Indo: Forestiere

Indo is either a pub or a bar in Whitechapel. I'm not sure which because it looked like a pub in the sense that there were old wooden tables everywhere, it was dimly lit and a man brought his dog in but it may have been a bar because have you ever heard of a pub with a name like Indo? I was there because it was a friend's birthday and it serves pizza, both valid reasons to leave the house.

They have a classic, old-fashioned wood fired oven that churns out crispy pizzas every fifteen minutes or so. Slightly irritating however is that this oven is apparently only big enough for one pizza at a time, so considering there were about a dozen of us, pizzas came out at a slow enough pace to leave each person taking turns being the solitary pizza eater, while everyone else had to sit around watching them chew. It's almost as if Indo never considered the possibility that more than one person could come in and actually want to eat pizza at the same time. Maybe, prior to my friend's birthday, their clientele consisted solely of sad, hungry loners. Not such an unreasonable theory, Whitechapel does kind of bum me out. I can imagine if I had to spend a lot of time there my sadness, loneliness and hunger levels would increase at a similar pace. I think it's because the pavement's so wide it feels a bit like you're adrift in some dismal, concrete desert, that and all the sirens. So a desolate, urban wasteland exclusively populated by crime and accidents. Cheery stuff.

The Forestiere was a simple enough affair, ham, mushrooms, onions and an egg. Good old eggs. I'm getting into eggs on pizzas. Do you think chickens realise how lucky they are that people value their menstruations? This is a little gross but, girls, would it ease the cramping and moods or whatever if someone were to write you a charming letter once a month whole-heartedly thanking you for your used tampons? Would that make all the bleeding a little more bearable? Bear in mind I'm not offering to write these letters, I'm speaking in hypotheticals, don't send me any creepy, damp parcels. They definitely won't get opened.

7 out of 10

Chicken Nugget Pizza

I've begun the last few posts apologising for my lack of activity and blaming laziness. I'm not going to do that this time because it's been over a month and apologising for being that negligent would be like apologising to a grieving mother after you'd mowed down her baby boy in your Fiat Punto with a box of Miniature Heroes. So in conclusion, I'm an awful person and I don't deserve your forgiveness.

This is my friend Cassie and she really likes chicken nuggets.

Her thirst for the little lumps of pulverised chicken guts is funny because Cassie is a girl and I'm disappointed every time I remember Cassie's pockets aren't filled with moonbeam lollipops or marshmallows made by unicorn babies. There's probably just some spare change, a cigarette lighter or lint in there. I'm just guessing, I've never asked because "Hey, so, what's in your pockets?" is a question only friendly muggers or a drunk Gollum could get away with asking.

Cassie fucking loves chicken nuggets. If it rhymed and she had more pop culture relevance, 50 Cent should have substituted his "Love you like a fat kid loves cake" line for "Love you like Cassie loves chicken nuggets". Were I ever to be dangling off one side of a bridge and there was a single chicken nugget hanging off the other and Cassie only had time to save one of us I wouldn't fancy my chances. I feel a bit silly using the word 'fetish', but I don't think phrases like 'keen interest' or 'enthusiasm for' quite convey the severity of her passion for chicken nuggets, so I'm going to have to go with it. Cassie has a chicken nugget fetish.

We had a conversation about how great a pizza with chicken nuggets would be that went exactly like this:

Cassie: Wouldn't a pizza with chicken nuggets be great?

Myself: Yes Cassie, it would.

So we made one. Here's a recipe that's easier to follow than Charlie Sheen's Twitter. (See, I haven't been locked away in an Eastern European prison for the last six weeks, I still know what's up).

1) Nuggets take longer to cook than pizza. To ensure both finish cooking at the same time, cook the nuggets on their own a little first.

Here are some nuggets about to be put into the oven. The more astute amongst you will notice a distinct lack of pizza.

2) Once your nuggets are half cooked stick those squishy little dickheads on a pizza and put it all back in the oven.

If you compare this photo to the one above, you will see that the quantity of pizzas present has increased by precisely 1.

3) Eat the bastard.

CHICKEN NUGGET out of CHICKEN NUGGET