Bank Holiday Weekend with Russell Brand

Having spent pretty much all of my professional career (in the UK at least) a slave to the service industry, I have never seen the wondrous thing that is a four-day weekend. So used, am I, to working, as chefs, waiting staff, emergency service workers and other such labourers are so accostomed, when everyone else is enjoying themselves, that even a glimpse of sunlight was once a treasured gift. We work the weekends, the late nights, and most unsociably, the holidays. Whether it be Christmas, New Year or Easter, the call of the service industry is never-ending, so remember to tip well and forgive the occasionally disgruntled employee when you're out having a whale of a time.

This year, however, I have had the utmost joy of actually being able to spend a bank holiday weekend with my feet up. Four days without work (Friday and Monday being paid, of course, or else I would have clocked in and put my feet up in my classroom!) has allowed me for once to see how the other half live. It's also given me a ruddy well-earned break after the eventful and exhausting first month at my new place of employment.

A picnic on the beach, followed by the not-quite-amazing-but-certainly-better-than-the-first Amazing Spider-Man 2 on the gloriously sunny Good Friday, a day in the park on an equally fair-weathered Saturday, museums and ramen followed by movie night with good friends on a rainy Easter Sunday before finally getting all those menial weekendy things done today. Top it all off with a tummy filled with M&S Easter eggs, and we have a most joyous weekend indeed (I shall omit the fact that I've just sat through the rather terrible "Hop" on TV this evening!)

But as you sit back this evening, fully relaxed and raring to hit the office tomorrow morning for another four-day week, spare a momentary thought for those who have not had the same luck. The chefs that cooked your wonderful meals out this weekend, the disgruntled teens that served them. The shop staff that found you those last minute eggs at five thirty on Saturday. And most importantly the emergency services that have been overworked as a result of the tomfoolery of all-too-excited folks with weekends of alcoholic mischief. They're the ones that really deserved the break. 

As a kitchen veteran though I've ruddy well earned mine!

I Want an American Cheeseburger with Tony Stark

Food has always been a comfort to me, and nothing moreso than the juicy delight that is a proper American-style cheeseburger. The succulent beef, preferably lovingly licked by the fiery fingers of a flame grill, the melted cheese, maybe a rasher of perfectly crisped bacon, some lettuce, a couple of slices of tomato, a little mustard, a little ketchup, all sandwiched between a lightly-toasted bun. Absolute perfection. But heaven forbid there be any pickles!

During my time in Japan, I will freely admit that in a bid to combat the inevitable homesickness (and as such missing of comfort foods), a large percentage of my monthly budget found itself spent on a delectable mix of Hard Rock Cafe legendary burgers and sandwiches from the Hawaiian burger specialists Kua Aina. 

Sure there were things I missed more; cheese, Marmite, Mars Bars and anything sausage-based (dear lord there were times I genuinely would have killed for toad in the hole), but at least a good burger (if overpriced) burger was always just a short car ride away.

So we've been living in Bournemouth for precisely two weeks now, and have been counting the pennies until payday comes. As such, food has been any number of creative takes on pastas, stews and rice dishes. Having worked in kitchens on and off for the last decade, I can get pretty innovative with my cooking, so at least we're getting a varied diet.

Sometimes, however, you just need a bit of stodge. Having had little in the way of proper comfort food in the last fortnight (save, admittedly, for a darn good turkey roast I threw together on Sunday), and having had a redonkulously long day, I found myself craving something junky.

So thank The Lord for Burger King. I, like our good friend Tony Stark, will fight to the death over BK's superiority over other burger chains, and agree that when you've got the "urge", there is no better place to go. 99p for a cheeseburger, my stomach and cravings were sated without my wallet being emptied.

Roll on payday, 'cause papa needs an enchilada...

Comfort Food with Mr. Krabs

There's nothing better than that warm feeling you get after a delicious meal. Slightly sleepy, stomach sated, it's a feeling of safety and comfort. As I sit here writing this, tummy full of a lovely home cooked Sunday dinner, I can genuinely think of few better things in life.

Today, in our quest to explore our new hometown of Bournemouth, we decided to take advantage of some cheap tickets and check out Bournemouth Oceanarium, a small aquarium just by the pier.

Now, I love aquariums. I have since I was tiny. Indeed, one of my earliest memories is of a trip to the Sea Life centre in Brighton (I believe it was Brighton... It could in fact have been anywhere south of London) when I was chosen to ride a chariot pulled by dolphins. Pretty cool nowadays, but when you're four, it's pretty much the pinnacle of coolness. Since then, I've taken every opportunity to check out aquariums anywhere that my travels have taken me.

But with these travels has also come my second passion; the aforementioned feeling of a full tum. As such, I have tried almost every bird and beast that this planet has to offer. From turtle to sea urchin, from crocodile to whale, I can unashamedly admit that whatever a chef has had the audacity to serve, I have summoned the moxy to devour.

And so, it's with a strange feeling of guilt that I will admit that aquariums have taken on a strange new form to me, and one that is scarily similar to an all-you-can-eat buffet. As we wandered through the neon tanks today I could not help but find myself thinking how tasty that spiny lobster looked, and how much I regret not getting round to trying puffer fish.

Am I a bad person? Or is the student of Anthony Bourdain that still lives within my psyche just in need of a little more culinary adventuring? I'm not sure, but one thing I do know is that every time I watch Spongebob these days, Mr. Krabs looks all the more appetising...

Somebody get me a Krabby Patty...

Famous Last Shifts with Mila Kunis

I've had a lot of different jobs in my lifetime. So many in fact that most people, when meeting me for the first time, find it hard to believe that one man could have been head chef, hotel manager, English teacher, house musician and advertising agent by the age of twenty seven. But I have. It probably helps that I haven't been out of a job (technically, though not necessarily psychologically) since the age of fourteen. Subsequently, however, I've had a lot of "last days". Many of these I remember with fondness, some I barely remember at all, and some I still look back upon with a sense of regret.

I guess that's always the way when moving on to pastures new. Save for being made redundant twice last year, leaving has been, for the most part, my choice. I've always strived for better, and having been stuck in the service industry for much of my career, can you really blame me?

So to mark my final day as Farnley Tower Hotel's breakfast chef/assistant general dogsbody (after a year and a half of searching, I've finally found a teaching position in Bournemouth of all places!), I thought I'd take a look back on some of my previous "last days".

Rock 'n' Amigos

My first job (paper rounds not included) was in a twee Mexican restaurant in Durham city. I started out waiting tables before the head chef took something of a shine to me and moved me into the kitchen. At sixteen it was quite cool to be able to tell people at school that I was a chef, though looking back I was really little more than a glorified kitchen porter. It was here, however, that I learned the basics of the trade that would both support and haunt me for the next decade. Unfortunately, my father (always an overbearing presence in my life) took a disliking to the fact that I was working unsociable shifts for three pounds an hour and essentially told me I wasn't to go back. Ho hum.

Dogs' Trust

Advertising? Dogs? What a great mix! No, not really. My advice to anyone who sees an ad for "at least 23k" commission only work is to steer well clear unless you enjoy traipsing the streets in all weather for about £100 a week. My "career" in marketing lasted less than a month before I politely informed them it wasn't for me.

Salt

Salt was a pretty fun place to work; I was at their Aberystwyth restaurant for two years during university before becoming sous chef in their Cardiff Bay site for a year and then subsequently returning to Aber whilst sofa hopping as the gods on high took their merry time processing my visa for Japan. The staff were great, and many of them have become my friends for life. The stories that the submarine-like kitchen could tell are endless (indeed, my fry cook at the time - the one who inspired me to go to Japan - did in fact write a "kids book" called The Happy Little Fry Cook). When I left Salt, I was thrown a huge Japanese themed do which involved me dressing up as a Hentai schoolgirl. Like most restaurants, I left with the bittersweet feeling of relief and fondness.

WinBe English School

I loved this job. I truly did. It's because of my time in Japan that I have spent the last eighteen months desperately trying to return to teaching. I left due to an acrid mix of wanting to return to the "normality" of the UK and longing to see friends and family again. And cheese. Dear god I missed cheese. Saying goodbye to the ninety or so kids that I had taught and watched grow over my years at the school was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but the blow was lessened by the amazing barbecue and booze-up thrown by the bar that I had spent my weekends singing in. Unfortunately my totes emosh leaving speech is somewhere on YouTube. Oh the humanity!

Mrs Mustard's

Mustard's was one of the toughest jobs I've ever had to endure. After returning from Japan, I found it nigh on impossible to find work and inevitably found myself back in the kitchen. Unlike previous culinary exploits, however, we had a very tense head chef (from the school of Marco Pierre White) and a kitchen haunted by poltergeists. Seriously. I nearly died one day when the ceiling collapsed where I had been standing a split second before. Our last day at Mustard's will always stand out as the day I turned up for work as usual to find the bailiffs emptying the place. Much drunkeness ensued, followed by a week trudging through three feet of snow before I found...

The Establishment

Of all the restaurants I've worked, the 'stab has been my favourite. As head chef, I developed my own menu, did a heck of a lot of baking, and, most importantly, got to work with the most amazing team I've ever had the privalage to be stuck with. Unfortunately, the restaurant just wasn't making enough money, and we were forced to close. Our final night was the George Gently wrap party, and myself and the team had an awesome evening throwing cocktails and shapes with the stars of the show before having one of those manly emotional moments as the doors finally closed. Save for WinBe, leaving The Establishment was my saddest last day to date. Which brings us finally to...

Farnley Tower Hotel

Farnley is like my safety net; ten minutes from my childhood home, I have worked here sporadically for the last decade, and was fortunate (if that's the right word) that a position arose the same week the Establishment shut down. Returning to somewhere you worked as a teenager, before the degree, the masters, the teaching... It rather gets you down. But you get through it, and as I said in my blog with Mr. Luhrman, it's worth it in the end.

As Justin Beiber said, never give up!

Am I seriously leaving on that? No. Here's a picture of Mila Kunis on a cliff instead. Enjoy.