One Seriously Pimped-Out Banana!

Yeah we're back.

It's been a while, huh?

Anyway, whatever.

CHECK THIS OUT.

This banana has got delusions of grandeur!
But, much like RAEKWON, I say go with it.



Nobody is getting hurt, and there is a certain charm to the improbable arrogance that makes me, well.... wanna buy into the hype despite knowing it'll only encourage further antics...

This is where it goes down. Taylor Street, on Queen's Road, Brighton. (There are a few of these in London too, if that's how you roll...)



It's a nice little coffee place that manages to keep a simple, non-corporate vibe even in the face of their obvious success. Plus their Joe is seriously mean. Check this out!



That is hella dark!

Somewhere in Oxford University, a dude and a lady in orthropedic shoes are trying to calculate the mass of this coffee, that's how black it is. It is like, this cup of coffee has it's own Event Horizon, and if you were to jump inside it, you would be spat out of a latte on the other side of the universe.

Powerful black.

Anyway, back to this gnarly banana.



I graduated from "sweet breakfast" long ago as a youth.
I cast aside those faithful friends of old such as this motley crew I used to love so well...







...ok, maybe not that last one.

But the point is that once I had my first bacon/egg combo at the age of around 9 or 10, I was THROUGH with sugar for breakfast. I was totally savoury, until around lunchtime or so when I'd have my Penguin Chocolate Biscuit.



And so it was with great trepidation that I revisited the sweetness-in-the-morning game by sacking up and ordering the FRENCH TOAST at Taylor Street.

I mean, this was gonna be pretty damn sweet, right? A fried banana on top of sugared bread. With this whole jug of maple syrup, just for me!



I followed their instructions, and doled out a liberal application of the nectar... At least there was bacon on the plate to entice me in!



Oh man, one bite and I was HOOKED. The whole thing kinda coalgulates together into a big gloopy, sticky mess... it's hard to tell where banana ends and bacon begins.



Before I knew it, I had snarfed the whole thing.



I must admit, I'm not sure how "French" this "French toast" really was, but it is a winner with me.

Well done, you crazy sugar-breakfast French people!

Middle Farm: A Trip Into The Drunken Wilderness

Follow this sign for good times!

It leads the way to Middle Farm which could well be considered the Graceland of food in the picturesque Sussex countryside.

Look, this is Sussex:



See? Picturesque.

Look, more Sussex:



*Nice*.

What we are trying to tell you, is that the Sussex countryside is a totally perfect place to get absolutely Boris Yeltsin'd on cider.

In a barn.



That's right Bo-Bo! Step this way...



The Middle Farm cider barn is virtually foaming over with excellent cider and perry. Here's how it works.



Shelf after shelf of wonderful alco-beverage, each with a hand-written label giving simply the name, origin, price per pint, and strength. Upon arrival you can pick up a disposal plastic shot-glass, and are turned loose on the barrels.

Self-service taps and virtually no supervision mean you can taste and taste and taste again to be sure you find the right booze for you before purchasing.



Here we see our test-subject, administering his first sample.

EXHIBIT A:



The verdict?



Hey, that's not bad!



Of course, in the roulette-wheel of cider tasting, your number can't always come up...



In the bin with it.
What was that one called again?



Oh I see.

Fear not! You can always spin again.



...and again.



...aaaaaand again.



Maybe just a couple more times for luck.



When you think you've "had enough" simply purchase one of these handy jugs to help you bring your favourite drink back home.



Fill 'er up!



Other note-worthy sights in the cider-barn include several borderline pornographic beers:


Plus the addition of a fine selection of non-alcoholic alternatives, because you WILL need a designated driver to get you home...



Incidentally, DINNERGEDDON's top tipple in the whole damn joint goes to this fruity little number:



Matured in rum-casks to take on a deeply tasty caramel-esque flavour, it's one we find ourselves carrying home time after time... and an East Sussex local brew no less!



Beam me up Boris... it's time to have ourselves a Hoe Down!



Rock on, comrade.

It Would Be Like Running A Hotdog Place Called "The Hotdog"...

Yeah, that's right.

It's a taco place called "El Taco".

You got a problem with that?



Now, it's pretty common knowledge that we don't really have Mexican food in the UK. Not the real stuff anyway, and if we did, we'd have no idea what to actually do with it.



Which is why it was with great trepidation that I walked into the cosy interior of the imaginatively named "El Taco" on Western Road in Brighton, and perused the menu.



Would they be able to deliver the goods? What if they gave me something great and I was too dumb to recognise it's worth? I swallowed my anxiety, mosied (moseyed?) up to the counter, and held faith in the fact that we were both from "Southern Climes"...



The produce looked fresh, and the guy was friendly. As I mentioned, El Taco is small, so it can be tough to get a seat, but the stools face out a large window at the busy intersection, and it's certainly a nice enough view while you eat.

They import authentic hot sauce too, which is definitely a big plus!



I sacked up and ordered the Chorizo Quesadilla, "spicy style".



I like the fact they served it on a paper plate, that was also on a china plate.
It was very unneccesary, but totally awesome in it's wanton-ness.

I was also stoked to see the Mexican flag proudly displayed in the arrangement of my meal.



GREEN GUACAMOLE


WHITE SOUR CREAM


RED HOT SAUCE


The quesadilla was, to put it lightly, CHEESEY AS ALL GET OUT.

Fortunately, I am the kind of guy for whom this is a good thing, and it never came close to overpowering the rich meaty heat of the chorizo safely nesteled within...



Was it authentic? Honestly, I have no idea.

But was it delicious? Most certainly amigo!

I will definitely be going back, and if I'm being fed a tortilla full of lies, then so be it.

If El Taco is wrong, then I don't wanna be right.