The Food Urchin Chrimbo Supper Club
Oh Ye! Oh Ye! Hear me now!
Christmas is fast approaching and I am sure you have loads of fun things planned on the run up. Like sitting in traffic, queueing at the supermarket, tearing your hair out and screaming at your beloved ones, especially at the young 'uns as they pander to adverts on the television set and constantly repeat "I WANT THAT. I WANT THAT. I WHAT THAT." I know I might just take a cricket bat to ours soon!
Ho ho ho!
However, if you fancy a break from all that nonsense, if you urge some respite from the oncoming mania of the festive season, if you would simply like to sit down at someone else's table and enjoy a memorable, delicious Sunday lunch before the madness descends; then book yourself a place at the Food Urchin Chrimbo Supper Club based at my house in Hornchurch, which will be on the 16th of December.
Here is the menu, in the immortal words of Borat, "It's very niiiiiiiiiiice."
Smoked Mackerel Pâté with Chicory and Fennel
Roast Quail on Toast with Caramelised Onion and Tomato Picada
Slow Cooked Venison in Red Wine and Rosemary
Damson and Port Jelly
Panettone Bread Pudding OR Baked Quince with Honey, Bay, Verjuice, Pomegranate and Greek Yoghurt .
All the for the very reasonable donation of £25 per head and as always this includes homemade bread and the finest tap water you can find in Essex.
Vegetarian options are available on request.
And naturally, the house will be festooned in cheap twinkling lights and gaudy decorations from Poundland, just to get you in the mood. I might even hang my sparkling, pajazzed baubles out for you all to admire.
If you would like to reserve a seat then please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or if you would like to be on the mailing list for the supper club for future events, drop me a line anyway and I shall spam you till your hearts content. Or not, as the case maybe.
Love from The Furch.
PS. Incidentally, I took the twins to visit Santa at our local department store on Sunday, the very old fashioned Roomes in Upminster where I do believe Mrs. Betty Slocombe is still working and still harping on about her pussy. And may I just say, he was the most uninterested, boring Father Christmas I have ever encountered. He was one day into the job and already his eyes were dead and his patter was just soulless. I suspect the road to the 25th will be long and arduous for this particular and possible former RADA graduate and he'll be on the whisky by then end of the week.
Oh well, the kids were enthralled nevertheless and at least I can put the squeeze on them for the next month or so.
"That's it! I am calling Father Christmas! I am telling him RIGHT NOW that the pair of you have been very, very naughty!"
Works a charm everytime.