They give themselves airs and graces and act like they're the bóllocks when in fact all they do is cook fùcking eggs.
And I hate the way they try to get you to order an omelette when all you want is fried egg. Cùnts.
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They give themselves airs and graces and act like they're the bóllocks when in fact all they do is cook fùcking eggs.
And I hate the way they try to get you to order an omelette when all you want is fried egg. Cùnts.
Yes. They are always overcooked, aren't they? You feel like jumping in and telling them to stop.
Actually, what irritates me more are the rubes who talk about the experience in awed tones. "He did me a lovely omelette with ham and cheese - anything I wanted." To hear them, you'd think the cùnt had turned lead into gold.
Has anyone ever ordered one with all them toppings...never been that brave :(
I've never had an omlette that was anything other than bland. Mostly because the egg is always overcooked and an overcooked egg is a horrible thing. Mind you, I've never had a truffled omlette, even after a week in the Dordogne, and I've always thought they might be wonderful.
Fried with a very runny yoke? Yes. Scrambled provided they are cooked very slowly? Yes. Poached with a very runny yoke? Yes.
Omlette? No.
:-( I don't even know where to start with this.
Yes I do. A man who claims to have a knowledge of food but has never cooked, or even experienced, a correctly baveuse omelette, should hang his head in shame. He massive, bald, sweaty head. :-(
And as for lacking the ability to spell omelette...
My head is not massive, that's my cock you're thinking of there, Dutchie.
And omelettes are merely just some cooked eggs and can therefore only be so good.
Unlike my creamed cabbage which history now shows was a thing of genius. And better yet, I have only just now thought of a way to improve it. A tidge of Dijon for depth and tiny amount of finely chopped capers to introduce a bit of acidity.
It shall be on the menu at Maison WES again this weekend. Possibly with pheasant if the locals have begun shooting them. :cloud9:
It is outrageous that in this day and age I can pop on a frock, insist I'm a woman and everyone has to go along with it, but I'm still persecuted by McDonald's into accepting their heteronormative idea of when I can have breakfast. We've got our prorities arse about face there and no mistake.
I have never had a sausage and egg McMuffin. It seems far too early to stop serving breakfast, especially for those who don't like to eat first thing. Are there not independent establishment offering sausage and egg rolls? I gather they are well up for a bit of sausage over there.
Baveuse means you add parsley and stop cooking it early enough that the middle is runny.
But the bloke was right, it's still just a f*cking omelette.
Compared to - as an example - eggs benedict, which is a truly exceptional breakfast which Charles would claim to love if it had a French name. :rolleyes:
Soz Charles, with Mrs WES and the two junior WESs being English you simply can't get rid of me. :-)
In fact, all that stands between me, citizenship and a British passport is me getting off my arse and about £400.
£400 to be British does seem awfully expensive, though. ;-)
Recently, whilst staying in Riga, I had an even worse egg chef. She would insist on pre-cooking the eggs and forcing everyone to eat cold eggs rather than freshly-cooked. I managed to nick one from the pan whilst she went off for a second but it was a messy business.
You appear to be blissfully unaware that the word is a french vernacular to describe a fanny in a lubricious state of arousal.
No-one actually mentioned a fanny to me WES - it was a joke.
Ah - I miswrote. I have been an Irish citizen since birth I just have never had a passport. Having been in West Cork recently, I imagine this is not an uncommon thing. I have both my parents' birth certificates to prove it, even if my father's looks like it was written in felt tip on a pig farm (which in essence it was)
Tuesday in fact - I rather liked the place. Basically pissed from about an hour after I got there to the minute I got on the plane at Dublin airport on Sunday. I was in actually in your fair city for the Stoke game - shame it was all so rushed or you could have come up and been rude to me and not bought me a drink