Well, well, the sun is shining and it's fairly warm in Londres today. Who saw that coming? I realise it's June, but one cannot count one's weather chickens in this country. They kick you in the arse if you try that stuff.
Mrs O and I are finally heading to Seasalter in Kent this weekend for our long-planned gourmet evening on Saturday. We had initially intended to do this during the winter, but Kent was partially submerged and the trains all drowned or something. So we postponed until Saturday.
We're heading to The Sportsman, a Michelin-starred restaurant and pub. The chef there sets great store by sourcing local ingredients. The area is particularly famed for its lamb. The junior sheep down there feed on salt marshes. This imbues their flesh with an especially rich flavour apparently. They essentially season themselves. Mrs O is so excited by the idea that's she fallen off the vegetarian wagon for the occasion. I shall probably opt for a fish. I couldn't eat a lamb; they have too much joie de vivre. Whereas your average chubb or whelk looks fairly insouciant about the whole sentience thing, so I don't feel such a heel eating them.
Yum twice.
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