Hilarious quiz. I won’t tell you my score. Click the “give up” link to reveal the correct answers.
As much as I hate to leave you hanging, the demands of the holiday mean my final TFL recap will have to wait till next week. In the meantime, perhaps this will keep you occupied. (And you can find my recap of it here.) Have a ravishing Christmas. – WK
I got married over the weekend, so I’m afraid there will be no recap today. Normal coverage should resume by next week – thanks for your patience.
Since next up is the second Christmas special, I thought I’d share this – a very campy holiday teaser from the BBC in 1997. Stay tuned.
WordPress reports that the search “Dolly Parton cup size” recently led somebody to read my recap of “Barristers at Lincoln’s Inn.” Needless to say, I continue to be delighted at the readership this blog is drawing.
Written after the conclusion of the first Two Fat Ladies series in 1997, it shares reflections from Clarissa and Jennifer on their first meeting and their working relationship.
I hadn’t read it before – it’s pretty fascinating, and sheds light on the “they actually hated each other” rumors that continue to be attached to the show even now.
In a recent recap, I noted Clarissa’s longstanding support for British foxhunting. By coincidence, this week a columnist for the Isle of Wight County Press wrote a piece discussing that controversial tradition, and at the end of it she shares a recipe of Clarissa’s for “fox pasta.” Enjoy.
Oh, and here’s something else to get you going. Correspondent John White says he wonders what fox meat tastes like.
Well, the late Clarissa Dickson Wright could have told you, John.
Here’s her recipe for fox pasta. You hang the fox in running water for three days (Clarissa didn’t specify whether it should be dead or not and there was no telling with her), cook it with garlic, onion and tomato, stew it for an hour-and-a-half and serve it with chestnut pasta. Clarissa said she’d probably “cut the fox into halves, not quarters”.
I have absolutely no comment on this piece of culinary advice.
Like all of the best TV shows ever, there is no reason on the surface that this show should have worked: Two not-young, not-svelte Englishwomen who prattle about the drafty countryside on a motorcycle and sidecar, cooking breath-destroying traditional cuisine such as deviled kidneys, and adding as much lard, Stilton, and anchovy as possible to everything. They make rude jokes—a reference to the anal-sex scene in Last Tango in Paris while buttering a baking dish is particularly memorable—speak in trills that make Julia Child sound like Barry White, and seem always ready to bite the heads off anything that appears delicious. There is an authenticity and humanness to these characters no marketing department or consultant could ever instill. Its lack of freshness is the freshest thing about it. God bless the British executives who greenlit this show in the 1990s, and God bless Joe Langhan, the Providence, Rhode Island, cable exec who started Food Network and made the deal to bring Jennifer Paterson and Clarissa Dickson Wright to American TV, providing some of the funds that allowed the show to keep filming—yes, it was shot on film. Expensive! YouTube has a a great selection of Fat Ladies videos. Or you can buy an official collection from Amazon.
One of the fun things about writing this blog is that through the miracle of WordPress analytics I can sometimes see how people have managed to find it. For instance, last week, a visitor landed here because he entered this query into a search engine:
Asian driving gloves fetish
He (at least I presume it was a he) wound up here, of all places, because of three sentences in my recap of “Meat“:
Clarissa cooks “Beef à la Will Moreland” . . . : “roast fillet of beef in a pan-Asian fashion.”
STYLE WATCH: Jennifer’s red driving gloves.
SUGGESTIONS OF SEX: Clarissa admits a “kitchenalia fetish.”
I expect he was disappointed by what he found here, but I like to imagine he enjoyed these recaps so much he forgot what he was looking for in the first place. . . .