New Year, same old

When it comes to New Year’s resolutions I’m firmly in the Homer Simpson camp; ‘You tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is, never try.’ That said, I have a hugely determined streak, that surprises even me sometimes, when I want to set my mind to something.

For example, my ongoing Cadbury boycott -  that started in solidarity with the Ewing when they changed the recipe of Cadbury Crème eggs in 2015 - has now extended to encompass a blanket ban on everything Mondalez own, from Kraft mac and cheese to Ritz crackers via Oreos, Toblerone and Chocolate Oranges. Oh, how I miss popping candy chocolate oranges.

Not that I could eat the latter at the moment anyway, thanks to a self-imposed sugar ban that I began on the 13th of October, after ordering a McDonald’s chocolate milkshake for breakfast (yes, I know booze has sugar in it...). It was originally going to end over the festive period, but it's going surprisingly well, so now I am hoping to extend until Easter. Who can resist a hot buttered cross bun?

While I’ve been mostly extraordinarily good, in the style of the popular song I have found myself over the last few months eating four Malteasers (three original and one coated in raspberry flavoured chocolate, from Australia), three biscotti (when very drunk), two slices of Christmas pudding and a chocolate covered date (about as good as it sounds, but it did give me a little sugar rush).

More in keeping with my old habits, I persuaded everyone that what they really wanted was a (fairly) sober kebab on the Saturday before New Year. We had already sunk several bottles of Prosecco and (two sausage roll wreaths) but I did still worry about the wisdom of dragging people out to dinner at what is ostensibly a takeaway shop on Boscombe high street.

The surprisingly plush surroundings of the small restaurant area at the back - I was particularly taken by the juxtaposition of traditional tapestries and tin advertising signs - plus the BYO policy that saw us rock up with yet more bubbles in hand, meant the mood was more happily pissed and not pissed off.

The laminated menu is a short romp through familiar favourites, encompassing a selection of mezze dishes and moving onto grilled meats, with the notorious elephant leg kebabs rotating in the window and other skewers being grilled over a charcoal fire pit next to the counter. 

They didn’t have any borek available- a small mercy, given the volumes of food that followed - but the hummus was pretty good, if unspectacular (currently nothing is beating my own homemade #Nutribulletwanker version) and grilled halloumi came in an ample portion, balanced on a heap of redundant salad.

Starters were accompanied by half a dozen Frisbee-shaped puffy flatbreads, fresh from the oven, which looked like far too many, even for committed carb-fiends, until we realised they also accompanied our kebabs. Chicken shish for the Ewing and the Lion, a mixed lamb shish chicken donner for me. 

The bread, as the online reviews had promised, was excellent. crispy and soft and smoky all at once, although I was slightly saddened there wasn’t some under the meat to soak up the pool of juices and errant chilli sauce, which is what I asked for to accompany my kebab, along with a dollop of good old garlic mayo.

The chilli sauce was slightly curious, more like a Mexican style salsa, that we got addicted to while eating tacos around Southern California and Mexico last year, but no worse for it and a lack of heat probably helped with the corresponding lack of heartburn the next morning (although I did chug a few pints of water before bed to counteract the salt and sparkling wine).

The kebab was excellent – big chunks of lean lamb (neck fillet?) atop a pile of very good chicken donner; shreds of tender thigh marinated in a garlicky herby mix a world away from my student days.

The chicken shish was also commendable. Two skewers of marinated chicken breast, grilled quickly over charcoal and served with mixed salad, coleslaw, garlic sauce and pickled chilli peppers that all ended up on my plate. Not a bad thing to have forced upon you in all honesty.

2018 hasn't been a great one, truth be told. After a very bright start, the last few months, for various reasons, haven't been easy; at all. But these things too shall pass. And with the help of the ever-patient Ewing and all my lovely family and friends, plus plenty of fizz and skewered meats, I'm already exited to see what 2019 brings. If I carry on with the kebab life, gout and reflux, probably.