meemalee

They often say that a blog is a diary, a catalogue of events in one's life, although arguably a diary is more interesting to other people. I was always rubbish at keeping a diary though, and that's partly why I've failed to write about some events which I ought to have recorded. Take the picture at the top - this was the Scotch Egg Challenge at the Ship in Wandsworth. 36 contestants , 5 judges, one winner. Chef Mat Follas, celebrity baker Eric Lanlard, bloggers Chris Pople and David Constable and I chose the brilliant offering from the Devonshire Arms in Chiswick. The #ScotchEggChallenge as it was known on Twitter made the Evening Standard and the Guardian . A full account of the results on the Ship's blog here . At the start of last year, I took part in the Barbecoa Brawnoff. Food Urchin , Paul from How not to do a Food Blog , the Grubworm and I were each given a pig's head by the butchers at Barbecoa, Jamie Oliver's steakhouse in the City and challenged to ...

My homage. It's like the Yellow Wallpaper all over again. The incredible video below entitled MasterChef Synesthesia (Buttery Biscuit Bass) has been doing the rounds on the internet. I felt like I had to share it here too, since it combines two of my most favourite things - making fun of MasterChef, and a thumping BASS BASS BASS line. The maker Swede Mason have some other gems in their back catalogue - notably a strangely haunting Richard Madeley mashup and a surprisingly appealing Jeremy Clarkson beatbox track ((( Wobble, wobble, wobble))) EDITED TO ADD: You can now buy MasterChef Synesthesia on iTunes - let's get it to Number 1 in the charts! (official release - 7p from each download goes to Comic Relief) www.youtube.com/swedemason www.swedemason.com Buy the amazing OFFICIAL Buttery Biscuit Base T-shirt from Dental Records.

"I am here (It's Tim)". This text bleeps onto my phone as I emerge from the bowels of St Pancras Station. I text back, "Cool, almost there!" This is a lie - I've come out the wrong entrance and I'm desperately trying to find Eversholt Street to meet Tim Anderson , winner of this year's MasterChef at Asakusa. Finally I arrive, only to see Tim standing in front of the restaurant chatting on his mobile. Except it's not his mobile phone, but one belonging to a gentleman who is perched on his bike and looking at him half excitedly, half in abashment. It dawns on me that said gentleman has asked Tim to talk to his significant other/mother Tom Cruise-style , and I try very, very hard not to wet myself laughing. I smile at Tim and he smiles back, finishes speaking and hands the phone to the guy on the bike, who apologises for the intrusion. I contemplate offering to take a photo of him with Tim, and then decide it would just get too weird ... Anyway. Su...

2011 saw a brave new world as MasterChef (aka MehsterChef ) copied its Australian counterpart by installing a fancy piece of topiary and dragging out the already interminable extravaganza by showing us the previously untelevised audition stages. Hopefuls prepared their top dish to win a place in the final 20 (twenty!), but the series began with a whimper as the best part of the show - the Invention Test - seemed to have been consigned to history. Where's the fun in watching people make the one dish they know by heart? Where's the creativity, the ingenuity? Worse was the bizarrely humiliating format, as they were forced to wheel a tea-trolley of comestibles onto a stage and turn tricks for the gurning Gregg Wallace and John Torode. Hopes crushed, unsuccessful contenders wheeled their trolleys back off again under the eyes of their disappointed loved ones. After two episodes of X-FactorChef, I got fed up and turned off - even the gruesome twosome blind-folding contestants and m...

It's the morning after the night before and my husband, his brother, his brother's girlfriend and I ooze slowly down from the comfort of the lovely apartment and crumple into a little heap at the bottom of the stairs. "Morning," chirps a jaunty-hatted Mat Follas , in a pinchably cheerful manner, "Don't tell me you've just got up?". "Grhmmmhrth", I say as we sit down at the long wooden table for some reviving coffee and cake. It's not that early to be fair - 9.30am. The restaurant is full of other sprightly looking people - we've all gathered for a foraging course at the Wild Garlic led by expert Theo Langton and Mat himself. "You're wearing city shoes" says Mat about my tough, plain black Clark's boots, "You're going to get mucky". I make another noise of disdain and nurse my cup of coffee. The brother-in-law and girlfriend are a good bit younger than the husband and me and, thoroughly perked up, t...