The odd things too much cake can make you do: a trip to Bettys, York

First up - apologies. I have been a bad, bad blogger. You might be mistaken for thinking that I came down with some kind of fatal food poisoning since my trip to Handmade Burger Co in April. Rest assured, I'm very much alive and well - obviously this here blog is proof that I'm not a modern day Blogger Jesus.  Instead, I've been busy wedding organising, celebrating (a lot), contemplating moving house, trying to get a bit fitter, and generally being a bit, well, busy.

But fear ye not, I'm back. And today I'll be talking about something exceptionally important and close to my heart - CAKE. And afternoon tea. Oh my. This is what dreams are made of.

Since we came back from Croatia, I've been attempting to be good on the food front. You know the drill - no naughty-ness, lots of salad, more vegetables than Mr McGregor's garden, counting Weight Watchers points until they come out of my ears and absolutely no cake. Boring boring boring. Of course, however, I made an exception for this bad boy - made by my brilliant friend Sophie in honour of our engagement and containing two of my most favourite things in the entire world - chocolate and Diet Coke. How could I say no to a slice of that?

Anyway, you get the picture. Over the past two months, the lbs have gradually started to drop off but I have been dreaming of cake. So you can imagine my excitement when two of the Mr's lovely friends from Uni bought us a voucher for champagne afternoon tea at Bettys (which mysteriously doesn't have an apostrophe - but don't let that put you off).

Bettys is somewhat of a Yorkshire institution. When I first decided to move to God's Own County for university my mother dearest could hardly contain her excitement of a) having a child-free house and b) having an excuse for regular trips to Bettys. Founded in 1919, the company now has six tea rooms across Yorkshire and a successful mail order company. Although the queues for their tea rooms often stretch round the corner and prices aren't exactly akin to buying a Tesco's bakery danish pastry, the amazing service, beautiful decoration that's reminiscent of a bygone era and the promise of exceptional cake make both the wait and the threat of a slimmed down bank balance worthwhile.

Keen to avoid the queues, I  managed to book a table for afternoon tea at the Belmont Room at the York branch. Away from the hustle and bustle of the main room and shop, the Belmont Room is a bookings only space that's above the main restaurant area. With a separate side entrance, it feels slightly department store-ish (I think maybe something to do with the darkness of the room due to a love of thick blinds) and it isn't quite as opulent as the main tearoom. However, when being faced with waiting in the rain in among a street load of Japanese tourists eager to get their mitts on some cake, the sacrifice was well worth it.

After being seated by a very friendly maître d, there was some confusion about the validity of our gift voucher for the Belmont Room that I wasn't made aware of when I secured the booking - apparently prices in the Belmont Room are slightly higher than they are in the main cafe tea rooms. However, it was quickly rectified after the maître d agreed that it was an error in communication on Bettys side, leaving us to enjoy our glass of champagne. 

After a peruse of Bettys substantial tea menu (containing no less than 18 different types of tea), the bubbles from the champagne made me divert from my normal (boring) choice of breakfast tea and instead opt for China Rose Petal which promised to keep my "mind, body and spirit in natural harmony." Very third age, but delicious none the less.

And then came the afternoon tea. Three amazing tiers of completely diet-unfriendly bliss which began with a selection of the most beautiful sandwiches - chicken and tarragon mayonnaise, smoked salmon, ham and mustard and egg and cress. The bread was oh-so-moist and fresh and the flavours complemented each other in a way that only the God of Afternoon Teas could create. In fact they were so good, we asked for more (forgive me Weight Watchers for I have sinned). 

Next came the scones. Ohhhh the scones. You know that thing when you cut into a scone and it's got a delicious crust on the outside and then it's beautifully soft and squidgy on the inside? Yeah? Well that in abundance. With cream and jam. Four little pieces of heaven.

And finally it was the turn of the cake. There was delicious macaroon, melt-in-the-mouth lemon meringue, coffee and ameretto sponge, victoria sponge to die for and a little slice of chocolately goodness. Oh my. I'll let the picture do the talking.

With that we finished our tea and rolled back down the stairs into the hustle and bustle of York, having spent two hours in Cake Utopia. Thanks Sarah and Jay.

The tea (along with the sugar high and added champagne) must have done something to my mind, body and spirit as promised as we then decided to go take a very romantic trip to a Go Outdoors store. More than two hours and a lot more than a few pennies later, we walked out clutching a tent, two rucksacks, two waterproof jackets, walking shoes, top of the range self-inflating sleeping mats (who even knew they existed) and a whole load of other stuff having taken the snap decision to walk from Saltburn to Filey this summer (and camp along the way). Maybe I need to lay off the cake if this sort of thing is the result. Lesson learnt.

A very Croatian engagement

Last time I blogged (which seems like many moons ago), I mentioned that I was off to Croatia to eat my weight in meat and seafood.

Well, eat my weight in meat and seafood I most definitely did. And pizza. And pasta. And risotto. All washed down with the biggest glasses of red wine you ever did see. We had the most lovely holiday.

We flew to Split, where we climbed the tower of Diocletian's Palace. I ate the most gorgeous seafood risotto, and we saw the sunrise from our apartment window, which was in the attic of a little house that was up a narrow, winding street.

Then we took the ferry to Korcula. We went on long walks, got lost a lot, explored the deserted Old Town, drank glasses of wine that cost 85p by the seafront and ate pizza that was bigger than our head.

Next it was off to Hvar, the most beautiful of islands. On the first day, we paddled in the sea, watched the yachts come in and out of the harbour and spent the afternoon in the town's little cafes, drinking cold beer.

On the second day, we walked up to the castle, hired bikes, cycled to a beach and walked along a rocky coastal footpath to a deserted cove. While we were sitting on the rocks, watching the clear blue sea sparkle in the sunshine, Ash asked me to marry him. 

I said a big fat yes.

Unbeknownst to me, he'd been carrying around a bag of Haribo rings all holiday, waiting for the right moment.

We celebrated by drinking Slovenian sparkling wine, getting very giddy, going to a beautiful restaurant in the harbour, eating delicious calamari, mussels and a seafood platter that was the most divine thing ever.

The next day we decided to leave our little (very budget) apartment behind and check into a hotel for our last night in honour of our newly engaged status. By some fluke of luck, the mid-range hotel we'd booked had closed - and instead we were told that there was a room for us for the same price in the most expensive, luxurious Spa hotel on the island that overlooked the harbour.

We spent the afternoon swimming in their salt water swimming pool, drinking appletinis in their roof-top bar until the sun went down, and generally grinning from ear to ear.

Words can't paint a picture of how happy I am, so maybe this photo will do the talking for me. x

Meat Free March: how a kale and onion pizza can set you up for a Tom Odell gig

No meat for a month means no more cheeky meat feast pizzas - the food that's traditionally accompanied pre-gig or pre night-out drinking since 2003.

There's something about a good supermarket bought meat feast pizza. On paper, it's completely and utterly disgusting. Shed loads of nameless processed meat (three quarters of which is probably horse), a whole load of overly salty mozzarella cheese and the stodgiest pizza base in history pretty much equates to a heart attack on a plate. I'm not normally one for ready meals. However, when there's a gig to go to or a night out to be had where alcohol is involved, nothing quite beats the meat feast combo for its magical stomach lining properties and its delicious, salty goodness.

This Saturday we had tickets to see the brilliant Tom Odell at the Cockpit in Leeds. Slightly concerned that this gig would be meat feast pizza-less, I set about scouring around for a meat-free alternative - something that we could make at home and something that would beat Sainsbury's generic vegetarian pizza offering hands-down.

A visit to a Yorkshire vineyard

Yorkshire - a word that summons an image of beautiful rolling hills, rain, men in flat caps with whippets, stone-clad villages, Last of the Summer Wine, penny-pinching individuals, nice pie and a good pint of ale.

Tuscany - a word that summons an image of rolling hills, sunshine, good food, beautiful white-washed villages, podgy, old Italian ladies and lots and lots of vineyards, which of course equals lots and lots of wine.

These are two places which probably couldn't sound much more different. But, believe it or not, a Yorkshire vineyard isn't an oxymoron - it actually exists. In a little village just outside of Holmfirth (where Last of the Summer Wine was filmed), lies a little slice of Tuscany - seven acres of vine covered land that blend into the Pennines. Holmfirth Vineyard is home to over 7,000 vines and four different types of grape - all of which cling to its steep slopes and battle the snow, wind and rain to form one of the highest and most northerly vineyards in the world.

London Calling

I miss London. Since I moved to Leeds in 2006, a couple of long distance relationships and family and friends nearby meant that I'd never been far from its grasps, usually visiting at least once a month. But times they have changed and since Ash moved to Leeds two summers ago, visits to the capital (for anything apart from work) are a lot rarer than they used to be.

My teenage years were pretty much defined by being in London - from escaping to Camden when I decided to dye my hair black when I was 14 to the anti-war marches later on, and then the hundreds of gigs, pubs and clubs when I was 18 or so and all I wanted to do was kiss Carl Barat from The Libertines. The world was my oyster and London was at its core.

So it was with a lot of excitement that I made my merry way down to the city that will always feel a bit like home on Friday to celebrate my Mama's birthday and to catch up with some of my favourite people. Armed with a bag of Percy Pigs, a train ticket and a good book, I met my parents at Kings Cross Station two and a bit hours after I'd set off from Leeds.

My Dad and I whisked my Mum off to Hampstead for a bite to eat, a wander down the lovely high street and a trip to the Everyman cinema to see Hitchcock. For those of you who have never experienced an Everyman cinema, I can't recommend them highly enough. With just nine cinemas spread across the country (most of which are in London, although there's one coming to Leeds soon - hurrah!), they really are a joy to behold.  Decked out with plush sofas and with full waiter service to your seat for a pretty reasonable price, their screens are the antithesis of all the horrible multiplexes that only care about making money and not about the films they show or the experience that they give their customers.

Ma and Pa at the Everyman

With a bowl of frozen yoghurt, a comfy armchair and a big screen, it would have been a pleasurable experience watching Hitchcock no matter what the film was actually like. As it was, I thought the film was very watchable. Having never seen Psycho (around which the film is set) or knowing much at all about old Alfred H, I couldn't help that think that some of its meaning was lost on me, but Helen Mirren was fantastic and although I felt that Anthony Hopkins' performance was slightly forced, it was still enjoyable. My Ma and Pa seemed to enjoy it too, which was all that really mattered at the end.

On Saturday morning I caught up with Mel - one of my best friends from Sixth Form (and one of the zaniest, craziest, most warm-hearted people I know) - over two of the biggest English breakfasts that you ever did see at the Love Walk Cafe in Camberwell. Mel is the sort of person who just loves life and has an amazingly refreshing, creative outlook - she ran a marathon with little to no training, applied to Uni on the day of our A Level results, ran a race dressed as a gorilla and cycled down the Nile because she was bored. All of this means that there's little in life that would surprise me about Mel. So when she changed into a space suit in the middle of the Cafe and then asked us to film her drinking tea to accompany a Beyonce song for a top secret project that I can't divulge to you as yet, I wasn't in the least bit surprised. I promise to reveal all when I can.

The afternoon saw a trip to the South London Gallery with another wonderful friend, Kim. My friendship with Kim is one of the best things that came out of my time at Uni and, having lived with each other for four years, we went through a lot of the trials and tribulations that university life can bring together. She was (and still is) a constant support when times get a bit tough, and one of the funnest people I know. We can go for months without speaking, and yet when we're together everything just seems to click back into place. I was so so so pleased to see her.

After the gallery, Kim and I popped to Brixton to drink wine and eat the most delicious sourdough pizzas - that were bigger than our heads - at Franco Manca.

Then we made our way to Bush Hall to drink lots of vodka and see The Coral's drummer, Ian Skelly, do his thing as a solo artist (accompanied by most of The Coral). We danced. We drank. It felt like we were at Uni again. It was so much fun.

After a lazy Sunday morning on Kim's sofa, I headed to the Southbank Centre to see Winston. Winst and I became friends fifteen years ago when we were made to sit next to each other in every class at secondary school. He has always judged people by the shoes they wear, has a penchant for expensive macaroons and never fails to make me giggle like a fourteen year old. He's brilliant, and he likes art, so I dragged him to see the Light Show at the Hayward Gallery.

Despite the pricey £11 entry ticket, the show was fantastic - one of the best exhibitions I've seen in years. It was a colourful playground of light and art that challenged visual perception and left me wanting more more more. If you're in the big smoke, you have to go. You really, really won't regret it.

And with that, I hopped on a National Express (ugh) back to Leeds.

It was a weekend that made me feel alive, that made me fall back in love with London, and that made me feel genuinely lucky to be surrounded by the most wonderful friends. What more could a girl want?

London - I miss you. I'll be back soon. x

The Tenner Challenge: day two - economical exploring

When I woke up this morning the sun was shining, the birds were singing (er, ish - I don't think I've ever seen, let alone heard, a bird in Leeds city centre) and after a few days of being a bit under the weather I was feeling decidedly perky. It seemed like a perfect day to drag Ash out of bed and go for an explore. One of my favourite things about living in Leeds is the fact that it's also quite easy to get out of it - in twenty minutes you can be in the middle of the stunning Yorkshire Dales or exploring an old country heap somewhere. Trains are cheap and the bus network is extensive. Exploring is easy.

Or so I thought. When I actually started to look into what we could do today, I was met with a couple of pretty massive barriers. Firstly, when you only have a £10 budget to last you a whole week, trains are actually quite expensive - even with a Young Person's Railcard. To get to York (twenty minutes away) you're looking at something close to 3/4 of the weekly budget disappearing down the drain, and a return to nearby Ilkley would take out half in one foul swoop. Normally spending £7+ on a train ticket to somewhere pretty wouldn't even cross my mind - my card would be in that ticket machine before you could shout Betty's  Afternoon Tea - but as a famous man once said, the times they are a'changing (well, for this week at least).

Right, I thought, time for a change of tack. Let's go local. Despite living in Leeds for ages, there are tons of places I haven't been. I've never been to Temple Newsam house or farm, and Thwaite Mills are unknown territory too. Let's pop on a bus and go somewhere, I thought. How wrong I was. Although you can walk around the grounds for free (which I've done before), entry to Temple Newsam is £6 per adult, and the bus fare would be significant too. Thwaite Mills (which we could walk to) would take out £3.70 per adult - and Ash didn't seem all that enthusiastic. Back to the drawing board.

A visit to Saltaire

After a bit of thinking, we decided to pop on a train to Saltaire and go for a walk. Saltaire is just 15 minutes away from Leeds by train, and a return ticket (with a Young Person's Railcard) set us back just £2.90 each.

I'm not sure if going to Saltaire really counts as exploring - I've been there lots of times before - but it's somewhere local that I really love visiting. It's a UNESCO world heritage site, named after Sir Titus Salt's mill that dominates the town. It has a fascinating history and the mill is now a wonderful Arts Centre which is full of Hockney paintings and one of my most favourite local bookshops and home/kitchen stores. It's a living, breathing little place with a wonderful park, lovely junk shops, a brewery, a canal and a real sense of community. Ash and I love it so much, in fact, that we're seriously considering a move to one of the workers' cottages when our contract expires on the flat in June. It just feels like how a home should feel.

A carb-loving girl's guide to football

Despite having a boyfriend who could quite happily spend all day every day watching pretty much any sport, I just don't get it. If we lived in a world where cake eating or pie making contests were an Olympic sport,  you wouldn't have been able to tear me away from the TV this summer for either love nor money. In the same way, if football pundits spent more time talking about what Wayne Rooney had eaten for breakfast, or where he was going for dinner that night, I'd probably take more of an interest.

I just find watching sport a bit - well - boring. Put it this way, I firmly believe that if F1 drivers were less concerned with continually driving round in a circle as fast as they can and more concerned with how to make the perfect puff pastry, they'd be a lot more productive and the world would be a better (if not slightly fatter) place.

However, 2013 is a year of trying new things - and by new things, I don't just mean foodstuffs or seeing what my blowtorch is capable of doing. 

Hobbiting around the National Media Museum

I've got a confession to make. Until the other day, I'd lived in Leeds for over six years and I'd only ever visited our neighbouring city of Bradford once - which is a really appalling effort for someone who thinks they know this area of Yorkshire pretty well.

My first ever trip to the city -which is just 8.6 miles from Leeds - happened during the summer that I graduated from Uni. Some of the boys that I lived with at the time decided they'd like to go and see Transformers 2 at the Bradford Media Museum's IMAX. I hadn't started full-time work yet and I was pretty broke, but I was really bored and needed cheering up, so I decided to go too. Wrong decision. I'm not a fan of action films, cars or Megan Fox. It's fair to say that the Transformers 2 experience was well and truly wasted on me. The curry we had afterwards definitely wasn't, however. It was at the moment when I was wiping my plate with my nann bread that I promised myself a return trip to the city that is famed for de-industrialisation, economic deprivation, excellent curries and is UNESCO's first ever designated City of Film.

The National Media Museum

Fast forward three and a half years and I still hadn't been back. However, this Christmas I'd booked an extra week off work - the first time in three and a bit years of full-time work that I'd booked holiday for doing absolutely nothing in (apart from designated blowtorch experimenting time of course). It offered the perfect opportunity to venture over the border - and when I bargained with Ash for a trip to the National Media Museum in return for seeing the Hobbit at the IMAX and a curry afterwards, he was more than happy to oblige.