Cook you a steak and do what job?

You know what really grinds my gears? Well, initially it's people who use the phrase "You know what really grinds my gears?" and don't expect me to think of them as Peter Griffin from that moment on. But let's leave that to one side for the time being...

Man-Babies are one things that grind my gears - Now this would be such an easy thing to do the day after International Women's Day... And obviously, that's why I'm doing it. (Did you know, IWD was started back in 1909 by the Socialist Party of America - One wonders if it would be as big a global celebration if it was started by the National Socialist Party of Germany in the late 1930s - But I digress)

Wait, where were we?

Ah yes, Man-Babies.  You know what a man-baby is don't you? It's a man, who acts, out of his own volition, like a whining opinionated baby - Which is pretty much all men (Am I Rite Ladies? High-five! - Wooo! - Don't leave me hanging... OK [Looks at palm of my hand][sees unusually crusty peeling stain][understands completely]) 

Now I don't mean the men who employ the paid services of professional ladies who look after them whilst they toddle around wearing nappies and rattling their... Um... 'rattles' in people's faces and wearing comfortable bootees and happily having their nappies changed and suchlike.  Each to their own I say where sexual perversion's concerned - Especially in society's upper echelons, what-what?

And I don't mean card-carrying misogynists - They're a whole different breed entirely and we've talked about them before.

I mean the ones who genuinely believe that the only important things are things that apply directly to them and other men, who they claim some kind of shaky brotherhood with - like the urgent, Gods-given need for Government-sponsored erectile dysfunction medicine and free at the point of delivery hair replacement therapy, I mean the lightbulb shaped headed ones wearing last season's football shirts who bleated all over social media yesterday "When's International Men's Day?" - The same ones who went oddly quiet when I (and several other people - I'm not claiming any singular Godhood here) replied, "It's the 19th November you massive Twonk, the day before Universal Children's Day. If you're going to cry like a bitch about some perceived slight against your gender, at least have the common decency to get your facts straight."

And don't think I'm some kind of white-knight feminist defender myself either. I'm really not... If you're female and wearing a low-cut top (for whatever reason) I will look at your cleavage and/or boobs - You can check with Mrs Dandy - we can't go anywhere without her tutting, shaking her head and having to repeat herself at least a dozen times. I won't stand in front of you with my coat open shielding you from the ogling stares of other neanderthal men. I'm a firm believer that boobs are great, and if you want to have a proportion of yours on show - You should feel completely free to do so - But you're gonna get looks from the weak willed.

But what really gets me, specifically, every bloody year hasn't really even started yet.  Next week, Facebook & Twitter will be full of it.  On Monday it'll be wall-to-wall schoolboy sniggering for the preamble. On Tuesday it'll be "when I get home tonight from a hard day at the coalface/office/clinic, guess what I'm getting?!?!!?'

You've worked it out right?

March 14th? a month after Valentines Day?

Well, it's another one of those gender specific made-up strictly for profit holidays. Whereas Valentine's Day is a holiday for women, with non-generic petrol station flowers, high cocoa content chocolates, and things wrapped in red and pink reflective paper. Steak and a Blowjob Day (for it is that of which I am speaking) is for men... because men like red meat and getting their dicks wet whilst their eyes roll back into their heads (and if that doesn't happen, someone's doing something wrong).

I don't get why you need to announce it to your 63 Facebook friends (half of which are probably friends with your significant other too who will laugh when she post "Not bloody likely Sunshine, you can spend 30 seconds on Pornhub once the kids have gone to bed like you do every Saturday night instead of playing FIFA.") 

And it's so boringly contrived and binary - I mean, I love chocolate - And Mrs Dandy gets excited by the thought of a decent mouthful of steak (well, she did before she decide to go pescatarian - feel free to insert your own jokes there.) 

But men... (Lower-case used intentionally) Just like there's no specific date for you to tell your partner that you love them or to buy them flowers, as long as you're prepared for every one of her female friends to ask her what you've done. And there's no date when it's more or less right to buy decent chocolate for your partner or even yourself. There's no specific day when you can't buy and cook a nice, thick steak, or go to a nice restaurant and order steak if you you don't 'do' washing up, because you're too manly. And, believe it or not if you have a decent cleanliness routine, it's not out of the realms of possibility that a lady that you personally quite like will, without any kind of struggle or Gaffer Tape being involved, put your love-python in where her shouting at you usually comes out of.

Providing you're both equally up for it that is... And that you've eaten quite a lot of pineapple beforehand.  Enjoy.

Unpaid Review: 99 Station Street, Burton Upon Trent

OK, so what's the first thing that springs into your mind when someone says 'Burton'?

Is it Marmite? The salty, yeasty exudate (Stop making your own jokes up at the back) beloved of those with anaemia and those vegetarian types who still hanker after a cup of reviving Bovril but can't be bothered with all the buggering about with flying saucers and Nazis.

Or perhaps do you think of Burton's most musical son, singer, songwriter and pro-smoking activist Mr Joe (Well, Dave) Jackson? - What do you mean 'Who?' He did that song in the late 70's "Is she really going out with him? Is she really gonna..." Erm... Yeah, well that's pretty much all I can remember myself, as it happens.

No, I guess that anyone who's heard of Burton would think of beer, which is understandable I suppose, they've been breweing beer there for at least 300 years you know.  Wherever you go in Burton, you're never more than a deep inhalation away from a brewery, especially if it's a hot day.

But from now on, when anyone says Burton to me, I shall initially think of the very splendid evening that I had on Friday. (18th. July 2014)

I don't know about you guys, but I think Groupon is great.  It can let you try things that you might not ordinarily, either because of cost or because you didn't know they actually existed in the first place.  It's also handy for helping you think of original places to take your wife on your wedding anniversary. 

I must admit to never having heard of 99 Station Street before, despite knowing Burton pretty well after a protracted period of 'Working' for the Council.  It's but a mere hop, skip and a jump from the railway station (as you could probably have deduced from its name - I don't think you're going to need a huge amount of assistance with figuring out its exact address either, it's pretty much exactly what it says on the tin). Although saying that, the venue is only a single-width shopfront, so if you blink, you might miss it like we did the first time, and end up in the Devonshire Arms (Which is no great hardship as they do some great real ales, and I'm a bit of a bumpkin so I enjoy that kind of thing.) 

Anywho, we eventually made our way to the restaurant and were greeted by a positively Falstaffian gentleman, whom I think was the owner, who may or may not be called George, who proceeded to show us to a selection of tables, once we had chosen our favourite (Force of habit made me choose the one nearest the door) he relieved me of my suit jacket and took our drinks order.  If there's one thing I find uncomfortable about Groupon offers, it's actually telling the person who's serving you that you're only favouring their establishment because you're getting it cheap.  I know that they chose to run the promotion themselves, and I know that having my bum, and that of my dear wife, on their higly polished seats was exactly the outcome they'd hoped for, but I still feel like a bit of a cheapskate, it's me, I'm a bit Victorian about things like that.

So, I plucked up the courage and said something like "I should probably infom you that we're here with the Groupon offer."  He smiled and replied that he would definitely consider himself informed, with the kind, gentle, voice usually reserved for dealing with someone who had just claimed that he had a giraffe in shoebox, under the table.

The wine arrived in swift order and we selected our starters and mains from their Summer set menu (Not their Somerset menu as I had first thought)  I had the Homemade Chicken Liver Pate, served on a curled-up tablespoon that Uri Gellar would have been proud of, whilst the Mehmsahib had the Flaked Salmon, bound with Homemade Mayonnaise and served with Chive Blinis.  Both of these were excellent... So excellent that they might well blow the ears off a passing rabbit.  After a respectful pause, the main courses arrived. This time, both of us had plumped for the Chargrilled Rump Steak with a Mushroom, Bacon and Red Wine sauce. I took mine rare, (bien sûr) and the current Mrs Dandy chose medium rare. Both were very good.  In the interests of a balanced review, I would have to say that they weren't the best steaks I've ever had in my life (Remind me to tell you about the meal I had at The Bleeding Heart in Farringdon one day - There's a story...) But they were still very good, excellent at the price in fact.  For dessert we both had the White Chocolate Panna Cotta, which was astoundingly good.  In fact, after taking our first mouthfuls, we both stopped and looked at each other with raised eyebrows whilst the creamy effulgence disappeared from our mouths like the after-image of a particularly scrummy dream about ponies.  Then we nodded, knowingly, and continued to demolish the rest.

The (I think, Husband and Wife) front of house staff were friendly to the point where I actually wished they were my friends, the food was excellent, the surroundings were understated but stylish and the general dining experience was one which I would repeat with such regularity as would stun a goat, as and whenever finances allowed.

Would I visit 99 Station Street again? Yes, I would.

Would I pay full price for the experience? Yes, I would, in a heartbeat.

"Was there anything you didn't like, you simpering buffoon?" I hear you ask.  Well, yes there was... On the table directly opposite from us there were two couples, who were not, I think, on their first bottle of wine.  Most of them were amiable enough, except the one gentleman, who carried himself in the manner of a Geography Teacher, or a travelling Radiator Salesman perhaps, he put his opinions forward using a tone of voice that was just on the obnoxious side of vociferousness.  He struck me as something of a cross between a loudhailer and Charlie Brown's teacher from the 'Peanuts' cartoon.

So that was it, the only mar on an otherwise perfect evening was nothing to do with the restaurant itself.

If I assigned stars to my reviews, I would give 99 Station Street one more than my normal maximum number of star.  So consider it a six... Or an eleven, depending on what you think my maximum number of stars normally is.

99 Station Street
Burton Upon Trent
DE14 1BT
Tel: 01283 516859




Actually, did you know that a 'Marmite' is a French, earthenware cooking pot?
No, me either.