Stoked Up

I've just been browsing the pics from the recent Greece trip and realised that I've not written about the superb fish mezze we enjoyed. I will rectify that shortly but, in advance of that delicate, sophisticated, sunny, healthy post here's a proper blokey breakfast.

The occasion? Sunday morning in Stoke with my best friend - and keen amateur cook, budding foodie and soon-to-be-blogger Adam. The mood? Sombre, following the realisation that it WASN'T a bad dream and Rob Green had indeed flapped at a slow moving football with the sporting prowess of lard and the goalkeeping skills of a six-year old girl. The solution? We were in Stoke, so there is only one solution: a manly heart-stopping breakfast of fried stuff and oatcakes.

Forget the ones you can buy "down here", the proper Stoke oatcake is a thing of slippery, starchy beauty - and I'm not the only one who thinks so. A freshly cooked oatcake filled with bacon and cheese - and there are still cafes that make these pancake-like beauties from scratch - is something inherently British. It's also as good a hangover cure as you can get. Which is, admittedly / depressingly, probably what makes it inherently British.

Our breakfast featured great oatcakes, a fried egg, huge slabs of middle bacon, home-made cracked black pepper sausages, tinned tomatoes (all from the local butcher) and cheese (from Sainsbury). While it didn't make up for Green's rookie performance, it certainly put a smile on our faces. And people wonder why I don't update From Fat Bloke to Tough Guy as often as this one. Hmm. I think the events may be connected...