My work is located on the edge of London’s leafy Belgravia, home (in ‘town’) to nobs, grandees, and Russian oligarchs – now including Roman Abramovich apparently. One happy side-effect of this is that our canteen’s main rival for lunchtime eats is London’s poshest Waitrose. Generally my browsing here is limited to looking at the price labels on gorgeous-looking cheeses and exotic eggs, sighing, and buying a BLT as per. But occasionally you can find a markdown – yesterday I picked up, a snip at ‘2, a packet of ready-to-eat smoked duck “from the Rannoch smokery”.
NUM NUM NUM.
Actually when I had it this lunchtime it was a bit salty and not enormously duck-ish, but it was still quite tasty. (Being a terrible slob I had most of it in a sandwich.) The anticipation in these cases is half the fun though and I had a marvellous time this morning thinking about my Rannoch smokery lunch. Mmmm.