Having sniffled and sweated my way through a particularly
nasty cold, I celebrated my first day of feeling well with a trip to Manchester
with Amy this week; we did a bit of window shopping, returned something hideous I’d
bought and most importantly we dropped in to a Turkish restaurant at 205 Deansgate:
Topkapi Palace. Apparently Roger’s been to the real deal on a school trip;
alas, I am but a poor lout who’s never been to Turkey. I’d seen this place the
week before on my way to the Museum of Science and Industry and noted how it
actually had people sitting inside, as well as a decent lunch menu of £7.95 for
two courses, so we decided to give it a try.
Not having set foot on Spanish soil, my experience of paella
so far hasn’t been that great. A market stall in northern France does shine
through in my memory; heaving with onlookers all ogling a steaming pan the
width of a double bed, we fought our way through the crowd for a family-size
portion of the stuff, studded with spindly langoustines, peppers and tomatoes. But
of course that was good; I was ten
for god’s sake and it was the holidays!
As well as the
little wooden puli dog that I ADORE, one of the things I brought back with me
from Hungary was a few packets of smoked cheese called Karavan. Reka’s mum, on
our arrival at the flat had laid out a magnificent spread of meats, cheeses and
salads but the clear favourite was a pyramid of cheesy puffs. We went wild for
them and crammed them in pretty much every minute we were awake until sadly, we
scoffed them all.
