24 Food Questions Tag.

Thanks to Sharon from Sunshine and Celandines who inspired me to try to answer these 24 questions. She in turn was inspired by Bev‘s blog, who ‘stole’ Kerri’s post, who borrowed the list from Llino, who cited using the tag from SarahNow I see how easy it is for ideas to travel via the internet!

There were supposed to be 25 questions, but after counting and recounting I found out that number 16 on four of the blogs was missing, so 24 questions it is! If anyone knows what happened to question 16 do let us know!

I even asked David these questions and below are both our replies

1. What’s your favourite breakfast?

Christine: Oaty granola and coffee.

David: Wheetabix.

2. How do you drink your coffee?

Christine: Strong and black or a nice Costa.

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David: Milky and weak.

3. What’s on your favourite sandwich?

Christine: Three cheese and mayonnaise.

David: Gregg’s Tuna Crunch.

4. Soup or salad?

Christine: Depends, probably a nice spicy soup.

David: Salad.

5. What’s your favourite cookbook?

Christine: BBC Good Food or Google.

David: YouTube.

6. No more sweets or no more hearty foods?

Christine: No more sweets, I’m more of a savoury girl.

David: No more hearty foods.

7. Your favourite cuisine?

Christine and David: Indian!

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8. What’s your favourite food movie?

Christine: Lord of the Rings, not really to do with food but I love the Hobbits’ mealtimes: breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, supper!

David: Ratatouille, can’t think of any other film!

9. Your most guilty pleasure?

Christine: I love a nice glass of wine, or clotted cream with jam and scones, though don’t have it that often, (too fattening!!)

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David: Strawberry gateau.

10. Your greatest inspirational source?

Christine: Music.

David: Life.

11. Cooking at home or going out for dinner?

Christine: Depends, sometimes it’s nice to cook a healthy meal at home, but then sometimes it’s good to be waited on.

David: Home.

12. High end or low profile?

Christine: High – I love dressing up and feeling special.

David: Low.

13. Your favourite restaurant?

Christine and David: Saffron.

Christine. I would like to go out more often!

14. I do my grocery shopping at…

Christine and David: Adsa!

Christine: Sometimes visit Aldi for salmon at Christmas and Easter.

15. The tastiest food I’ve ever eaten was…

Christine: I enjoyed a nice aubergine moussaka from a restaurant a few years ago.

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David: Chicken Shahi curry

16. Coffee with George Clooney or Heston Blumenthal?

Christine: Neither, but at a push Heston

David: Not much of an option… George

17. What should not be missing in your kitchen?

Christine: A hob

David: Spices

18. What’s your favourite snack?

Christine: Mixups, I love crisps!

David: Dried roasted nuts.

19. What’s on your pizza?

Christine: Lots of vegetables.

David: Chicken.

20. Food you really dislike?

Christine: Baby artichokes, horrible slimy things once cooked!

David: Sweetcorn and cooked spinach.

21. Your favourite food blog?

Christine: Chungah at Damn Delicious.

David: None.

22. What’s the weirdest thing you have eaten?

Christine: Quail or pheasant, no wonder I turned vegi!

David: Lobster.

23. What’s on your food bucket list?

Christine: Black rice.

David: Black Jerra seeds

24. I couldn’t live without…

Christine: Lentils or beans!!

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David: Chocolate.

And on that note I’ll finish! Reading back on the answers given, it seems David and I have quite opposite tastes.

Maybe you can add your own answers to the above questions and continue the tag?

Happy eating!

Christine x

 

 

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Ideas for a Story

As you may know I have embarked on a short, free creative writing course with the Open University.

This is the second ‘large’ piece of writing I have been tasked to do. It was inspired by a short video introducing the course and I have tried to pull a story from one of the images featured. Of a young woman sitting, awaiting a bus with an over night bag on her lap. Let me know what you think of the first 500+ words and if it has any promise for me to continue with. Thanks. Christine.

 

I remember… how he looked the morning he walked into the class room. The bright spring sunshine flowed into the room, touching the heads of twenty four rowdy teenagers and me. I sat gazing out of the window to the park below. The trees were heavy limbed with pink blossom and daisy heads interjected the green grass of the playing fields. I watched as an elderly man walked his dog, a young mother pushed her baby in a pram while talking into a mobile phone. All life was going on before me while I sat stifled and bored awaiting the new form teacher to arrive and to begin another day of endless classes. Don’t get me wrong, I loved studying, was always in the top 5% of classes but life at present seemed an endless chore. Mother had just remarried to a pig of a man, Dan and my older sister Melanie, had started her first semester at Manchester University studying politics. So it was just ‘little old’ me in a house far too large for three people, (two of whom I tried to avoid at all times,) and Jake the Border Collie. ‘Perhaps I’ll take the dog for a walk after school,’ I thought and then the door was flung open and in he walked!

It was his confident swagger that gripped me first. He didn’t look much older than 25, but his poise gave him the air of a much older man. I think I half envied him then! Confidence was never a strong character trait with me. Indeed that was why I was sitting alone while the rest of the girls in class were all huddled at the back chatting to the boys, the good looking boys I may hasten to add. He breezed in and demanded such attention that everyone fell silent. ‘I’m Mr. Blake and I will be your new class teacher.’

It didn’t take long for the brassy ones of the class to pipe up, ‘sir, which school have you transferred from? What subject do you teach?’ The latter was voiced by the girls who were suddenly sitting alert like animals in anticipation of food.

‘Poor Mr. Blake,’ I thought. ‘He’s a carrot dangling before all these hormonal girls, many on the verge of womanhood,’ He bent over his desk and peered into the class register. He patted his shirt pocket, looking for something.

‘I’ve forgotten my glasses. Forgive me if I get your names wrong. I’m rather short sighted.’ His voice was rich and soft like the wind sighing through the trees. If I closed my eyes I could picture his voice coming from the radio late at night, announcing some relaxing piece of music. I smiled as I thought I wouldn’t mind lying in bed listening to his voice all night. ‘Olivia Edwards,’ he was saying my name. ‘Olivia Edwards is she here?’ and then I opened my eyes. He was scanning the sea of faces before him looking for someone he thought resembled an Olivia.

‘Here,’ I managed to squeak. His eyes rested on my face and I half envisaged a slight turn up of his lips.

‘Nice to meet you Olivia Edwards,’ and inside my heart pounded.

‘Amongst the Bluebells.’

You courted me all day long,

And my heart believed your song.

You said I was ‘pretty,’

And I thought you were mightily witty.

 

By the hand you whisked me to a dell,

Where you said ‘I love you’ until I fell.

Around us shimmered a pale hue,

A mass of heads swayed blue.

 

By John William Inchbold,

 

There we lay, just you and I,

As a stream trickled nearby.

Dappled light glistened through the trees,

As we listened to the sound of bees.

 

Sharing a kiss here and there,

Your hands wandered everywhere.

Breast to breast we did embrace,

As I let you untie my lace.

 

Cold air on skin,

Surely this must be a sin?

‘Palm to palm’ do lovers touch,

Oh this really is too much!

 

A lone doe skittered past,

As you held me fast.

I looked into your eyes, wide,

How your love filled me with pride.

 

In ecstasy I cried out your name,

I really should blush with shame.

You made me feel all warm inside,

And your gaze left me nowhere to hide.

 

Afterwards we shared our dreams,

We talked until we saw moonbeams.

Stars shone bright up above,

As we revelled in our love.

 

‘Will you come here again?’ you asked,

In answer, I simply gasped.

‘Will you lie with me amongst the bluebells?’

Yes, as long as nobody tells.

 

Christine Lucas © 2014

Picture by John William Inchbold, British, 1830–1888, Mid-Spring, c. 1856, oil on panel