see some pictures of them?



Top 3 funniest animal-related questions

1. Where can we keep our donkey at night?


2. How many mosquitoes do you have? (The owner replied “3, one called Fred, one called George and one called Mildred”. The amused holidaymaker subsequently booked!)


3. Am I likely to get eaten by an alligator? (for a property in Florida)


The Failed Prude

As my body is propelled forward, both skis are ripped off and ill-fitting bikini bottoms solely worn for very occasional beach holidays determinedly attempt to heighten my already growing shame. Ever since I can remember I've been a bit of a prude but for some unfortunate reason my clothes seem to have their own rather contrary opinions about flesh coverage.

Recently attempting and failing to water ski in St Lucia, I was actually relieved in many ways I never managed to properly stand-up. After a strange “10 minute lesson” spent squatting and leaning forward on a wooden jetty, my first attempt was unsurprisingly not so successful. Ever-determined I tried five more times to stand-up, occasionally managing to briefly be dragged along partially stood. On these few occasions, rather than fear of speed or failure, I was more concerned I might expose myself as the action of the boat suddenly moving forward and me being dragged out of the water seemed to be some kind of signal to my bikini bottoms, telling them it was time to meet their watery grave.

As a child I apparently ran around the garden naked in yellow wellingtons. As an over-weight teenager I dreaded changing-room showers at school and as the years have passed little seems to have changed; In Virgin Active's poser's playground, I'm the one either waiting for one of the few changing cubicles, seeking solace in the extremely under-used more private family section or carefully manoeuvring clothes under the cover of a strategic towel. Any beach holidays I have been on, I've always been reluctant to put on a bikini and have never walked around in one, grabbing for a t-shirt or wrap instead. Of course this all boils down to a lifetime of being overly conscious about my body.

Despite my obvious hang-ups, I seem to be pretty bad at assessing the most appropriate attire to modestly undertake some of the more adventurous activities out there. The most memorable part of my New Zealand bungee jump was my water “touch” landing. On the morning of the bungee I purposely planned my outfit to avoid exposing flesh but failed miserably in my selection. Having tried my upper arm strength on the pole in the past, I'm well aware of how annoying loose-fitting clothes can be when you're upside down. Thinking I'd found the perfect bungee ensemble, I was pretty gutted when I was dunked below my knees into Taupo's river to bounce back up exposing a full tummy and soaked high-risen bra. The guys reeling me in with a pole couldn't resist commenting on the British tendency to “get our tits out”.

Although I was pretty devastated, The exhilaration of the bungee managed to over-ride my shame, until I examined the still souvenir shots on sale for all to see. Needless to say, I didn't purchase any photographic evidence of this wardrobe malfunction and I'm grateful to say no-one managed to capture last week's bikini bottom near disappearance.