Last night (Saturday) I had the best night EVER. I trekked from South East London to blinking Hackney to visit the extremely wonderful @MissWhiplash with @shedlikesfood and @miss_jordi. We had a fabulous night of champagne, onglet, actual deep fried naughty chips, wine, pudding wine, tarte tatin (Miss W made her own puff pastry, the nutjob.)
The night was fun. MORE than fun – it was brilliant. While I was there, I discussed methods of cooking pork belly with Miss W. The consensus was Long And Slow. When I got home, I decided to score my beasty belly up, which was all well and good until I encountered this:
AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH! THERE ARE NIPPLES! NIFFLES! SNIFFLES! Nipples. Actually, they didn’t freak me out. They made me laugh my ass off (I was drunk). However, I was aware that my guest would not appreciate a crunchy mammory gland, so I removed the offending section. I slightly regret losing the extra crunch.
Feeling smug about my midnight preparation, I rolled into bed (which was filled with glass due to a broken lightbulb) where I barely slept at all due to the gits that live a few doors down from me who decided to party until 5am (DISAPPROVING, OLD FACE) and the skin tag on my back which, unbeknownst to me, had turned entirely black overnight – possessed by Satan. One way or another, I had naff all sleep.
So getting up at 8am to cook a pork belly p***ed me off an inordinate amount. I wanted to KILL. But I am, if nothing else, a hostess with the mostest, so I cracked on and threw the non-nippley belly in the oven and trotted back to bed… where I was abused by this little lady jumping all over me:
HOW PRETTY?? Much as I love her, I desperately wanted her to be removed from my body buffer zone so I could do masses of snoozing. It wasn’t to be. SO. On with the naughty pork. Tom from The English Pig had told me that I should do it for 1 hour at 200c, 1 hour at 150c, 4 hours at 100c. This is what happened:
This is the beauty after 1 hour! BEAUTIFUL. Massive concern that it was cooking too fast.
4 hours. Looking a bit scary and burnt and soggy in the middle. However, it all worked out a treat. I chucked the oven up to 220c for a little while (15 mins) and the crackling became a thing of great beauty.
FOOD PORN! Actual food porn. CRUNCHY. Do you want to see The Plate? OK…
Yeah, I know. Ming. MING-A-LING. Why? My friend and I ate lunch at around 2pm. I made this plate up out of cold skanky food at around 8pm. BLEURGH. (I did eat it yes. The crackling was still aces 6 hours later! I ROCK.)
SO. I think we can safely say that pork belly, yorkshire puddings, buttery mash and about 4 gallons of wine is not Diet Food. Yes, I suck.
The diet starts tomorrow, 22 August 2011. I have fruit, vegetables….and no guests. It starts here kidz. Roll on next Friday.