"In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes."
- Andy Warhol
My moment had come, and I didn't even know it yet...
It was a Saturday afternoon. The Saturday after my work Summer Party. You can imagine how I felt. I had to go back to bed around 12:30pm for an hour after not being able to eat beans on toast. I was so hungover. I was in a bad way. How on earth was I going to celebrate with my fantastic chum Mandy at her birthday BBQ?
She mentioned that morning that she had brought me a present, and bearing in mind it was her birthday that made me feel quite special. I meandered into their quaint Hampstead abode, still nursing an enormous hangover. I gave her the standard girl birthday present, a bottle of wine. She passed me a brown paper bag which was almost half see through due to the amount of grease on its underside. "You can probably guess what it is by now" she said, and she wasn't wrong. I knew it was a Scotch Egg.
A plate came out, and so did a little bit of wholegrain mustard. This was a big boy. Hard to tell from this picture (I'll explain how I may, or almost definitely wont, be overcoming this problem in my next review), but it was large. Maybe even as big as the Southampton Arms, but not quite. Before I made the vital incision I was halted. Mandy then went on to tell me how she got hold of this beauty...
To cut a long story short she went into The Hampsted Butcher to get some supplies for the BBQ when she saw what she couldn't believe was a Scotch Egg and went on to ask the owner "Is that a Scotch Egg" to which he replied "Yes it is" to which she replied "I'll have to get this for my friend, he writes a blog."
I edged forward on my chair, as did the rest of the people in the garden. You could cut the tension with a knife. I could of also cut my Scotch Egg open with the very same knife, but I was engrossed...
"What is your friends name" asked the butcher to which Mandy replied "David. His blog is called The Scotch Egg Review" the butcher replied "I think I've heard of it, this one's on the house."
Holy shit. A mere six reviews down and I'm big in Hampstead. The magic had spread down the route of the number 24 bus. How much further could this little humble message spread? It would only be a matter of time before I'm getting papped coming out of trendy West End eateries that had made Michelin Starred Scotch Eggs especially for me I thought. Maybe Heston reads this. If he does, big up yourself. As my friends looked up at me like I was some kind of modern day Jesus with a pork ringed halo, I delicately cut into what I knew was going to be a special one.
You can get more of a feel of the scale now. A not overly heavy crunchy breadcrumb coating, yet golden and bright. I went in. This really WAS special. Densely packed and moist. Literally melt in your mouth moist. I hadn't tasted anything like this yet. This was really special. Though it was when I looked closer I got really pumped.
A colour explosion! Some kind of stuffing maybe? Chorizo? Different types of pork? God only knows (I'm Jesus remember) what was inside this little BEAUTY, but all I knew was that this was a serious piece of food. I had a score in my head at the time, but writing this review and looking back this wasn't just a really tasty snack, this was a really tasty snack with magical medicinal powers. My hangover had disappeared. I had opened a bottle of beer and I was drinking it. I had be reborn.