How all men's food should look
If you're a member of WoSblog's highly secretive Alert Viewers Society, you might recall that WoSblog recently visited the intriguing city of Gloucester, and in passing mentioned the presence – on the menu of the Varsity Bar pub chain – of an item by the name of the Dirty Dog's Dinner.
It didn't seem fair, though, that WoSblog's beloved viewers should be expected to simply picture it in their minds. So here it is.
It should be noted that the shot above (taken this weekend in the pleasant Cardiff outlet) represents the £3.99 meal with a substantial amount of headway already made into it, and with some HP Sauce added for largely visual effect. It actually started off looking like the shot below, but the later one captures its nature more effectively.
(WosBlog's lunch companion, you'll notice, ate rather more conservatively and will live a lot longer. But more happily? I doubt it.)
The Dirty Dog's Dinner comprises – in generous amounts – slices of sausage and very lean bacon, piled high with chips and beans and served in – as you can plainly see – a proper steel dogbowl. (There's no trickery on show here, either – it's as deep as it looks, and I couldn't make it all the way to the bottom. The side order of garlic bread was probably a mistake.) And the thing is, it's delicious. And I don't normally even eat baked beans.
The universal truth rarely spoken is that an honest reflection of Western society would see all men's food – from greasy spoons to Burger King to the Ritz and Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck – delivered like this.
By all means give the ladies dainty china plates with teeny little moussellines of this, escalopes of that and juliennes of the other, tastefully and artistically arranged on beds of pulses you've never heard of in the shape of the coat of arms of Louis XII, and drizzled with a plume of Bar-le-Duc. They like things pretty and they're forever fretting about diets, bless 'em.
But for men? Smush it all up in a dogdish, pile baked beans on top of it, and don't bother with cutlery. We're tired of holding back.