Politicised Flapjacks

With a parental state visit occurring last week, we were prepping hard to pretend that we live like human beings. We did the hoovering, watered the houseplants, wiped and/or dusted all surfaces, and the plants on the balcony were either replaced or pruned to within an inch of their lives. The flat was sparkling but I wasn’t finished- what about food? My dad’s a coeliac, which means he can’t eat wheat. Now here’s where I get political: the government has decided to stop funding the special bread that my dad and countless others get on prescription from the pharmacy.

Çerkez tavuğu

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.

Granola Bars

Normally the granola bar is seen as the boring cousin of the flapjack. Dry and often tasteless, I’ll be the first to admit that I’d side with the flapjack if it was pitted against the granola bar in a fight. This may have something to do with a lust for golden syrup that’s rarely sated but the fact that so many granola bars are dry and hard, rather than moist and soft is always a turn off for me. Last week however, I made the mistake of buying an unsatisfactory coconut and after having shoved a quarter of it in a spicy chicken pulao rice dish, I still had three quarters of the soft-fleshy thing left. Always one to rise to a challenge, I went in search of recipes that could tempt me and lo, the granola bar won.