Breakfast in bed…
This week, Adult Swim’s high-maintenance, low-pain-threshold princess goes a-tastin’.
Tastings, been there, done that, daddy bought a cellar full of Peruvian White as an investment a few months back (the area is the industry’s worst kept secret). His broker tells him that its price should be going through the roof just as we emerge from this ghastly recession in two or three years’ time. I also vaguely recall being dragged along to a beer-tasting session at Olympia when I was going through what mummy calls ‘one of my phases’. What was the name of that blue-collar worker with whom I had a brief liaison a few years back? He had very big hands as I recall.
Doctor Burnorium’s Hot Sauce Emporium (if you think that’s a mouthful, just you read on!) have sponsored Adult Swim’s Top 10 Sauciest Moments – and very saucy they are too, particularly the scene with that Brock chap from The Venture Brothers … but I digress – and they’d seen fit to furnish us with samples of their hottest sauces. My assignment was to taste them, rate them and report back.
Sounds simple, yah?
I wish.
This princess is far happier on the slopes of Aspen than the sweaty beaches of Florida, and you can guarantee that my après-ski Bloody Mary doesn’t contain the merest hint of Tabasco!
But I like a challenge – and believe me, if you can cope with the loos at a music festival and the occasional use of the public transport system then you can cope with just about anything.
There are 4 recognised stages to wine tasting:
and I thought I’d use them as the basis for my foray into the world of chilli sauce tasting. My photographer cum assistant had very wisely armed me with the requisite antiserums, namely sour cream, guacamole, water, milk, beer and Coca-cola to help me with any fallout.
First up – Rectum Ripper.
Not to mention my general distrust of alliteration, if the name was any indication, this wasn’t going to be pleasant. Also, its two principal ingredients were mustard and ginger, hardly as charming a pairing as Fred and Ginger, or even – if I’m being brutally, murderously honest – Fred and Rosemary West.
appearance –Bolognese sauce meets Sicilian sun dried tomato sauce
aroma – Loyd Gross-out-man
taste – surprisingly palatable
aftertaste – I’m lost for words, and that rarely happens
Rating: 7/10
Next up – Professor Phardtpounder Colon Cleaner Hot Sauce
If I wanted to remove unwanted toxins from my body the family doctor would recommend a suitably qualified irrigator!
appearance – just like the piccalilli mummy makes for the W.I. fete
aroma – similar to the piccalilli mummy makes for the W.I. fete
taste – nothing like the piccalilli mummy makes for the W.I. fete – i.e. extremely pleasant (sorry mummy)
aftertaste – lingers far longer on the tongue and lips than the piccalilli mummy makes for the W.I. fete
Rating:9/10
Finally – The hottest fuckin’ sauce
I subscribe to the idea that there’s no need for profanity, it’s blatantly indicative of a poor vocabulary. However I also like being straight and to the point; I don’t believe in beating around the proverbial bush. Let’s see what wins out.
appearance – deep red – the colour of blood, STOP and Miranda from Sex And The City’s hair in Season 3
aroma – if you can smell fear then you can also smell danger
taste – by fudge that’s fudging hot!
aftertaste – pass the sour cream, someone send out for more bloody milk!!
Rating: 6/10
So there you are. And while I wouldn’t want Doctor Burnorium anywhere near me during my monthly health check I’d have no problem inviting him and his ‘medicine’ bottles along to one of our family garden parties – he can spice up my cold meat canapes any day!
And so another assignment comes to a successful conclusion. We’ve had the Big Chill, with chilli sauce tasting hot on its heels; here’s hoping that my next assignment will be a trek through Chile. Some hope, more likely a bus ride through the Chilterns. Haw haw!
This week, Adult Swim’s high-maintenance, low-pain-threshold princess reports from The Big Chill.
First and foremost sincere apologies for the slight delay in bringing word from my latest assignment; it took two whole days of intensive scrubbing (and plenty of tears) to feel clean enough in body, spirit and mind to even approach my laptop. But here goes.
I’d always thought that chill was what waiters do to your champagne glass before the arrival of the bottle of Moet. Silly me, in fact it’s a music festival.
In a field.
In Herefordshire. (that’s near Wales)
Adult Swim were sponsoring a stage at the festival and Him Upstairs thought it’d be a good idea for me to get my beautifully-proportioned rear over to it to ‘check out’ the vibe.
The first thing that struck me as the taxi pulled up was the variety of tents that the ‘chillers’ call home for the weekend. Some enterprising individuals had even assembled grandiose Red Indian wigwams – although I’m told that it’s frowned upon to call them by that name anymore, apparently they’re Native American Red Indians these days. After undertaking a march of military proportions – I’d like to see Napoleon climbing high hills in high heels – we finally made it to the main area. Very loud music was blaring from the various stages and people of all shapes, sizes and ages lounged around in the sunshine dancing, drinking and eating. There were stalls selling food from every corner of the globe; Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, ‘Look at these delightful Moroccan meatballs’ I said to my photographer cum assistant. An organic falafel and a Pimm’s later and I was starting to enjoy myself – not even the leering attention of a group of unwashed teenagers could dampen my spirits. My per diem had stretched to a beautifully-woven Nepalese blanket (it’s good to give something back to those less fortunate don’t you think?) and I was stretched out on the ground in front of the Sanctuary Stage watching the sun slowly set. Idyllic.
My good mood quickly evaporated when I made my first trip to the Ladies’.
OMG!!!!
I’d prefer not to go into the finer details of my Big Chill toilet experience; suffice it to say that it was my first and last visit and that I am now of the opinion that despite millions of years of evolution some people are not very far removed from the everyday habits of our primate cousins. The indescribable stench was still under my fingernails and in my hair 48 hours later.
Duty called and as the temperature dropped markedly I made my way to the Adult Swim-sponsored Crap Stage. Crap’s not really part of my vernacular; apparently it’s a common word (common … quite) for that disgusting filth that nannies wipe off children’s bottoms. After another climb that would have had daddy’s second cousin Sir Ranulph Fiennes calling for the oxygen mask we reached our destination. The Crap Stage had attracted a solid following and I was soon swaying to the beat with my fellow revellers. I’d always been of the opinion that DJing was a profession not dissimilar to working on a production line in its simplicity – now I’m a convert!!! Mixing tracks unfamiliar to me with popular crowd pleasers (tell me anyone who doesn’t like to go ‘Bonkers’?) the early hours sped by and before I knew it the time had arrived to unload the needle from the final record (a DJing term I picked up from my new friends) and make my way back to my hotel in the nearby Victorian Spa town of Malvern. It had been a long day (and night!) but it had been well worth it. Mark my words, you’ll be hearing more from these guys who run the Crap Stage – and you’ll be hearing more from me in the next few weeks and months in my capacity as Adult Swim’s intrepid reporter.
Until then, thank God for Wet Wipes – and leave no turd unstoned.
CAT MOSSSSSSSSHHHH!!!!!! There are loads of these on youtube if Cannibal Corpse’s Skull Full of Maggots is not to your taste…
