Icey, spicey, nice an ricey! Yo sushi!

So its a Thursday night and my friend and I decide to venture to the Trafford Centre for a spot of Sushi! I think its about time I become cultered and use the chopsticks!! After finally managing to get some form of technique going, I figure that eating one noodle at a time is perfectly normal, and probably better for my hips. Absolute tekkers! After a plate or 7, we decide to tally up our plate prices and realise we have been eating the champagne of sushi and munching on 6 squid a dish. NOT ideal. My friend tells me to stop eating. HA! I actually got told to stop (cause of the price of course)! Anyway, the moral of this story is, well actually I don't really have a moral. Pretty made up I can use chopsticks. Sort of.  Alice. - Sound as a pound. £6

New Job, New Alice

Having recently started my new job, impressions are key to "looking cool" and not show them my inner nerd. (They haven't yet got me into a conversation on Harry Potter). I have found it easy to stay reserved so far, and not show them my wild side, not gonna peak this early. The role includes us ringing businesses like car dealers, mots, gyms. Apparently with these the key is to flirt. Oh. Dear. Lord. It pains me to even think what I sound like. I can't flirt in the best of situations let alone under pressure. It doesn't help that I sound more like an Alan than an Alice.  The first week was quite eventful, and after my joy of them creating a left handed folder for me, leaving me feeling very "special", i go onto show my true colours: getting locked out the building X2, wearing a see through blouse, sending emails to the wrong people. You can see where this is going. I aim to stay collected, and act like a lady, if my last job is anything to go by, I am going to make sure that under NO circumstances do I turn upto work in odd shoes. Alice. A lady once more x Harry Potter lover always :)

Made an absolute Potato of it

So you could say I’m not the most domesticated of people. Partly it’s laziness, partly because I lack a lot of common sense - an essential ingredient in the kitchen apparently. A unanimous decision was made, that for Friday night I would be cooking for the girls. Feck. You’d think that I would just cook something I know I can cook. No no, I was going all out. I was gonna show them that I am a good cook. I definitely showed them something.

Walking round Asda with the cook book in my hand, I was making sure that I had everything I needed. After the girls had arrived, with days of hype for this ‘amazing meal’ I would be cooking, I get started on the preparation. Seen as I don’t often get in the kitchen to cook a big meal, I got a little carried away and felt like Jamie Oliver on his Sainsbury’s advert...chopped right into my left thumb didn't I. I literally thought I was amazing until one of my ligaments was hanging off. Okay, bit dramatic, a slight cut, but to be honest it would show the girls the effort I was going to (milked it).

After serving the starter, it was time to put the main on as it was meant to simmer for 30 minutes – by the way, the main, never again, was a Chicken, Spinach and Potato curry (WTF). Following the recipe step by step I chuck everything into the pan, and bobs your uncle right? No, not right. 2 hours into the half an hour simmering session the fucking potatoes were still hard. I tried to act like everything was under control and ‘Don’t worry I always double/triple the time set in the book’ were the kind of phrases coming out of my mouth. After pouring about 47 glasses of water into the pan, and chopping them into smaller segments (purchased huge jacket potatoes by mistake - minor error), the girls were getting skinny, and I was finally ready to admit defeat. A quick game of potato roulette to see the ratio of hard to soft potatoes commenced – 1/8 wasn’t so bad!! The book didn’t tell me to part boil, so how was I meant to know? By this time it was half 11 and I had been ‘simmering’ for 3 bloody hours. Hard. As. Rock. Stupid frickin recipe.

The girls pulled through and complimented it the whole time they were eating. It made me chuckle inside to see them having to swallow hard potatoes, just to not make me feel bad - I didn't stop them. To be honest, I never want to see, hear, eat, smell or come into any contact with a potato for a long time. The girls say they can still feel potato in their legs. I think we can all safely say I won’t be cooking for them for a while. All part of my cunning plan J

Adios. Alice – Mrs Potato Head