Yo, jerk chicken


Tonight's tea was jerk chicken and rice and peas, because like Sally and Johnny I am in tune with my inner black person. The recipes were from Felicity Cloake and Simon Rimmer who are white but that's ok food is colour blind. I'm stuck for inspiration today. If you have any ideas, please send them to me. Also if you've seen any waxwings round Sheffield lately, let me know. I'd like to see one. I should have planned this meal better and bought some Dragon Stout. It's illegal to drink Dragon Stout on the bus in London, so I'm glad I don't live there any more as it was an essential pre-night-out ritual. It's probably illegal to drink Martini Rosso on the bus too, or chop out a line with your Oyster card, but I don't really care about that. It's the Dragon Stout that gets my goat. They might as well ban downing a shot of absinthe before you leave the house, or sparking up a cig to make the bus come.
Anyway, back to the chicken and rice. I nearly blew up the kitchen cooking it, because sometimes if you turn the gas right down, it goes out, and you don't realise till the smell of gas comes wandering into the dining room like a wheedling couch-surfer who wants you to make him a cup of tea. Bastard. He should be making me a cup of tea. And he needs to rinse the shower when he's used it. The chicken was good - spicy and succulent - but I don't think I put enough liquid in the rice. A bit dry.
Washed it down with a friend's tasty homebrew. Recommended if you can get it.

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