Fattest day of the year (part 2)

The fattest day of the year has not yet found its niche and much in the way of easter may have to become a floating holiday, the exact date of which is only known to mystics with sextants able to interpret interplanetary alignments. This is entirely due to a visit to Borough Market, a place of such epicurian delight that I once won a serious, heated argument about how london was the best place on the planet (which it is) simply by saying 'Borough Market'. The argument wasn't conceded in a 'haha! good point, well made' sort of way, but in a 'I concede, take my colours and my soul and may the lord forgive my slattern's mouth' sort of a way. Its that good. Borough market is to markets what Meryl Streep is to acting.

I picked up some orange-yolk eggs and parmesan straight from Italy so I can make some killer carbonara. Plus I got a slice of chocolate tart which I just ate the nose off ... bitter as Jim Carey at the Oscars, creamy as Julianne Moore's skin (I'm sticking with the hollywood similes). While there I ate a Swiss grilled cheese sandwhich which has leeks and garlic and 8lbs of cheese AND haddock and chips, lots of tartare sauce. All topped off with the world's finest beverage: a glass bottle of coke. All in all a reasonably restrained visit but none of it commensurate with health.

I just realised I didn't get pancetta. No point in having parmesan from Italy if the pancetta is from Tesco. A return to Borough may be in order tomorrow - clearly the planets are not yet aligned correctly for soya milk and muesli.