Dear London, have I told you lately how much I love you? Granted I have ignored you for my four walls (not by choice I promise) but last week, you gave me Michelin starred food. That tasted incredible. And didn't look fancy for the sake of looking like fancy. And I didn't have to recall my school etiquette classes to remember what fork to use. Maybe drinking wine the same price as my shoes was a bit over the top, but goddammit, this is a free country and I will drink like Doctor Lecter told me to.
Speaking of Dr. Lecter, is everyone watching Hannibal? Despite all the imaginative murders and the increasingly impressive food creations - there's even a blog right here: http://janicepoonart.blogspot.co.uk/
I am deeply under the hypnotic, Danish spell of Mads Mikkelson's Hannibal Lecter. Whether it's his manners, his suits, the flick of his neatly trimmed hair, that pout and I am a sucker for a pout, his sharp intelligence and wit or truthfully, his cleanliness, I don't know but I am lost to him. He defies the school of thought (ignorance in my book) that to be cultured means to be less of a man. And how he is cultured. He knows music, art, food, drink and he'd kill you as much as spare you a glance. It may also have a lot to do with his discipline and how well that would translate into the bedroom. Do I need help? Yes, he's chopping people up and serving them. But... he can tie meat like a butcher! Can you imagine if he applied that skill to tying a woman to a bed... Okay, I need to stop before I give myself an aneurysm. So fair warning, if any of this seems familiar in later on stories, this is why. Blame TV. My susceptibility to a dangerous but polite man and the Danes. Totally their fault.
By the way, the picture is of a Dorset Crab Lasagne with pea shoots. I left nothing in the bowl.
