How Not To Ramzan

Of me, this you will already know: I'm no defender of the faith, a faith or any faith for that matter. I am convinced though, that whatever the Gods may be, they almost certainly don't have this constant thirst for appeasement and adulation. That would be Voldemort, or Sauron, don't you think? You do what is fair and just, you live, you let live and you help where you can. Everything else is just cosmetic fluff and dressage.

That said, I do understand the solace that benign, charitable and benovelent religious practices and traditions, steeped in millenia of human learning and experience bring to the soul for millions of people. I am after all, a conservative.

My disclaimer done, let me get to what I wanted to really say...

This latest thing, this annoying new pebble in my shoe, this so called 'Libdem Iftar' and the pronouncements from the odd rabble of Ed Davey, Layla Moran, Siobhan Benita, Ian Manning and assorted fruitcakes, and the one day, yeah, just the ONE measly day of fasting on the 25th of April is probably the loopiest idea I have ever heard of.

Trust me, I have had the abject misfortune of an audience with the exalted eminence of the Corbyn, Abbott & Chairman McMao troika - I know loopy down pat. But I digress. Sorry, as you were...

The observance of Ramzan (Ramadan) is a serious and sombre religious practice; a time of deep & humble (yes, humility is pretty much the central theme here) introspection. Millions of Muslims have done it for centuries, without any fanfare or making a song & dance about it.

Turning it into a farcical fad, a desperate signal of feigned virtue disguised as 'solidarity' in the typical colonial mindset wins you nothing but ridicule. Well in my opinion anyway.

Does anyone remember the oft misquoted and misrepresented 'picanninies and watermelon smiles' article by Boris Johnson? Of course you do. Everybody does. Well here's the thing: He was talking about you - you of the smug 'White Saviour' complex. The Ed Daveys, the Layla Morans and the Siobhan Benitas of this world. We know you don't mean it. You know we know you don't mean it. And we know you know we know you don't mean it, and yet here we stand, wondering what hell happened to British political discourse over the years. I distinctly remember it being a grown up thing instead of this infantalised 'me clever, you clever, we got bare GCSE, innit?' 8-bit video game.

The Tories have done everything they possibly could to look and be silly, Labour have been better at it and turned silly into a sublime art form. The Liberal Democrats, oh well, you guys just won gold 5 years in a row.

After all, as the silly sweepstakes go, nothing beats showing solidarity with your Muslim brethren than starting your very public holy fast with a belly full of bacon, complete with pictures to flood all social media showing terribly under-cooked pork on your plate. 

And you wonder why you're an irrelevant and spent force. Or farce, I forget which.

This is why.

Double Decker Bread Pakodas

The Potato filling: Boil up some potatoes Maris Pipers or King Edwards are best. Mash them up and mix VERY finely chopped onions (or spring onions), green chillies, ground (not powdered) coriander seeds, some turmeric powder, red chilli powder, amchur, ajwain, a pinch or two of garam masala, finely chopped coriander leaves - stems and all, garlic and ginger paste, some ground black pepper and of course, namak-shamak (salt!).

The batter: Gram flour mixed with copious amounts of ajwain, red chilli powder, dried chilli flakes if you are brave enough, salt, turmeric powder, hing (asafoetida powder), garlic powder, kasuri methi, dhaniya powder and a hefty bit of olive oil. Add water and whisk until you get a thick consistent mix.

The procedure: Use 50-50 bread. Make two-tier sandwhiches in the following order -

Bread

Potato mix

Green chutney

Bread

Ketchup

Potato mix

Bread

Press them down to flatten and cement them together, cut them into triangles, dip in the batter, and fry till they get a sexy tan.

Serve with all desi sauces and take pictures or it didn't happen.

I know it seems like a labour of love, but then it ain't good cooking if it isn't.

Stupid is with me; I'm not with Stupid

Right, the last couple of days have revealed four new levels of stupid. While the jokes and memes have been fun and entertaining - I've shared a few myself, it is hard trying to stay sane when surrounded by this much stupid without humour, so humour me; here's my list:

1. Entertaining the mere suggestion that the injestion of a disinfectant might rid you of a virus and could merit some kind of scientific inquiry. As dumb as dumb goes, that was right up there with, I dunno, David Lammy? 

2. Misquoting a stupid comment with an even more stupid inference under the guise of 'reporting' is galatically stupid and very, very irresponsible. The Donald did not say 'drink bleach', YOU did. You made it sound like he did. That's why you're dangerous and so very stupid. Whatever you call it, don't call it journalism. It isn't. It's just stupid. And then some.

3. Actually believing that the injestion of a disinfectant could rid you of a virus. Yes, if you think taking shots of Fairy liquid cleans up your insides, or mainlining Dettol is like yoga for the bloodstream, you are stupid. Of course downing bleach will clear your throat; and you along with it. That probably is a good thing - the gene pool could do with some cleaning up anyway. I think we should take "WARNING: May contain nuts" off bags of peanuts. No one can help you. Fortunately, there's not many of you, which is a bit of a relief.

4. Being a politician or a public figure and seriously thinking that a significant number of people would actually injest a disinfectant or shoot up on Savlon to rid themselves of a virus, and publicly warning them not to is very stupid. You don't come out as very bright if you think that anyone who votes for you or avidly follows you - essentially your fanbase is stupid. But then again, perhaps they are. Perhaps that's why they listen to you. Birds of a common feather and all.

Don't be stupid. Wash your hands. And don't come near me.

Boxitecture

The Lambeth Palace Library describes their new library building as 'magnificent'.

Yes, 'magnificent'. That is what they said, in print and all over their social media platforms. 

Seeing as we're all chucking about superlatives these days, might I venture an alternative suggestion of my own? Say, 'monstrosity'?

I'm sorry, but poetic licence can only be pushed so far. I've seen cardboard delivery boxes from Amazon and pallets of crushed plastic bottes destined for recycling with more soul. Magnificent is way too generous; and on my part, monstrosity is way too kind.

Lego is not architecture, dear Lambeth Council, and Minecraft is not a design software program.

It looks like a Soviet prison, gun turrets and all. Reminds me of Shawshank Redemption; sans the redemption.

*Before the usual suspects pile in, I'd like everyone to know that I now self-identify as a design and architecture expert and critic.

Chicken, Broccoli & Mushroom Stir Fry

Tonight I cooked an inspired chicken, broccoli and mushroom stir fry. Turned out brilliant!

Here's how...

First, ready the sauce: Take 3 cups of chicken stock, 2-3 tablespoons of dark soy sauce, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, a teaspoon each of garlic and ginger paste, 2 heaped tablespoons of corn starch, a teaspoon of sugar, and half a teaspoon of crushed peppercorns. Whisk until everything is thoroughly mixed. Set aside for later.

Next, chop up 3 chicken breasts into bite sized cubes and season them with sea salt, pepper and 3 finely chopped cloves of garlic. Toss them around in a hot wok with a little bit of olive oil until they brown up a bit from all sides. Turn off the heat.

Slice a fairly large red onion into thin slivers; diagonally chop 2 spring onions; thickly slice 200g of large button mushrooms; and cut about 2 heads of broccoli into little florets. Take 2 or 3 green chillies with a single slit along the length of each one.

Turn the heat back on (medium), add another tablespoon of olive oil to the chicken and chuck in the onions, stir for a few minutes until the onions become a little translucent. Add everything else, stirring all the while. Do this for about 6-7 minutes.

Next, whisk the sauce some more and pour it into the wok. Keep stirring until the sauce begins to thicken.

Occasionally, poke at the broccoli with a fork to check if it is cooked through but still al dente. Keep stirring until ready.

Serve in a bowl, on its own or atop some plain, slightly buttered rice - I used Basmati.

Add salt, pepper, Tabasco, or squeeze in some lemon or lime to your liking.

The whole meal takes about 30 minutes from start to finish, serves 4 people and costs a mere £7.

Money, Money, Money!

Want to get riled up a bit?

Imagine one single penny of Captain Tom Moore's £20 million going towards the £66,928-a-year pay-packet of a Diversity Officer. Or a £500,000 Banksy. Or to Richard Branson. Or to PFI Shareholders.

The one thing it won't do is bolster the wages of the superhereos working on the coal-face or deep in the trenches - you know the ones everyone claps for at 8pm every Thursday - or buy PPE.

Instead, it'll help pay for the latest Muswell Hill investment mortage of the non-medical capos and some 'consultants' previously fired from one NHS Trust, quickly to be snapped up by a different Trust, or even the same Trust they were fired from! Something not vastly different from foreign aid in the hands of third world dictators.

And of course, while these apparatchiks baste their veal steaks in hard-won funds from the people like Captain Tom Moore and taxes extracted from shop assistants and cleaners; teachers and nurses, coppers and waiters; entrepreneurs and shopkeepers under pain of imprisonment, they'll whine and moan to the Left wing press and Sky TV and the BBC about how the NHS has no money and how the bloody Tories need to hand over moar moolah.

The NHS always needs money. It needs more money. It needs ALL the money. When it's had that, it needs some more. Since Tony Blair, the NHS has always been 3 days, 10 days, two weeks, one month, 2 months away from utter collapse and financial ruin, depending on which Trotksyesque-porn rag you read.

Sadly, a lot people buy into the NHS sob story. These will of course mostly be the same ungrateful wretches that wished the likes of Captain Moore, the likes of who while still in their teens, stormed a hostile beach under heavy shelling and gunfire so they could plant the trees of freedom they knew they might never sleep under the shade of, dead; because they voted to leave the European Union.

All over my social media timelines, I see self-aggrandisingly lurid videos of these Bollingers Bolshivek 'officers' clapping outside their 5-bedroom bungalows with a jacuzzi in their back gardens, and a Range Rover out front in the leafy outer London commuter-belt suburbs. Paid for, of course, by you and me.

It sounds like hyenas cackling over the corpse of a dead zebra.

Fusion Food

Right, here's what I did tonight:

Boiled Ricotta & Spinach Tortellini (supermarket bought, sorry) lightly stir fried in butter and pasta sauce, served with a topping of steaming hot blanched baby spinach stir fried in olive oil, with a blend of onions, tomatoes, ginger-garlic paste, red chilli flakes and assorted spices, topped with chunks of butter and sprinkled with chopped super hot Indian green chillies (yes, I can be quite the masochist), a few drops of red Tabasco and ground (not powdered) black pepper and some lime juice...

Yumzers!

Where do we go from here, Sir Keir?

My 2¢:

The King is dead; long live the King!

If you think the Corbyn era is over, you haven't seen the grip his apparatchiks, his Momentum thugs, his effnik comoonity leaders, and his groupies have on the NEC and the Unions.

Sir Starmer has his work cut out for him: Purging Labour of rabid commies, Jew-hating, tinfoil hat Illuminati aficionados, college-campus spliffed up, Stormzy-fellating kumbaya-kids, old fogies still in thrall of Marx, Engels, Lenin or Guevara, and establishment Bollinger Bolshevik civil servants high on other people's money, won't be easy.

I don't envy the guy.

And if any of you are wondering, I do care about this. A useless opposition is too easy. Too easy is tiresome. Sir Starmer had better be good.

I was rooting for Nandy though, but hey, male, pale and stale it is.