"A bit spicy for my taste but pleasant enough."
When Mrs Puskás shared her goulash recipe it was to fuel armed resistance. She couldn't have imagined 80 years later it would be receiving reluctant praise from a Glaswegian mum and wowing Islington dinner parties. I'm assuming she was Hungarian. Most Central European countries have their own take. I'm ashamed to admit I don't know the details but I'm looking forward to finding out. Helen says we'll get a feature out of it. We'll see.
Even if the origins of my goulash recipe remain secret, the magic ingredient is something I'll happily share. It's fat. By all means make a healthy stew but don't call it goulash. Cattle herders and resistance fighters need calories. When fatty cuts of beef melt away they create the ultimate comfort food. Sometimes the body craves fat. It's like when you stagger out of the pub and you have the burning desire for a deep-fried Mars Bar. The English look down on that but British drinking culture lends itself to culinary horrors. In parts of England they do a thing called a parmo. It's breaded chicken, cheese and bechamel sauce. I used to find the thought of them disgusting. If you put one in front of me now I'd demolish it.
After lunch dad offered me a lift. I told him not to worry. Clerkenwell was out of his way. Besides I musn't get there too early. "Ach, just get a drink and wait in the Exmouth Tavern. It's touristy these days but your grandad took me there for my first pint. it's our culture Heather. Embrace it."
As we approached my final destination we came to a gentle stop at the lights. There was a pretty, blonde boy crossing the road. In a world of his own he was. He was smiling. Presumably pre-occupied with the lucky lady who'd be spending the night with him. He was weighed down with so much booze he could've been hosting a Downing Street lockdown party. Actually, I shouldn't joke. It sickens me that. You'd never have got away with that in Cameron's day. I've interviewed people of all political hues. They all say how charismatic Cameron was. He'd a fiery temper but he'd only bawl you out for your own good. Once he'd given you the hair-dryer he'd build you back up until you felt 10 feet tall. People would've ran through brick walls for him. He was highly persuasive.
