You can also read this on the HuffPostUk website, as well as comments/discussion in reaction to this article: http://huff.to/vr2nGC

One recent Sunday morning I was sitting in the breakfast room of the Jurys Inn in Belfast, enjoying a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon when a wiry, boisterous man asked if he could join me. Usually I'd say no. Hotel breakfast rooms are full of mad, half-asleep people.

Anyway, this chap had a familiar face, especially to those who may have been interested in Trotskyist diatribes in Merseyside in the 1980s (okay, he was Derek 'Degsy' Hatton). So I said, sit down, please join me.

We were both due to appear on a popular BBC 1 programme called Sunday Morning Live, a topical debate show focusing on moral, ethical and religious issues.

We were discussing the issue of fat on the show - no, not the kind that skirts a ribeye steak, or the type you rub into flour and sugar to make a crumble topping. The kind of fat we were debating just so happened to reside in my midriff, chin, upper arms, thighs, back and arse. Let's just say it was personal.

We were on opposing sides of the argument, and narrowly managed to avoid a confrontation over toast. Later, on the programme, it would become clear that Degsy found my fat repulsive, immoral and a drain on the National Health Service. But for the moment, I was busy fixating on his breakfast plate.

As I tucked in, Degsy flagged down the waitress and placed a special order. "I want four poached eggs, but no yolks - ONLY the whites. Got that?" (to be read in a Scouse accent).

He then proceeded to unwrap what could only be described as a drugs parcel - a foil-wrapped package containing at least two dozen different pills, capsules and potions that Degsy informed me he takes daily to keep him in good health.

To call my appearance on this television show a milestone in the world of fat politics would be an exaggeration, but it did make something pop in my mind.

The topic up for discussion was: "Is it irresponsible to be fat?"

I was subjected to a 15 minute personal attack on my physique by Degsy and some psychobabbly doctor (whose name I can't remember) on live television. When I attempted to make a case against their blatant, rabid body facism, I was shouted down.

Dr Whatsername kept staring at my rotund belly with wonderment and intrigue. Degsy was grabbing my chunky arm, stroking it every time he wanted to make a point. I was getting VERY mixed messages; they were trashing me on live television, yet fascinated with my flesh. My conclusion? CLOSET CHUBBY CHASERS, THE PAIR OF 'EM.

One good thing came out of this misguided TV appearance (by the way, thanks, BBC, for ensuring "fair and balanced coverage"). I received hundreds of messages of support from people all over the UK, not just saying how horribly Degsy and the doctor acted, but sharing their own stories of bullying, exclusion and difficulties of being a fat person in a thin world.

Every news source - papers, TV, magazines - seem to be reporting that we are in the grips of an obesity epidemic. No one has the definitive answer on how to tackle it. In the meantime, reality docu-soaps like Fat Families track the tears, tantrums and takeaways of the nations lardy lads and lasses.

The degrading tone - "hey, let's poke fun at the porkies!" - is hardly groundbreaking or responsible television. But people like to laugh at those less fortunate than themselves.

Schadenfreude, anyone?

Victimisation TV is hugely popular - and it gets in the advertisers, too. Crisps, chocolate, dehydrated gravy granules, fast food joints and diet products all love to appear in the advertising slots of programmes that make fun of fat people.

Mixed messages? Hardly. The shows - and adverts - are playing subtle psychological games with us to make us feel superior, dissatisfied and guilty in quick succession. If we manage to feel depressed - or manipulated - enough to keep tuning in and purchase their products, they've won.

You may think, "oh, come on, it's only a bit of fun" or "they deserve to be laughed at; they're fat, lazy and ugly". Or perhaps you think these programmes actually do the participants some sort of good - it's the kick up the fat ass they need to help them shed their obese excess and find everlasting happiness as a thin person.

What these programmes really do is allow and advocate a carte blanche to abuse anyone not fitting into a narrowly-defined body norm.

Have you ever followed the hashtag Twitter comments during an episode of Embarrassing Fat Bodies? The abuse is phenomenal - Dr Christian has A LOT to answer for.

So what is the real impact of all this? Quite simply, it makes fat people feel angry, depressed and worthless. Which, for some, means they may eat more in order to comfort their pain. Which makes them fatter. And so the cycle continues.

Why must the onus be on fat people to break the cycle; i.e stop eating, rather than the abusers halt their hurtful words? In a society so concerned with 'anti-bullying', this fat-phobia is a despicable tragedy. One recent anti-bullying campaign - against homophobia - had the catchphrase 'It Gets Better'.

Well, quite frankly, it doesn't. For fat people, it gets worse...a lot worse. If you were bullied on the playground for being porky, and expect once you grow up for your fellow adults to treat you with respect, you're in for a shock.

TV shows are sanctioning adult bullies to revel in their hideous playground tactics. All this bullying is making the 'obesity epidemic' worse.

And just in case you thought that TV shows were the only ones to blame, you're wrong. The government is one of the worst culprits, with its threat of a "fat tax", selling off school playing fields, reducing funds available for after-school sports, abolishing the free fruit programme for school children, and being entirely beholden to the food manufacturing industry giants who have a vested interest in us eating cheap, nasty nosh, to keep their profit margins healthy, not us.

The government insists fat people are a drain on the NHS. Well, guess what: I'm fat and pay my taxes, and have every right to access the NHS as any other Joe or Jane Schmo. I don't have children, and never will. Do I decry pregnant women as a drain on the NHS? Or those that can't have children accessing NHS funded IVF treatment? No, I don't. We're all in it together.

And in case you were wondering, that is not some 'Big Society' proclamation. Cameron is a blatant liar - he's dismantling the NHS, but put up billboards across the nation during his election campaign promising he'd do nothing of the sort. In order to cover up his deceit, he's flinging his shit onto fat people. After all, they are slow moving, easy targets.

It seems morning after morning on Radio 4's Today programme, John Humphries and Evan Davis try to uncover the 'magic bullet' answer to the obesity epidemic. Eat less, exercise more, join a weight loss club, get a gastric band, try hypnosis, drink diet shakes, get liposuction, cut out carbs, cut out sweets, cut out fat, cut out anything remotely tasty. Allow doctors to prod, poke, prescribe. Or just stay at home and repent for your sins.

There are many, many reasons why people are fat; the multitude of reasons does not have one easy solution. But not bullying fat people is a very good place to start.

Labels: Amy Lame, Bullying, David Cameron, Fat People, Nhs, Obesity Crisis, UK Health, Uk Lifestyle, UK Lifestyle News, UK TV

My latest blog on Huffington Post. Read it here, or here


Oh dear. Being a Morrissey fan these days isn't easy. What with his comments about the Norwegian massacre and KFC, his pithy views on the Chinese, and now suing the NME for libel three years after the offending article was published, it is becoming a rather heavy cross to bear.

But Morrissey is for life, not just for Christmas. I liken being a Moz fan to finding yourself in an intense relationship with someone you totally fancy and adore, but who is just a teeny bit embarrassing when you take them down the pub to meet your mates. You don't stop loving them, but every time you go out together you say a silent prayer hoping they won't do or say anything too weird.

I've been a Smiths and Morrissey devotee for nearly 25 years; long term fandom is a strange and wonderful thing. Attend any Morrissey concert and you'll see a fine collection of forty somethings with sparse quiffs and beer bellies - and that's just the women. While each concert is, by nature, a collective experience, Morrissey has the unique ability to appear to sing his lyrics of longing to each person individually. This creates a heady atmosphere of undying loyalty and obsessiveness. Dare any Moz fan challenge his comments or advise him to avoid High Court judges?

Some may label Morrissey as a racist, a radical animal rights activist; a miserablist. I see Morrissey as a soothsayer, a rabble rouser, and an uncomfortable but entirely necessary thorn in our sides. I also think he has a devastating sense of humour. Morrissey is someone who makes upsetting, sometimes vile and often insightful observations, then "forgets" he's a global superstar and that the media just might pick up on what he says. Bigmouth strikes again... and again... and again.

We like our pop stars clean, shiny and shrink wrapped; no controversy, no commotion, just pure fluffy fun. Which is fine if you are a tweeniebopper, or on an alcopop binge drinking session at a student disco. But what about the rest of us? There's little hope - we've been culturally victimised by Pop Idol and X Factor. Why should pop stars make a fuss or express an opinion that fans may disagree with when it may affect record sales? If Simon Cowell is your boss, you best keep your mouth shut unless you're singing.

We need people like Morrissey to force us into thinking what we really believe. He is on the vanguard of issues that are affecting the nation: the rise of China as a global superpower and how that will impact the UK; Immigration; Our waistline increasing "fast food" culture.

Morrissey is our collective moral barometer. You may not agree with what he has to say- or the way he says it- but he is pushing the boundaries of public discourse in a direction no one else dares. If you don't like it, then go and download the new Steps album. I've heard it's the perfect filler for an empty mind.

Labels: morrissey, morrissey nme, the smiths

The sun is shining, the daffodils are *just* about to bloom, and there's a real spring in my step. This is due to the marvellous weather no doubt, but also because I have just acquired a new cooking skill, thanks to the fabulous Angela Malik. Asian has never been my strongest point in the kitchen, and whenever I fancy a curry/Malaysian feast/Chinese/sushi/Korean BBQ etc I tend to eat out at one of London's top nosh houses. But thanks to Angela, I am now (semi) proficient at creating my own wontons, dim sum and potsticker dumplings. There's no stopping me now!

The evening class started with an informative chat by Angela explaining her "taste sensation" style of cooking and getting us to identify which foods offer what tastes...including the ever elusive umami. Then she explained the concepts of Yin and Yang in food. The we got stuck in making a fragrant broth (very yin!), stuffing and folding wontons, dropping them into the broth and then devouring the lot...then we chopped shrimp and created a punchy filling for dim sum, steamed them to perfection, and stuffed our faces...and then potstickers! I finally learned the secret to making them crispy on the outside with bits of gelatinous softness and a tender filling...deelish.

In addition to her cooking school & deli in Acton Angela has a stall at Borough Market selling her Indian pestos, sauces and chutneys. I stocked up at the deli, and all week I've been slathering the Vibrant pesto on salmon, made it into a dressing for a hot mackerel, spring onion and chickpea salad, and mixed it with creme fraiche for a crudité dip. While my newfound cooking skills will definitely come in handy, it's always great to have somebody else do the work!!

Thanks Angela, resident chef Geoff and the rest of the team for a brilliant night...can't wait to book in for another.

It's Vegas, baby, but not as you know it! For a few years now Vegas has been reshaping its image as not *just* a place to go wild & crazy at the roulette table...umm, anybody seen The Hangover? (happy to report my partner in Sin City crime Gerard and I managed to keep all our teeth intact and avoided marrying a stripper...and each other) Not sure this Vegas revision is working, but one area that has definitely improved is the restaurant scene. Cast aside any images you may have of cheap shrimp cocktail and watered down pitchers of beer- Las Vegas has a serious foodie edge.

Well known Michelin starred chefs like Guy Savoy and Joel Robuchon have Vegas outposts, exciting new restaurants with up and coming chefs are opening every month, and there's even a weekly Farmers Market aimed at the restaurant trade, encouraging chefs to put local produce on the menu.

Eating in Las Vegas was full of delightful and delicious surprises. Sure, we checked out the all you can eat buffets like Carnival World at The Rio- the largest buffet in the world with a 300 metre long counter of food!!! All the family faves were there- pizza, macaroni & cheese, and a make your own banana split station. We gawped at the mind (and belly) blowing excess of it all, but couldn't knock its popularity- hungry punters can queue for over an hour just to get a table; they then spend at least two hours grazing their way towards digestive overload. I loved every bite!
On the other end of the gastronomic scale the choice was just as overwhelming as the Rio buffet, only studded with truffles and foie gras rather than deep fried bacon bits and cheese fries, and washed down with Californian Pinot Noir rather than Pepsi.
Buffet Brunch at the Wynn

Highlights? Sage, for the sexy de luxe atmosphere and Absinthe trolley, stellar wine list and the nicest staff;
Joel Robuchon for the OTT decor, OTT clientele and OTT food (where else do you get a take home bag of mini desserts and chocolates?); Silk Road at the uber deluxe Vdara hotel for the innovative menu based on the ancient Silk Route from the Far East to Europe; brunch at the Wynn for the all you can drink mimosas; Bradley Ogden for the finest American artisanal cheeses;
Hash House a Go Go for introducing us to the delights of the stuffed hamburger; and the all you can eat brunch at Simon - there were sooo many delicious white trash items on offer, including a belly busting breakfast pizza, a help yourself Candy Bar, and Frosties encrusted french toast. The french toast was so tasty I thought i'd make it at home and share the recipe with you...and a special Hiya! to I Knit London newsletter subscribers...this is the first regular monthly recipe i'll be writing for you!

FROSTIES FRENCH TOAST for two

4 slices brioche
2 eggs
splash of milk
70g crushed Frosties
knob of butter and drizzle of oil for the frying pan
maple syrup

Heat the butter and oil in a large frying pan over medium heat
Whisk the eggs in a shallow bowl and add the milk.
Put the Frosties in a plastic bag and crush using elbow grease, and empty into a separate shallow bowl.
Soak a slice of the brioche in the eggy mixture, turning over to ensure it is nice and moist. Now, dip into the bowl of Frosties making sure brioche is thoroughly coated. Repeat for remaining brioche slices.
Now put your eggy Frosties encrusted brioche in the sizzling frying pan for a few minutes until golden brown. Flip over and let the other side get nice and crispy.
Serve warm, drizzled with maple syrup. Deelish!
Want it for dessert instead of breakfast? Serve with posh vanilla ice cream...mmm....
Gerard...and Frosties French Toast!

I have been trying to eat healthily this January in an effort to redress the holiday gastronomic overload...but January is just SUCH a good time of year to eat out! Restaurants are calm, there are no office parties or naff roast turkey set menus, restauranteurs are quite glad to see you as Jan. can be a quiet month...AND there are so many great deals around at the moment, too. So here's a rundown of where i've been noshing the past few weeks:

Bocca di Lupo I know I have written about this place before and you know I love it, but could it possibly get any better? Yes, because they have put a truly orgasmic dish on the menu: Crescentini (fried bread) with finocchiona, speck & squacquerone cheese. Washed down with a bottle of prosecco, this is my fave way to chase away the gloomy winter evenings, preferably sitting at the bar with my friend Gerard and gossiping about everyone we know.

I consider myself a one-woman pizza patrol- if there is pizza to be had, I'm there dude. There are many styles and toppings, and pizza is a very personal thing. And no, I don't like to share, so don't ask. I have heard there are people who do like to share pizza, but frankly they're bonkers. So I was excited when my friend Mark suggested we check out Pizza East, apparently the hippest thing to happen to Shoreditch since...well...Shoreditch. First, the food: my pizza was all crust, no topping. The circumference available for the topping was about 3 inches, and had just a few morsels strewn haphazardly...the Strawberry Blonde's pizza was meant to have veal meatballs and prosciutto...two meatballs rolled up, but no ham. The crust was enormous and way too chewy; for £11 a pie it was a complete and total rip-off. This, added to the apalling service, cacophonous atmosphere and drunk and rowdy punters, makes me think this place is a lot of fuss about nothing. If I want good pizza, i'll go to Maletti. Heck even Pizza Depress is better than Pizza East.

Thank goodness a cosy and gentle lunch at The Forge made the bad memories of Pizza East float away. I have walked past The Forge dozens of times; it's smack bang in Covent Garden, uber convenient for the theatre, and full of real, live Londoners. How refreshing! The main room is all brick and leather, the menu bursting with comforting classics. My simple crab starer was super fresh and zingy. And I hear the bar downstairs is a hidden gem for a civilised West End drink- the barman is American so I shall soon be popping in to test his martini making skills.

Yesterday the Strawberry Blonde and I took advantage of a fabulous offer on at the moment courtesy of the Financial Times- take a friend for lunch for a fiver. Yes, really. And the restaurants on offer are top notch- Pied a Terre, Le Cafe Anglais, Chez Bruce, L'Anima...check out the details here. We opted for our local, Acorn House. It's been ages since I've eaten there, and I felt ashamed of that fact becauseI really like the ethos- it's a social enterprise, eco-minded, seasonal and sustainable. Plus its founder, Arthur Potts-Dawson, is a charmer. The SB had roasted pheasant, dandelion, beetroot & redcurrant salad followed by the daily fish special: pan fried mackerel with cabbage and rhubarb compote. My thai cured salmon, then bhachu Tikki chaat with pickled carrot & sweet Tamarind made me waddle home with a very content full belly. Acorn House is a lovely restaurant with a radical remit, and i'll definitely go back.

So, what to look forward to? Fino for lunch on Friday, and off to Las Vegas next week..I promise lots of gut busting posts from Sin City!

Well well well, it's marvellous when a cool head and a cool countertop come together to solve the great Pumpkin Pecan Pie conundrum of 2009. After numerous consultations (cheers Leith's Baking Bible and the Market Kitchen home economists) I managed to work out what was going wrong with my pie. As suspected, the kitchen was too hot to make good pastry; but I can't just blame the central heating. I was also reminded of the films I presented for Richard & Judy a few years back, cooking & eating regional Italian food. In Bologna, while attempting to make tagliatelle, a diminutive granny chef slapped my palms and told me my hands were too hot to make pasta. So clearly my pie failure is all my fault.

I also realised pre-baking the crust for 10 mins before filling it with the treacly pecan goo prevents any cracks in the pastry and makes for a nice, crispy bottom. Why did this little nugget of wisdom not cross my mind earlier?? Here in the UK, people take their desserts very seriously; in the US, no one would think twice about not pre baking the pastry "to save time", or opening a few cans of this and that, bunging it in a store bought pre-baked pie shell and calling it "homemade". I have realised that even after 17 years of life in London, old kitchen habits die hard.

Anyway, here is Ruth's Pumpkin & Pecan Pie...with corrected crust and in tip top form. i'll post the recipe when it's up on the Market Kitchen website. By the way, there's none left- I've dished a few pieces out the the handymen who have come this morning to hang our pictures; the rest is going to my agent.

when friends visit, it's always a great excuse to eat out. So when our dear pals Alan & Nick came down from Glasgow and offered to take us out for a meal, I spent the better part of an afternoon just deciding where we should go. Lots of restaurants are shut on Sunday night, so that automatically discounted many of our faves like Bocca di Lupo and Great Queen Street. I wanted to try the new Pinxitos in Bloomsbury, but that was closed too. I called Yalla Yalla, but the whole restaurant had been booked out for a private party. So back to a tried and trusted favourite, St John Bread & Wine. For the uninitiated, it is the sister restaurant to St John, renown for the nose to tail eating its owner Fergus Henderson pioneered. SJB&W has more of a bistro feel, with a menu organised by the clock-hour when dishes are available (6pm smoked sprats, 7pm snails on toast...) a killer wine list and a scribbled board of specials that get crossed out as the dishes are ordered.
Our happy band was completed by two more chums. H ordered the deep fried crispy pig's tail, "for novelty value". When it was placed on the table, it looked like...well...a deep fried crispy pig's tail, all curly cued and cute. But she couldn't eat it. Luckily the Strawberry Blonde (being Northern and that) dug in with gusto, lip smacking the gelatinous fat and shreds of deep pink meat.
My girolles, lentils and goats curd was rich and earthy and perfect for a crisp autumn night. We also shared, amongst other things, a whole crab, beetroot & ticklemore salad, a ruby red Angus flank steak, snails on toast, salt beef with picalilli, a quince trifle, ginger loaf with butterscotch sauce, and a plate of cheese. Wine drinkers washed it down with a Picpoul de Pinet white and a Cotes de Catalanes red. Great friends, great food...what else is there in life?

The scent of pumpkin pecan pie has been haunting me all week. I've been recipe testing for my imminent appearance onMarket Kitchen, the Good Food channel's foodie magazine programme. Now, I have appeared on the show dozens of times talking about everything from LA food trends to whoopie pie. But this week will be the first time i've ever COOKED on the show, and I am pretty darn excited (and a little nervous too!) I'll be making a recipe inspired by my grandmother's Thanksgiving desserts- Pumpkin Pie & Pecan Pie. But instead of having to choose between one or the other, I've combined them both in one pie. Here's a picture of my fabulous grandmother, Ruth, who inspired the pie...she's 91 !!!
The bottom layer of the pie is gooey mapley treacly pecans, and the top layer is a refined pumpkin custard. I have made two test pies so far, and have encountered a number of problems (new cooker in new flat and haven't got used to temperature variations yet; new flat is centrally heated beyond our control so kitchen is too warm to make good pastry; i used a pie tin with removable bottom and all the treacly stuff seeped out onto the bottom of the oven...etc etc blah blah blah)
I'm getting there...and making my third and final test pie today. With 24 hours to go before filming, this one better be perfect. Keep your fingers crossed for me!