She was out getting food basics early this afternoon, hummus for me and some stuff for a friend when her mouth said "hey-oop lass, I'd like some bacon and eggs tomorrow", do your taste buds do this to you?
Mine certainly do, there are weeks when I don't even think about 'pink stuff' and then all of a sudden, I want it desperately and have to communicate this desire to She Who Shops.
Anyway, she was in the Fulham Broadway and knows that Dickinsons only sell pre-packed bacon, and between you, me and the front door, the quality of their bacon leaves a lot to be desired. Their meat is usually good but the bacon.. nah, forget it.
So she went the Deli counter in Waitrose.. "no, sorry, all our bacon is pre-packed BUT how about some ham?" said a charming young and switched on assistant. "What a good idea, may I try a bit of that one" she said and having tasted it, said "I'll have four thick slices of that, it's delicious" and it is.. being a proper Suffolk ham.
She met an old friend, so they availed themselves of a free coffee, leant against a pillar and chewed the fat for a bit, then parted and she went off to check-out. And caught a bus upto Harrods to where MailBoxEtc are located in Montpelier Street.
Our upstairs neighbour is in residence which means that no mail is safe from his thieving hands, she collected her mail and asked the guys to keep WW for a few minutes.
She crossed the Brompton Road and went into Harrods. Years go by now without her entering this store, it seems strange to think that it was where she spent many years working and being happy to do. Why did she go in there?
Well, she was still hunting for bacon and when your mouth says to you "BACON", you sure as hell don't want to be putting a plastic pre-wrapped package of indifferent smoked back or streaky infront of her, because she means PROPER Bacon.
She was heading for the meat department. In olden times when she worked there, Harry was the Meat buyer, Peter was the Poultry buyer, Steve was the Shellfish buyer, she can't recall the wet fish buyer's name and Frances, darling Frances, was the main cashier and there was an entire counter which only sold bacon, in all different ways.. smoked, green, back, streaky.. you name it, they sold it and cut it for you.. spoilt for choice.. yes, the customers were and everybody went there for it was of the most superb quality.
Ohhhh dear! Whoops.. in each corner of this food hall are now four mini restaurants. One's a Harrods Rotisserie, the other three are rented out to companies. She was standing there, god-smacked with horror and sadness, when she realised someone was calling her name,
And tucked away behind a much smaller counter, was an old friend, grinning like crazy, "Oh, my goodness me, it's ....." she squeaked and went over to greet them.
Her friend filled her in on everything.. that Harry now lives in France, he retired years ago and he and his wife, who is French, moved to where she came home, Peter also retired but comes in now and then, Steve took a redundancy package and now works with frozen fish at Billingsgate Fish Market, what a waste of that incredible knowledge, and Frances, everyone's darling Frances with the wonky eye, died in a London Hospice a few years ago.
There is no fabulous shell-fish display, what there is, is a monstrous rubber or plastic Octopus, ugh please but even worse, there's no bacon counter! No choice of how you could have your choice of bacon sliced. There were packets of plastic pre-packed stuff and that, Dear Readers, was it.
"Oh dear, oh dearie, dearie me, I cannot believe what I am seeing" she said "what about the account customers and staff" she asked, "gone, when they started mucking about with the food halls, we lost the business from private chefs and housekeepers who used to spend fortunes with us, our daily takings are down".
"And there's none of that personal contact with the meat farmers like there used to be, do you remember when that Suffolk Smoke Houses and the Spanish Sherry company gave that party up in the Staff Canteen in the late 70's, well, nothing like that would happen now".
"Oh, indeed I do remember that, it was incredible, what a party that was! And they convulsed with laughter at the memory of the BIG fireman who danced a mean pasodoble with the Hosiery buyer!
(Harrods has it's own Fire Brigade who live on site when they're on duty, they also have their own artesian well).
They smiled at each other, she wished them all a "happy Christmas" and leaving Harrods, she crossed the Brompton Road, went to retrieve WW and to come home.
"No bacon GeeGee, I do have some delicious ham cut from a bone but it isn't the same, is it? Ah well, times have certainly changed when you can't get your bacon sliced how you want and everything is pre-packed in gruesome plastic and people wonder why children and adults get ill and fat".
Memories of happy times, she's lucky to have worked in wonderful places for wonderful people with wonderful products. And Harrods, in times gone by, was probably the most wonderful in every way.
GeeGee Parrot.
Demember 18th, 2015.
Postscript: Pink stuff is aka taramasalata.
Mine certainly do, there are weeks when I don't even think about 'pink stuff' and then all of a sudden, I want it desperately and have to communicate this desire to She Who Shops.
Anyway, she was in the Fulham Broadway and knows that Dickinsons only sell pre-packed bacon, and between you, me and the front door, the quality of their bacon leaves a lot to be desired. Their meat is usually good but the bacon.. nah, forget it.
So she went the Deli counter in Waitrose.. "no, sorry, all our bacon is pre-packed BUT how about some ham?" said a charming young and switched on assistant. "What a good idea, may I try a bit of that one" she said and having tasted it, said "I'll have four thick slices of that, it's delicious" and it is.. being a proper Suffolk ham.
She met an old friend, so they availed themselves of a free coffee, leant against a pillar and chewed the fat for a bit, then parted and she went off to check-out. And caught a bus upto Harrods to where MailBoxEtc are located in Montpelier Street.
Our upstairs neighbour is in residence which means that no mail is safe from his thieving hands, she collected her mail and asked the guys to keep WW for a few minutes.
She crossed the Brompton Road and went into Harrods. Years go by now without her entering this store, it seems strange to think that it was where she spent many years working and being happy to do. Why did she go in there?
Well, she was still hunting for bacon and when your mouth says to you "BACON", you sure as hell don't want to be putting a plastic pre-wrapped package of indifferent smoked back or streaky infront of her, because she means PROPER Bacon.
She was heading for the meat department. In olden times when she worked there, Harry was the Meat buyer, Peter was the Poultry buyer, Steve was the Shellfish buyer, she can't recall the wet fish buyer's name and Frances, darling Frances, was the main cashier and there was an entire counter which only sold bacon, in all different ways.. smoked, green, back, streaky.. you name it, they sold it and cut it for you.. spoilt for choice.. yes, the customers were and everybody went there for it was of the most superb quality.
Ohhhh dear! Whoops.. in each corner of this food hall are now four mini restaurants. One's a Harrods Rotisserie, the other three are rented out to companies. She was standing there, god-smacked with horror and sadness, when she realised someone was calling her name,
And tucked away behind a much smaller counter, was an old friend, grinning like crazy, "Oh, my goodness me, it's ....." she squeaked and went over to greet them.
Her friend filled her in on everything.. that Harry now lives in France, he retired years ago and he and his wife, who is French, moved to where she came home, Peter also retired but comes in now and then, Steve took a redundancy package and now works with frozen fish at Billingsgate Fish Market, what a waste of that incredible knowledge, and Frances, everyone's darling Frances with the wonky eye, died in a London Hospice a few years ago.
There is no fabulous shell-fish display, what there is, is a monstrous rubber or plastic Octopus, ugh please but even worse, there's no bacon counter! No choice of how you could have your choice of bacon sliced. There were packets of plastic pre-packed stuff and that, Dear Readers, was it.
"Oh dear, oh dearie, dearie me, I cannot believe what I am seeing" she said "what about the account customers and staff" she asked, "gone, when they started mucking about with the food halls, we lost the business from private chefs and housekeepers who used to spend fortunes with us, our daily takings are down".
"And there's none of that personal contact with the meat farmers like there used to be, do you remember when that Suffolk Smoke Houses and the Spanish Sherry company gave that party up in the Staff Canteen in the late 70's, well, nothing like that would happen now".
"Oh, indeed I do remember that, it was incredible, what a party that was! And they convulsed with laughter at the memory of the BIG fireman who danced a mean pasodoble with the Hosiery buyer!
(Harrods has it's own Fire Brigade who live on site when they're on duty, they also have their own artesian well).
They smiled at each other, she wished them all a "happy Christmas" and leaving Harrods, she crossed the Brompton Road, went to retrieve WW and to come home.
"No bacon GeeGee, I do have some delicious ham cut from a bone but it isn't the same, is it? Ah well, times have certainly changed when you can't get your bacon sliced how you want and everything is pre-packed in gruesome plastic and people wonder why children and adults get ill and fat".
Memories of happy times, she's lucky to have worked in wonderful places for wonderful people with wonderful products. And Harrods, in times gone by, was probably the most wonderful in every way.
GeeGee Parrot.
Demember 18th, 2015.
Postscript: Pink stuff is aka taramasalata.
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