Brighton Jetty Bakery: a Eurovision black site

This bakery isn’t actually on the Brighton jetty. Where would they put the oven? Next to the crab nets? Atop the mobile phone tower? Adjacent to yoof soaring off the end in their best swimming jeans?

Browsing the menu board, I note the sweets are decidedly Germanic with strudel (okay, Habsburg Empire) and Berliner buns but as we know, gobble down one of these for morning tea and by lunchtime you’ve invaded Poland.

This is balanced diplomatically with the euphorically English in buns both London and Kitchener; the latter named boldly in 1915 as a South Australian act of wartime alliance to geezer field marshal, Lord Kitchener.

I’ve not witnessed such graphic geopolitics since Sunday night’s Eurovision voting with the UK again achieving the ignominy of yet another nul points (in the public voting category). This means their (lame) entry has not been awarded a single point just like Bluto’s grade point average in Animal House as declared by Faber College head, Dean Wormer.

“Zero. Point. Zero.”

How fantastic was the late Sir Terry Wogan as the British host of the world’s most kitsch event? I still admire his tradition of pouring himself a drink immediately after the ninth song and maintaining a ferocious pace throughout the final. During a telecast he once asked:

“Who knows what hellish future lies ahead? Actually, I do, I’ve seen the rehearsals.”

My roadside table is magnificently located with endless blue sky above, the skating rink flatness of the azure sea to my west and northwards the uncluttered BWS drive through, advertising cheap wine and a three-day growth.

Munch. The roll’s pastry is oilier than Estonia’s hip-hop entry called ‘(Nendest) narkootikumidest ei tea me (küll) midagi’ which, as you can visibly tell, concerns drug horror. Oddly enough the song finished in twentieth place, and I rank today’s pastry also at twenty on the list of snag roll reviews. This is a spectacular achievement given this is my tenth such evaluation.

Whilst substantial of girth, the innards of my purchase are excessively reserved in their representations of flavour and aroma. From the proximate gutter I get a whiff of crushed Bundy can and decide the roll could use a little of its aggressive tang. Australia’s 2025 Eurovision entry should be an ode to crushed Bundy cans, everywhere, performed by Chad Morgan. He’s always in brash costume.

Still, it’s been a delightful autumnal outing for which I’m most pleased. Although he was referring to Eurovision, maybe Terry Wogan’s words apply here to my sporadically disappointing sausage roll escapades:

“Every year I expect it to be less foolish, and every year it is more so.”

Goodbye, Malmo! Hello Zürich!


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About Mickey Randall

Now whip it into shape/ Shape it up, get straight/ Go forward, move ahead/ Try to detect it, it's not too late/ To whip it, whip it good


  1. Barry Nicholls says

    Humour, acute observation and a great turn of phrase. Well done Mickey.

  2. We all have our blind spots when it comes to cultures and cuisines. I lap up the French, Italian and Spanish film festivals – but the German starts this week? Nein.
    Same with the food. Heavy and oppressive. Perhaps invading Poland and the rest of Europe was in search of better cuisine?
    Before anyone complains – what is this column about if not bad taste?

  3. Mickey Randall says

    Thanks Barry. Appreciate your appreciation! We’ll have much to discuss over that beer.

    PB- I’m likely to have mentioned this but one of my favourite columnists was the late Victor Lewis-Smith who wrote restaurant reviews for the Guardian. Context was everything to VLS and on Saturday mornings in Hertfordshire I couldn’t get to the offie and buy the paper quick enough. Happily, his works are still online. As it was twenty years’ ago, he’d often winge about so-called smoking sections in eateries and retort that you might as well have a pissing lane in a swimming pool. His columns oozed bad taste. Thanks for your thoughts.

  4. Thanks Mickey for your brilliant article and the classic quotes from Sir Terry Wogan at Eurovision.
    Didn’t his comments outshine the magic and pageantry or is that a little unfair on the performers.
    Glad you also mention the unique and talented Victor Lewis-Smith whose output was prodigious.
    The UK had two marvellous wits and restaurant reviewers: VLS for the Guardian and AA Gill for the Times.
    Plus not forgetting your reviews of pastries and mention of the Sheik from Scrubby Creek, Chad Morgan.

  5. So much happening in this review that it is difficult to know where to begin.

    Bluto! Eurovision! Terry Wogan! Chad Morgan!

    Well played once again, Mickey.

  6. Mickey Randall says

    Thanks John. Appreciate your thoughts. One of my all-time favourite paragraphs comes from VLS when he reviewed the famous fish and chip joint, Harry Ramsdens-

    As for my fish, it looked as though it had melanoma. The airless, brick-like batter didn’t even cover the fillet (although protecting the flesh from excessive heat and grease is its primary function), and it shattered like theatrical glass when prodded with a knife. Within was something that smelt of the Aswan Dam and resembled the scabrous scrapings from the gut of a long-dead whale, and the only saving grace was that my “portion” was smaller than a child’s – a sort of genetically-modified fish finger. The mushy peas were at least edible, but the chips were limp and pallid, and (something Harry would never have allowed) there wasn’t even the chance to wash it down with a refreshing glass of Vimto – a drink that would have been appropriate here, because it anagrams into “vomit”.

    AA Gill was also a treat. Jay Raynor also very good.

    Thanks Smokie. Any excuse for an Animal House reference which I’m sure is self-damning for a multitude of reasons!

  7. Luke Reynolds says

    Well played Mickey. Particularly laughed out loud at the “gobble down one of these for morning tea and by lunchtime you’ve invaded Poland” line!

  8. Mickey Randall says

    Cheers, Luke. That joke predates Hogan’s Heroes!

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