Wednesday, 13 January 2010

The Last Great Bastian of Burnley

And t' Turf in Burnley where Brian Laws has been unveiled as the new manager. I like the fact that the news reports said he "impressed" on the second interview.

I honestly did not know that Football managers are ever interviewed for their jobs.

Perhaps questions would involve "tell me about a time when you have had a funny experience at a Football game" or perhaps they give them a load of artstraws to mould the stadium...........?


Now, I don't want to come across as the kind of woman who knows a lot about the beautiful game or thinks she does. I do not wear a football shirt, polo neck, bench jacket nor any other paraphernalia from a club shop.

I am however in tune to dip in and out as the mood takes me. One thing I do know however is that as a Blackburn Rovers Fan, we are supposed to hate Burnley Football Club.
I cannot understand this hatred thing. Only on Boxing Day recently, I attended a Football match with my family, to see Blackburn draw against another sluggish team from the North West- Wigan.

Watching 23 men who had clearly felt the effects of a complex carb Christmas Dinner was only made entertaining by the baboons who stood, swilled and swore around us. We had a Barbaric nubile twenty something behind us. A portly soul. Having watched the Gruffalo the previous night, I could only think that this word was truly a match made in heaven for him.

What my sister and I found amusing was that Gruffalo thought that he was actually communicating with some fans opposite us. Gruffalo Maximus Hideous was goading the pit of beasts by using his podgy fingers as a blade and making the gesture of "I am going to cut your throat"

Yes. After the game has finished, you will leave the stadium, locate the beast ...and kill him.

Course you will Gruffalo.

The Wigan sandwiches (also known as pies if you are south of Sandbach Services) were a blanket of cholesterol hope in this dire 45 minutes that bestowed upon us.

I came to the conclusion, that I am no more proud to be a fan of Blackburn than I am of any Football club.

Burnley Football Club are heavily criticised by Blackburn fans, yet it is they who helped to found the Football league in 1888.

Another reason why we should be thankful to Burnley is for Benedictine. Infact it is the Burnley Miners Club who are the world's biggest single consumer of Benedictine after their Lancashire Regiment acquired a taste for it during the First World War. Burnley are the Champions of the World. Apologies Roy of the Rovers.

If you have never tried this decadent liquor either warm "Benny an ot'" or folded over chunks of ice.It would be the closest thing to tasting Jo Malone bath oil in a tumbler.

As Burnley FC enjoy a Rennaissance once again, so did one venetian monk Mr Dom Bernardo Vincelli at the Abbey of Fécamp in Normandy, France. This drink favoured on a weekend by the King of France was produced by the Benedictine monks up until the end of the 18th century.
After a bit of trouble ath' mill in the shape of the French Revolution, things went a little to pot and the recipe was lost. It seems one of the Monks only went and misplaced it in the library of Fécamp. Had there been a dewy system back in 1791, this calamity would not have happened.

It was Alexandre Legrand who saved the day. I suppose the Brian Laws of his time. He created an aromatic recipe from 27 plants & spices from the 4 corners of the globe. It really is no wonder this man soon became Alexander the Great.
In my mind first of all, I can taste Battenburg cake. I usually think that Marzipan is the work of the devil himself, but in the drink somehow, it just works. Then, I get smacked round the chops by the taste sweet ripened lemons, bulbous and firm with their stalks still bearing the flowers of the Amalfi Coast. Next comes the sucker punch of Coriander from the beds of the Mediterranean to offset the bitter citrus notes.
Love it or hate it, the zingy paper pod that is Cardamon adds an intense gingery and biscuity taste to Benedictine. Finally drifting into a smorgasbord of confectionery heaven with sweet vanilla.

This French Calpol has been a secret for hundreds of years but is still enjoyed today.

My only problem is the puzzled looks you get from landlords and ladies across the UK and in the USA when you ask for a Benny on ice. Why are these people not in the loop???

I suppose it's off t' Burnley Miners Social Club for me.

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