We have neighbours of the desperately annoying variety, and I’ve been meaning to blog about their exploits for quite some time. I’ll probably get round to typing up my notes more fully sometime soon (Christ – it’s just knowing where to start; they drive me nuts) – but for now this will have to do, as I simply can’t keep this one in.
There’s often some confusion about whether they’re in or not (apart from when they’re making a god-awful racket – which is most of the time, but more on that later, perhaps); lights are on, windows are open, but no-one ever answers the door. I think they may have fallen foul of that last one this morning…
I was getting a start on brunch, after being badgered into it by Paspartout (remind me – what was it that Pat Benatar said about sex as a weapon?), when I realised that the smoke alarm was going off next door (we’re a terraced house, with the retards folk in question being the end terrace). Ah well, I thought, that’s what you get for cooking up under the hallway detector – next time perhaps you should try the bathroom, dumbass! After twenty minutes I’d had enough of trying to use cooking noises to mask the whining and pinging and general shutthefuckupedness of it all and decided to go round. At this point you might think it not very neighbourly of me to wait twenty minutes before worrying about the safety of my neighbours, but they’re twats. Anyway… I’d had enough, so thought I ought to go check it out. The upstairs windows were open, the side window was open as well as the kitchen window, and I could see a light on in the kitchen. I knocked on the front door, the side window and poked my head in through the kitchen window and shouted. No answer was forthcoming, so given that there had to be a reason for the alarm, I came back in and called the landlord (next door’s a rental), followed by the letting agent, and suggested that they might want to take an interest in the possibility of something being awry, and left it at that. They each said that they’d send someone round, and the alarm continued to wail. After a brief “I’ve done my bit” moment, I suddenly thought to myself: hang on a minute, what would I do if I actually liked these people? Hmm, that’s a bit of a no-brainer, I retorted. So I called the fire brigade, toute suite.
The emergency services said they’d send the police, which I found a little surprising (though when they asked, I had to say in all honesty that I could neither see nor smell any smoke – and judging by my barbequing exploits it’s not possible to have fire without it), but an appliance did arrive very promptly. Needless to say, Paspartout became very excited. Pah – girls, eh!).
By this time, my father had arrived, so it was back to brunch (after offering the firemen a cuppa, of course – they were all so lovely, squeal! Paspartout, get off my keyboard!). Yes indeed, they were all a friendly bunch, and IMHO members of what is arguably the finest profession. But only one of them was anywhere near cute! Oh yeah – and after all that, it turns out that someone was in next door. Twats, see!?
Anyway, brunch… I thought I’d share the recipe with you:
- zest and juice 1 lime
- 2 tbsp clear honey
- 2 pinches ground cinnamon
- few gratings whole nutmeg
- 2 tsp icing sugar , sifted
- 200g very low-fat fromage frais
- 2 tsp butter
- 1 fresh pineapple , cut into 8 long wedges, skin and core removed
Mix the lime juice and half the lime zest with 1 tbsp honey, a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg. Set this sauce aside. Stir the icing sugar and a pinch of cinnamon into the fromage frais.
- Heat the butter and remaining honey in a non-stick frying pan until melted. Add the pineapple and cook over a high heat for 8 mins, turning regularly until caramelised. Pour in the spiced lime sauce and bubble for a few secs, tossing the pineapple to glaze in the sauce.
- Serve immediately, sprinkled with the remaining lime zest and accompanied by a dollop of the cinnamon fromage frais