If there’s one thing I consider myself pretty good at, it’s finding good food and eating it. In fact, I consider it more than just a hobby, it’s an investment. I know this because my bank statements tell me so. They also tell me that H&M and Zara aren’t the supportive friends I thought they were. They make me look slender and gazelle like in their mirrors then when I get home, boom, I’m an ogre again. The spell only lasts so long. See, the trick is they blast out a bit of old school Enrique and lead you to believe you can be a shhhexy, sassy, off-the-shoulder wearing salsa emoji. And then you remember you’ve got £30 to live off until pay day so, here’s to eating butter sandwiches for the next fortnight. But I still keep the clothes don’t I, because no part of me can face going through the fresh hell that is returning items in Zara. If you haven’t got the receipt, they will want proof you’re not a robot. And failing that, they’ll want you to sweep their dusty floors. What is it with all that dust? I had a woman sweep over my foot while I was in the changing room once. Admittedly, it tickled and felt nice but that’s not really the point.
I eat out every weekend because I live to fill my face, so I allow for my hard earned pennies to stretch that far, simply because good food is one of my life priorities. And by good, I don’t necessarily mean the sort that’s green and guilt-free, I mean the food that’s good for your soul. The stuff you drizzle with chilli oil and dribble down your chin. You don’t care if you’re making sound effects, or if you’re eating your food too quickly and practically giving the table next to you mouth to mouth, you’re that breathy.
You see, I’m the kind of girl who will do a spin class and then celebrate with a whole sourdough pizza. That’s my understanding of balance and I don’t intend to revise the etymology anytime soon. I’m not one to deprive myself of food and I definitely don’t diet. I work out so I can eat the things I want to eat and I know personal trainers everywhere will be crushing avocado pips with their bare hands right now and putting me in their Burn Book, but that’s just the way I roll. And hey, what works for me might not work for you but this girl just so happens to find pizza deadlifts a little bit kinder on the old hammies.
Now, I’m no Franco Manca virgin, I’ve been there enough times to know that I’m a number 6 kinda girl, otherwise known as the chorizo and mozzarella masterpiece. If you haven’t been to a Franco Manca before then it’s basically a hungry pizza lover’s idea of paradise. It has a very select menu of 6 pizzas, all classic recipes but with a pinch of new era je nais se quoi and they’re really reasonably priced. The most expensive option on the main menu is £7.55 and then there’s the additional choices on the specials board which are often a pound or two more, depending on what toppings you want to add. As I said, I’m usually a loyal chorizo fan all day long but on this occasion I wanted to prove I was more than a predictable dry-cured creature of habit, so I pulled a Wicked Wango card and went for broccoli and sausage. I know, broccoli on a pizza? I thought the same but don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it, it really works!
I used to be all about the bigger crust life but now I love a thin rustic ‘tufae’ cooked sourdough. And what better way to eat pizza than down at the Brighton Marina, stalking the pretty boats that cost more than my life is worth and listening to the sea slapping against the harbour wall. The new Franco Manca opened its doors in April and let me tell you, the floor tiles alone make it worthy of a visit. The waterfront pizzeria is a totally different vibe to its slightly louder location over at Regent Street. If I were to compare the two it would be like, Jamie Dornan with a beard and Jamie Dornan without a beard. Both are very easy on the eye, both are equally tasty but one is just a little more rough and ready than the other and it really depends on what
Jamie ambience you fancy. We found ourselves a nice little sun trap for a 6pm dinner on Saturday evening and it was just before the rush hit – perfect timing. I absolutely love the open kitchen – there’s something really comforting about being invited to watch the chefs prepare your food from puffy, floury blocks of dough to an artisan taste sensation that you never want to end. I don’t know about you but unless my dirty napkin is face planting that plate, then I’m not done ok?! So yeah, you could say I’m fan girling hard over this new eatery.
Food babies in tow, I couldn’t resist using the beautiful Marina backdrop to share a slice of my new sleeves with you too. Zara will have to apply for a restraining order soon I reckon, but let’s not dwell on my butter sandwich fate right now because this top is my latest panic Bali buy and I’m a little bit in love with it. One look at the gathered detail around the ol’ clavicle, sleeves and cuffs and that was that, in the bag and on my back. Now I just need to go and clog up my storage space with a hundred Boomerangs of it. Love you bye.
PS: It is an absolute miracle I didn’t spill anything down this white top. It was very out of character.
With thanks to W Communications & Franco Manca for inviting us down.
Jeans: H&M (old)
Sunglasses: Ray Ban
Bag: Zara (sold out)