food – Never Give Up PT

Keema Made In The Paella Pan

I make most of my sauces, especially those that demand a spicy bite, in the paella pan these days. I first made an arrabbiata sauce in the paella pan. I found that I could spread the ingredients much easier in the large area of the pan and mix the spices more evenly. I also like to cook and eat with my eyes. The different colours inspire me and I can see them better in a paella pan. It also means that I can batch cook and I am a big fan of batch cooking. It’s one of the changes that I recommended when a client came to me with dietary concerns.

Life can be super stressful at the best of times and after a busy day with work and other errands it is difficult to find time to prepare healthy meals. So I know from past experience that an oven pizza or a takeaway is a convenient way to eat. But if you’ve already got a selection of healthy sauces that you prepared in the freezer then it can be a box ticked off of the stress list. Just cook a bit of rice or pasta and wait for the microwave to ping!

Today I woke up wanting to make an Indian style curry. We don’t have an Indian or Chinese restaurant in Sertá so that itch needs to be scratched occasionally by cooking these meals at home. To be fully authentic and to give a nod to our previous life in England, I would like to put my curry sauce in a tub with a foil lid, place it in a brown paper bag, knock on our front door after an hour and a half and charge £30 for it. But thus far I have refrained from doing so.

Keema, or Qeema in Urdu, is a north Indian and Pakistani dish that literally means ground mince. Today I chose turkey (peru in Portuguese). It’s just what I had in my freezer and it is cheaper meat here, so we often have it available to us at home. It means that with a big jar of passata, a few onions, a couple of garlic cloves, chopped ginger, and a frozen bag of veg, it’s a cost effective meal for the family with the bonus of the batch factor!

My favourite curry is vindaloo or even hotter. I ordered a Phaal in a restaurant once and had the waiters and chefs sniggering by the kitchen door as they watched my head turn bright red as I took my first bite. It was painful and remained so for the next 24 hours, but it was also extremely enjoyable (the first hour, not so much the next 23). I always order vindaloo/phaal, three chapatis and a portion of chips in an Indian restaurant. No shares. Whoever I’m with can’t do any of that sharing half and half shenanigans. It’s mine. I ordered it. Want a chip? Then order some! Every one of my chips has a job to do, especially at the end of the meal when I need to ‘mop up’ the remaining deadly sauce.

But at home I’m a little bit more relaxed with my choices and my sharing habits. I’m fine with making a curry less spicy for my wife and kids and I’m ok with cooking rice. I usually leave out the chips too for a healthier meal, but I do provide wraps or chapatis. It’s still important to mop at the end, right?

So here’s the final result! All plated and ready to eat! Let me know your favourite meals to cook and, importantly, tell me if you’re a sharer in a restaurant or not in the comments.

A Subject That Always Sparks A Debate…

This week the UK government said that it wants to ban cigarette smoking in pub gardens, outside nightclubs and around children’s play parks. Now, it would be hard to find a reasonable argument for being allowed to smoke in or around a kids play park, but I’m not sure about elsewhere. Here’s what I think…

I am living in central Portugal. Cigarettes are still sold in cafe vending machines. Supermarkets have Tobacaria shops inside them and even cafe bars attached to them. Doing your weekly shop, stopping for a smoke while downing a beer or wine before loading your car and driving away is common.

I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore but do occasionally vape electronically in private. I haven’t openly smoked anything since becoming a dad and a Personal Trainer. Smoking while doing either of those jobs is not cool. But I don’t begrudge anybody else smoking. In fact, seeing people sitting around a table outside a cafe in Sertá, chatting and laughing in different languages makes me feel happy and truth be known, before I moved here, it was one of the images that I went to sleep imagining. The cafe music, the different languages and the server bringing out olives and wine on a sunny day, all under a cloud of Marlboro is all very European. That appeals to me.

Some of my best memories of holidays abroad haven’t necessarily been on a beach or doing karaoke at an all inclusive, but visiting an art gallery or castle in Europe. And it was always followed by sitting outside a cafe to talk about what I had discovered, either with my family or with complete strangers.

And although in the beer garden at Wetherspoons there was plenty of alcohol and smoking, I never did get onto the subject of how the Duomo bell tower was constructed with its customers.

Ah yes. Wetherspoons. Where you can openly shout about hating foreigners while drinking Belgian beer. After that, you can go for a Turkish kebab, watch American TV or cheer on a few Africans in your favourite football team on your Japanese TV while sitting on a Swedish sofa. In the morning, you can drive your German car and if you have an accident you will be seen by a Spanish nurse. Once you are better again, you can go back to Wetherspoons and shout about those ‘bloody foreigners’ in a building most likely to be funded by the European Union. Just remember to wipe your feet on the way out.

And before you start criticising me for being down on Britishness, Wetherspoons is and continues to be a very big factor in what is the cause of a loss of Britishness on the high streets. The Wetherspoons franchise has slowly dismantled the great British pub. You can’t get your piss stained peanuts from a bowl at the bar while drinking a pint of Best at the local Fox and Hounds anymore because Tim Martin came along with his cheap drinks and all day breakfast.

Traditional pubs are ceasing to exist anymore and for all we can blame smoking bans and energy costs, the fact remains that Tim Martin will always be able to make his food and drink way cheaper than Sandra the landlady at The Fox And Hounds.

‘But what about this new smoking ban, Shay?!’ I hear you all ask. ‘Surely it is better for our health and will be less of a burden to the NHS?!’

Smoking is not the number one factor in what causes the two most deadly killers in the UK (heart disease and Alzheimer’s). In fact, everything else they sell in a pub or nightclub are by far the major reasons. That all day breakfast? The Belgian beer or the pint of Best?

In 2022 there were just over 10,000 alcohol related deaths. Obesity causes 30,000 deaths each year. Food and drink related deaths are on the rise and will soon be above smoking related deaths in the years to come. I’m not saying that smoking is better, but it does seem to be the scapegoat when the government talks about unburdening the NHS.

When I watch UK TV I am bombarded by adverts telling me to eat fast food and drink alcohol. Not only is fast food or alcohol not banned but perfectly celebrated as the stuff we should be doing, promoted on national TV!

So eating and drinking crap in a pub is fine, but dare to step into its garden and light up a cigarette and you’re a pariah. You see, it makes no sense.

When I became a PT I wanted to give a different message to what I was seeing and hearing from mainstream gyms and media. It is also how I’ve continued to work at our health and wellbeing centre in Portugal. The misunderstanding from gyms and the media is that health and wellbeing is all about physical health and wellbeing. But I think a little differently.

If society (or your PT) is constantly berating your lifestyle choices such as what you eat, drink or smoke, then this is not going to be a positive contribution to your mindset or your life. You don’t employ a PT for them to tell you that lettuce is better for you than a pizza, or water is better for you than a gin and tonic. Nor should you employ a PT to tell you that not smoking is better for you than smoking.

Balancing these better for you things and the not as good for you things, for me, is the much better position to be in regarding our mental health. This, in turn, can contribute to a more active lifestyle and produce better physical results.

Smoking ten cigarettes a day instead of 20 is a fantastic start. Having a fortnightly takeaway is better than a weekly takeaway and drinking a few beers three nights of the week instead of five is going to positively impact you further.

No bans. No stress. No guilt. Just small things that we call balance.

So, my conclusion and my two penn’orth in the smoking debate is this…

Keep cigarettes, takeaways and alcohol and get rid of Wetherspoons. Society in the UK will seem like a much brighter place.

Rat Park

Despite an easier VISA process to live in Portugal from the UK there were many factors why Portugal began to be a very attractive country to live in.

There were hours and hours of research done by my wife and I to discover the cost of living, how good the education system was, we wanted to know more about the crime rates, the policing, the government structure and the tax system. We especially wanted to know what the quality of life could be expected for our young children. What is Portugal like to grow up in and to become young adults?

And yes, Rishi, we wanted to know if National Service existed in Portugal. It doesn’t. That was important to us. You see, my idea of a country expecting their young citizens to serve mandatory time in the armed forces strikes me as a country with a social problem often brought about by a lack of funding to those who need it the most and, crucially, who the wider society depends on. The youth. They are, after all, the ones who will be taking that particular country forward. Therefore we need to create well rounded young people with opportunities to develop.

Yes, the armed forces can get a great opportunity to learn many skills, but only if that person wishes to enrol in the first place.

So, after our conclusion that Portugal, albeit not perfect (which country is?!) gave us good vibes, we decided to move there.

One thing that caught my attention during my research was Portugal’s drug laws. Since 2001, drugs have been decriminalised. This includes cocaine and heroin. It was the first to do so in the EU. So although it is an offence to carry drugs it is not punishable by imprisonment, it does not result in a criminal record or lead to associated stigmas which may affect the ability to find work.

Instead, drug abusers are treated as patients instead of criminals. Those who remain clean from drug use are given incentives to reconnect with society. The government set up job creation schemes and loans for small businesses, directly intended for an individual to focus on getting their lives back on track and away from drug use.

Portugal had one of the highest number of drug related HIV cases in Europe prior to 2000. It has seen a reduction in new HIV cases by 17%.

Portugal’s drug related death toll is 3 people per million compared to the EU average of almost 18 per million people.

The street value of these illicit drugs massively decreased. Courts and prisons became less crowded. The number of adolescents using drugs declined. All because the government at the time decided to invest in tackling the problem.

A series of experiments were conducted in the early 20th century where they would put a rat in a cage with two water bottles. One was water and the other was water laced with heroin. Almost every rat would keep going back to the water laced with heroin where it would eventually overdose and die.

Then came along a professor in psychology, Bruce Alexander who noticed that, if the rat had nothing to do other than choose from these two bottles then maybe it is an unfair experiment. So he set up a Rat Park. As well as the two bottles, he introduced several rats into a cage so that they could play together, have sex and interact. He placed tunnels into the cages, food and climbing frames.

Professor Alexander noticed that the rats hardly ever went to the drugged water. It didn’t interest them. It went from 100% overdose when they were isolated and 0% when they had happy and connected lives.

What if addiction isn’t about our chemical hooks but instead about our cage?

If we can surround ourselves with a supportive network of people, be excited by a safe and happy future, eat well, exercise, laugh, love and play, then surely our cage is worth staying around for. And the need for turning to the drugged water is less attractive.

And I can say with some experience that it is only when I found a purpose to my life did I stop routinely taking cocaine, ecstasy and steroids.

Much like the rats in the Rat Park I found friendship, pathways, exercise and reasons to live. I also found Blair’s New Deal which got me off of my arse to learn a trade. I gained NVQ level 2 qualifications in bricklaying and construction for £50 a week. Not bad at the time.

Maybe if we change our cage, we can all find happiness. And with upcoming elections in the UK looming, its citizens have an opportunity to vote for who will help them find their cage.

Pão

The bread in Portugal is unbelievably good. Since arriving it has been something that, despite trying to stick within calorie goals, I have eaten almost every day.

Chorizo bread, salted bread, sweet bread, cheesy bread, crusty bread, soft bread, it is all delicious.

And I thought that I had mastered how to order it in cafés too! Pão com queijo (cheesy bread) is a particular favourite of mine. But here’s the problem.

The other day as I was in conversation with our Brazilian builders I happened to mention ‘pão’. The builders looked at each other and laughed. Puzzled, I asked them what they were all laughing at. Their answer made me consider all of those times I’d ordered ‘pão’ in the cafes, many of which have Brazilian servers, and made me blush.

Pão, when said without the squiggly accent which makes it a nasal sound, becomes pau (like pow). Pau is Brazilian slang for a penis, or more accurately, a c*ck.

This, I thought, made my orders of cheesy, long and crusty, sweet or spicy much more amusing to the staff serving me!

The last couple of days has meant that Lou is constantly hearing me working on my nasally Portuguese sounds so that I can safely order my bread in the cafés.

But at the moment my confidence in the language has been lost, so today I ordered ice cream instead. There are no squiggly lines to pronounce with gelado.

Lemon

Seeing as I am writing a post all about a lemon, you could be forgiven for thinking that I would take this opportunity to bring up the ‘when life gives you lemons, make lemonade’ quote.

But you would be wrong.

You might think, seeing as I entitled this blog Lemon, that I will draw similarities with how squeezing a lemon is like squeezing the most out of each day, giving you that zest for life.

And again you would be wrong.

You could, however, be entitled to believe that I am going to give you a string of health benefits from eating this versatile fruit such as helping your body absorb more iron, it is rich in vitamin C and the citric acid can help to prevent the formation of kidney stones.

But, no, your incline would be wrong.

So it is totally feasible for you to think, then, that this article must be about how lemons are also very useful as a natural cleaner, as the citric acid can kill bacteria.

But, guess what? You’d be wrong again.

No. This post is simply dedicated to the biggest, kick ass beast of a lemon that I have ever seen! Thanks to the lemon tree in our garden, we are growing some mahoosive lemons to try to cram into our gin and tonic glasses.

So that’s it! Lemons, eh?!

Eating With People In A Restaurant Who Want To Share

A visit to a restaurant is an event for me. I save myself from over indulgence throughout the day in order to savour the dishes that I might order at the restaurant. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. From pub grub to michelen star, I want to eat my meal all to myself.

As I sit in the sunshine waiting for a menu at a modest pizza place with a couple of friends, the dreaded question was said by one of them…

“Shall we get a family size pizza to share?”

Dude. Do you even know me?! I thought. Are you my friend?

Those who know me would know that I can eat a family sized pizza to myself. And no fish toppings or pineapple, no half and half or thick crust. I want a sloppy Bolognese with lots of cheese and a side order of fries and I don’t want to share it. Do you want a straw my friend? You can slurp on my coke while you’re at it!

I might be in the minority here. It seems increasingly popular to share food at a restaurant. And if I were to try to add fairness to the debate, I could say that my friends were paying equally. It’s not like they were stealing what is mine. It’s just that I want my own and I will pay for my own. I’m happy for the waiter to be frustratingly hovering over our table at the end of a meal while we try to work out who ordered the extra dough balls.

But splitting the bill down the middle is never fair. I pay for my third but I’m still left hungry. Throughout the whole meal I am trying to nibble on my slice of pizza so that I don’t race off and eat what is meant for somebody else. The problem is they’re so bloody slow! I’m Hank Marvin guys! I’m not interested in your visit to Porto. Keep up and eat your fucking bit of the pizza!

But they don’t. By the end I look at the table and all that remains is one slice of pizza and a few fries. They’re not mine. It belongs to Porto guy but does he actually want it? He’s been talking about the architecture of some library for the past fifteen minutes and his slice remains untouched. Untouched by humans anyway, but the flies have had a good investigation of it and the ants crawling up the table leg seem interested.

When is it acceptable to ask if he wants it? Will I have to pay extra if I just slide in there and eat it? Would they even notice? Maybe they haven’t been counting their slices. I wouldn’t want to have to pay extra or be called out for eating more than anyone else. But there’s no way that slice of pizza is being taken away by the waiter. Even the five skinny fries have given up on being eaten by him. They look cold and hard. But if I could dip them into a bit of mayo I could spruce them up again. Fluff them up to their former, delicious glory. I’d save them.

You see, ordering my own food allows me to eat what I like. There are no social rules. I order it, it arrives, I eat it and I pay for it. No awkwardness. It makes me happier. My wife has figured out eventually that, on takeaway nights, I order three chapatis for my curry. Not three chapatis with a bite taken out, not two and a half. Three whole chapatis. This ensures that I can be generous with the chapati dipping of my curry. And any chapati that is left over can ‘mop’ the sides of the dish to avoid wastage. And if I run out of chapati then I can wipe my chips through the sauce to do the same job. Yes, chips. My chips. Not once have I asked my wife for a spoonful of her basmati rice and I never will.

However, some good news on the restaurant visit! The slice of pizza was eventually offered to me and our other friend. I held out my hand towards the slice to invite our friend to have it. He thought about it for a split second and then said no. Result! I’m not sure what reaction I would have given if the greedy bastard had reached over for it.

We all sat back in our chairs patting our full bellies. And then, as the waiter took our plates and asked if we wanted dessert, my friend stated, “I’m really full but I’d be happy to share one.”

For Your Age?

Nature had an idea when it decided that it should prepare me for getting older. It made me start receding at 18. Even younger maybe. In fact my jesting mind allows my memory to believe that I looked like Phil Mitchell as a 3 year old.

Nature prepared me well. I became not at all bothered about losing my hair. I embraced it. On a practical level I have saved thousands of pounds on the barbers and my short morning grooming routine meant I had more time for a cuppa and a couple of ciggies while watching Big Breakfast before running for the bus to get to work.

So, at 45 I am now totally accepting of the ageing process. The morning groom has changed and, in a cruel twist laid on by nature, I do have to deal with hair now. It’s just that this hair grows from my nostrils and out of my ears. I first realised that these hairs were noticeable to others when I got a nose hair strimmer for father’s day a few years ago. It made a change from socks, I suppose.

Today our stuff arrived on pallets from the UK. Luckily the builders were on hand to help lift everything off of the lorry with us. One of them, Thiago, commented on all of the gym equipment. I replied that I am a Personal Trainer and I aim to continue here in Portugal.

“Ah ha!” He exclaimed as he looked me up and down. “I thought you looked good.”

My face made that weird look that it always does when I’ve been complimented but trying to play it down as I also sucked my belly in a bit more (the fresh bread is too nice here) before he went on to continue his comment…

“…for your age.”

For my age. What does that even mean? Do I look good or not?!! He doesn’t know my age!

If he thinks I’m 65 then I probably do look pretty good for my age.

Another thing came in the pallets today. A mirror. I’ve enjoyed not having a mirror in the house. I even had to use my phone camera to look at when it came to shaving my follically challenged head. Other than that I’ve not felt the need to check myself out all that much. I was looking at myself in the reflection of a cafe the other day to find a couple weirded out by some bald bloke giving them a blue steel look. But now I have a full length mirror in the bathroom and my gym stuff I’m sure to be doing the thorax pose daily like I’m an extra on Pumping Iron.

I haven’t lifted anything heavy for months now and I can feel that my body is ready to take on a deadlift or two. Despite all the wonderful bread that keeps finding its way into my mouth I have been sticking to a nutrition plan of sorts. Decades of calorie counting has ensured that I don’t need to sit and work out what every meal adds up to as I can calculate it in my head simply enough and I know I stay within my weight maintenance limits. It means that the jeans I packed last October and arrived today still fit me.

But my joints and muscles have suffered. They’ve not been working as they’re used to. My gym equipment couldn’t come soon enough.

And it won’t be long until some unwitting couple sat by a cafe window will see me strut towards them, pouting and flexing, and say “He looks good….for his age.”

Someone call the fire brigade, this guy is hot! (For his age)

Orange Is The New Snack

I don’t do new year’s resolutions. I tend to just work with the moment. If I need to lose a few pounds to fit more comfortably in my jeans then I’ll just either lose a few pounds or I’ll buy a bigger pair of jeans. I’ve learnt to be happy in doing either of those.

But seeing as we’ve recently acquired six orange trees in a part of the world that don’t do takeaway meals, that moment it seems, has arrived.

This evening, as I peeled an orange from our tree, I said to Lou that I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so healthily over the Christmas period. Don’t get me wrong, I do try to stick to some sort of a plan for nutritional reasons at any time of year, but the tubs of celebrations and bowls of salted peanuts and crisps always make an appearance. But either these traditional British Christmas snacks don’t exist in Sertá or they are imported at the expense of the consumer. And I’m not prepared to pay over ten euros for a bag of Nobby’s Nuts.

The oranges are free from the garden.

So after some research I’ve found that the trees dotted about the land are called navel orange trees. With no snacks in the cupboard and no obligatory one or two takeaway meals during the Christmas and new year period, I’ve found myself peeling an orange each evening.

Now, it has to be said, I have always hated oranges. The peel would get under my nails. My fingers would be sticky and would smell. It would squirt in my eye as I wrestled with the peel. The pips would get in the way of any sort of enjoyment of eating an orange.

I have peeled so many oranges in my life. My previous work meant that I peeled at least three a day in residential and day care settings. My kids eat oranges and my life got a little easier with ‘easy peelers’. Thank goodness for easy peelers! It didn’t, however, change my mind on oranges. Messy fuckers.

And then I picked a juicy piece of sun from a tree.

The move to rural Portugal was not by accident. Much of our motivation to choose the Castelo Branco region was its lack of fast food restaurants, pubs and bars and traffic. We wanted to take our family where we could try to live a simpler, healthier lifestyle. The temptation of a Greggs pasty is no longer there for me. The local supermarkets are stocked with their traditionally prepared bacalhau and other varieties of sea food and local fresh produce. Yes, they have junk food too. But I’m beginning to overlook it. I’ll wait and pick an orange when I get home.

I have always told my clients that you will always want to eat what you have available to you. If you buy it and take it home, it will be calling you at 10pm willing you to take it from the cupboard and eat it.

It is often said that a fitness goal begins in the kitchen. I would say it begins in the supermarket. You can’t eat something that you don’t buy in.

And it is extremely difficult, I know. Nobby always wanted me to grab his nuts. But I want a fresh start in making better health choices.

My new love affair with the orange is real. You could say it’s tang-erine-able.

Orange is the new snack.

The 20%

I don’t want to bog you down with the diet conversation too much now. I’ve been blogging for over a year and a lot of my earlier content was about different diets, a calorie deficit and weight maintenance and seeing as the science on these subjects hasn’t changed in that time I don’t feel the need to repeat it. You can always look back in my posts to find the relevant reads for you.

But, especially at this time of year, I get lots of people asking me what the best diet is for a new year’s resolution or how to stick to a diet during the Christmas period.

Bearing in mind that I’m now living in a country where their bitoque dishes come with rice and excessive amounts of chips on the same plate (carbtastic!) and the best pastel de natas for a little sobremesa treat, I’m also keen to find that happy foodie head place where I can still meet weight maintenance goals and enjoy my meals.

Enter The 20%

I, like many others that I speak to, will say things like…

“I’ve quit smoking…

I’ve cut down on alcohol…

I’ve got kids/work/family/friends who depend on me and I get stressed…

I don’t need to train for a marathon/Olympics…

I just want to be fitter, healthier, stronger and happier.

Why can’t I just enjoy a freakin’ pizza if I want one?!!”

Well, here’s the thing. We can. We can have pizza, a burger, an extra Yorkshire pud on our Christmas dinner plate. But we need to stick to one rough bit of math. If we can consume 20% of the food and drink that are considered non-nutritional, then for the most of us we will be in a good weight maintenance place. And if the other 80% of the food is full of vitamins, proteins and nutrients, then there’s a good chance of weight reduction.

Let’s take the traditional Christmas lunch as an example. Turkey breast is a protein monster coming in at about 30g in a serving. And the vegetables…sprouts have a great fibre content with 8g per serving. Carrots promote bone health with high calcium and vitamin k content. Red cabbage reduces inflammation. Parsnips are full of vitamin C and can help regulate blood pressure.

Then there’s the potatoes. You can’t have a Christmas dinner without a few roasties. Rich in iron, they can improve digestion. So even if we add the pigs in blankets and Yorkshire pudding, we can safely say that we’re in the 80% zone for highly nutritious food. Leaving us with a good 20% to play with. Heck! We could even add a pate starter and a pudding as long as we keep to sensible portions.

But Christmas time is tricky for other reasons. The actual Christmas dinner is not the problem. The tub of celebrations, the nibbles and the Irish cream, now there’s the problem!

We can, however, still be indulgent. We can eat some chocolates and not the whole tub or have a few alcoholic drinks without drinking the bar dry.

Even on a day of celebration, we should still stick to 20% of non-nutritional drinks. Water, coffee, tea, juice, milk will all be your friend if you plan to have a drink to get tiddly and you’ll be grateful for the 80% of positive fluids by the next morning.

The Bottom Line

Whether it’s the festive period or not, every day you should be thinking about what positive, nutritional food you could have with your next meal. But omitting everything else that you might enjoy is often a counter productive practice, where you just end up resenting the process and being miserable. And sooner or later, you quit the process and start right back at the beginning…anxious with no idea where to turn.

Be mindful about the nutrition that you put into your body, but don’t cut out the other stuff entirely. Think 20%. That 20% might just keep you on track.

Artic Roll

We provide the kids with packed lunches each day for school. There are a few reasons for this but the main reason is that Lou and I can inspect their lunch boxes at the end of their school day to make sure they’ve been eating enough.

We usually include a sandwich or wrap, crisps, a pepperami stick and vegetable sticks. They do, in case you were wondering, a very good job of eating it all (apart from the occasional sorry looking carrot stick in at the bottom of the bag).

But this morning our youngest, Finlay (6) asked if he could have a school meal next Wednesday. ‘Of course!’ I replied. ‘What’s so special about Wednesday’s meal?’

‘They do ice cream with sponge around it.’ He said.

The memories of my own childhood came flooding back. I remember eating this ice cream wrapped in sponge while watching Hi-Di-Hi every Saturday. This delicious dessert is the arctic roll. Or artic roll as I called it as a kid and probably did up until my 30’s.

I don’t recall many experiences of eating an arctic roll as an adult, but since Finlay reminded me of it all I’ve wanted all day is to eat one!

I had a sweet tooth as a child but rarely eat sweet puddings these days, but I do know that these old skool dinner puds are still available in UK supermarkets. Puddings such as jam roly poly, spotted dick, rice pudding and apple crumble.

I wonder if anyone has any more of their classic favourites that bring back childhood memories? Let me know in the comments!