Wednesday, 17 June 2009

What a Coq Up!

Wotcha, cock!  Red junglefowl, by A O Hume - public domainI was shambling home from work yesterday when I passed, for the umpteenth time, a neat little café near the station. I've never eaten there, and out of curiosity I happened to pause at the blackboard advertising their £5 special outside. My first thought was that this was rather good value.

Struck with sudden doubt and disbelief, I turned around, and checked the sign again. My second thought was that it might be very bad value indeed.

The main feature of the deal was a dish called Coq au Vim.

Ah, Vim! The jaunty livery of that daddy of all scouring powders - which still ruled the roost, or at least the grotty parts of the kitchen, in my early childhood - still has the power to unleash a surprising flood of nostalgic associations in its train. But its alternative kitchen use as a budget marinade for chicken is one of which I was previously unaware. And since I no longer possess the cast-iron guts of youth, I reluctantly decided that this was one nostalgia trip for which I would not, after all, be buying my ticket.


  1. You ought to submit that somewhere!

  2. Ah, but where, that's the question!

    I do admit that part of my reason for starting this blog was to conquer my tendency to write by the kilogram, and to polish the more journalistic aspect of my art a little bit. But who other than myself would wish to publish such whimsical vignettes as these of skiffy and scouring powder? I dunno.

    But thanks for the appreciation!


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