Gravy stains and tall tales await you!
Embark on a real foodie journey with Julie Harris
Welcome to Gravy stains and tall tales: A real foodie journey, where every dish comes with a story, and every stain has a memory. This blog isn’t about perfectly plated food or spotless kitchens – it’s about the messes we make, the laughter that echoes around the dinner table, and the unforgettable meals that leave a mark long after the plates are cleared.
From pub grub to family recipes passed down through generations, we’ll explore the real, unpolished side of food – the mishaps, the triumphs, and the tall tales that make every bite worth savouring. Pull up a chair and dig in!
Book Launch!
Lies, Theft and Shit on the Ceiling
A brutally funny true story of pub ownership, kitchen chaos, criminal customers and one Canadian woman wondering what the hell she had done.
Part memoir. Part cookbook. Completely true.
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The blog…
Dive into delightful recipes that blend Canadian heritage with British flair! Julie’s creations promise to tantalize your taste buds and spark joy in your kitchen.
Get behind-the-scenes glimpses of pub life and learn how Julie transformed her dreams into reality, one dish at a time.
Travel partnerships, hosted experiences and story-led brand collaborations reaching a valuable female 45+ audience. View Julie’s media kit and work together.
Unleash the foodie within
Indulge in the authenticity of homemade meals and the warmth of shared tales.
Well, this just happened…
Well, this just happened. One of the first endorsements for Lies, Theft and Shit on the Ceiling has come from Scott Taylor, publisher of Esprit de Corps magazine. Scott has spent decades publishing stories from soldiers, sailors, journalists, adventurers and…
Let me tell you a dirty little secret about hospitality.
The best meal you’ve had this year probably wasn’t cooked by a committee. It wasn’t designed in a boardroom by six people called Simon studying a spreadsheet and debating whether a mushroom should cost 14p or 16p. It was cooked…
The things I miss most about running a pub
People assume I miss owning a pub because of the beer. I don’t. Beer is beer. You can buy it anywhere. What I miss are the people. Not all people, obviously. Let’s not get carried away. There are some people…
HOW I ACCIDENTALLY BECAME A PUB LANDLADY
Nobody grows up in Canada thinking: “You know what my future holds? A collapsing English pub, a screaming dishwasher, forty-seven drunk villagers arguing about cricket, and a giant sheepdog stealing Yorkshire puddings.” And yet… here we are. If you’d told…
Japan doesn’t give a shit about your bucket list.
That’s the first thing you learn. You fly halfway around the world with some cinematic fantasy in your head…cherry blossoms drifting through the air like a goddamn Kurosawa film, monks whispering wisdom, Mount Fuji standing there majestically while you have…
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WHAT CUSTOMERS THINK WE KEEP “OUT THE BACK”
After eleven years in pubs, I’ve come to the conclusion that customers believe there’s a magical parallel universe behind the kitchen door.
Need another table?
“It’s probably out the back.”
Another chef?
“Can’t you just get someone else?”
A pizza oven?
“Surely you’ve got another one?”
A barrel of Guinness?
“A spare fryer?”
“The bigger dining room?”
“The manager?”
“The owner?”
At this point I’m convinced some people think we have a fully operational backup pub hidden behind the stockroom. You know… just in case.
Reality is somewhat less glamorous.
Out the back is usually one stressed chef trying to eat half a sandwich in under 37 seconds before someone shouts, “SERVICE!”
A mop.
Three boxes of chips.
A mountain of empty beer kegs.
A cardboard box full of mysterious cables that nobody has dared throw away since 2016.
Two broken chairs that everyone’s convinced “might come in handy.”
And at least one cupboard door that only opens if you shoulder-barge it like you’re raiding a medieval castle.
There’s no secret reserve team.
No spare pizza oven warming up in case Kevin fancies a Hawaiian at five past closing.
No emergency chef in cryogenic storage.
No backup pub waiting to be deployed.
The next time someone says, “Can you just check out the back?”, I’d love to open the door with a flourish and say…
“Certainly. Mind the mop bucket. If you see Narnia while you’re in there, tell Aslan he’s doing the washing up tonight.”
Hospitality people… what’s the most ridiculous thing a customer has ever assumed you had “out the back”? I know there are some absolute belters out there. 😂🍻
#HospitalityLife
#PubLife
#BritishHumour
#ChefLife
#KitchenConfidential
One of the most ridiculous kitchen arguments I’ve ever witnessed…
A customer ordered ham, egg and chips and politely asked if he could buy a couple of extra slices of ham for his dog, who was lying quietly under the table. (We’re a dog-friendly pub.)
The chef absolutely exploded.
“I’m not cooking for a bloody dog!”
Now, maybe it’s just me, but I couldn’t understand the problem.
The customer wasn’t asking for fillet steak, truffle oil or a tasting menu.
Just two slices of ham.
Happy to pay.
Personally, I’ve always believed hospitality is about making people happy. If someone wants to buy a bit of extra ham for their four-legged best mate, why wouldn’t you?
But maybe I’m wrong.
So I’m genuinely curious…
Who’s right?
🐶 Team Me: Sell the extra ham and make the customer happy.
👨🍳 Team Chef: Absolutely not. I’m not cooking for a dog.
Let the debate begin… 🍻👇
#HospitalityLife
#ChefLife
#PubLife
#DogFriendlyPub
#LiesTheftAndShitOnTheCeiling
Right… I need a favour.
Actually, I need hundreds of them.
If you’ve bought, borrowed, or read Lies, Theft and Sh*t on the Ceiling, would you mind taking a couple of minutes to give it a rating and, if you’re feeling particularly generous, write a short review on Goodreads?
For independent authors, reviews aren’t just nice little pats on the head. They’re how complete strangers decide whether to take a chance on a book. Every rating tells Goodreads, “Oi… this one’s worth showing to someone else.”
You don’t need to write an essay. Even a sentence or two makes a huge difference.
If the book made you laugh, reminded you of someone you worked with, brought back memories of your local pub, or simply made you wonder how on earth I survived owning one, I’d be incredibly grateful if you’d let other readers know.
Here’s the link:
🔗 www.goodreads.com/book/show/254039116
And if you haven’t started the book yet… what are you waiting for? There are kitchen disasters, questionable life choices, unforgettable characters, and quite possibly the only memoir with sh*t on the ceiling.
Thank you to every single one of you who’s supported this crazy adventure. Every review helps more than you know. ❤️
Lies, Theft and Sh*t on the Ceiling: A Canadian journey…
www.goodreads.com
Discover and share books you love on Goodreads.
Right… enough of the emotional bollocks.
You beautiful bunch of lunatics actually bought my book.
Some of you bought one. Some bought two. Some appear to be single-handedly keeping Amazon’s packing department employed. Every single order still blows my mind.
When I started writing Lies, Theft and Sh*t on the Ceiling, I genuinely thought about twelve people would read it. Four of those would be related to me, three would feel obliged, and at least one would only buy it because they thought it was a@ cookbook.
Instead, people all over the UK, Canada, the US and beyond are reading the stories of a Canadian who somehow survived the Navy, bought a pub, employed absolute reprobates, cleaned things that should have qualified as biological weapons, and lived to write about it.
Thank you. Seriously.
Now for the part where I shamelessly prostitute myself to the Amazon algorithm…
If you’ve finished the book and it made you laugh, snort tea through your nose, stay up far later than you should, or mutter, “What the actual f**k?” more than once, could you leave a review on Amazon?
Not because I need my ego massaged. I ran pubs. The public cured me of that years ago.
Because reviews are how Amazon decides whether to show the book to other readers instead of burying it somewhere between “How to Crochet for Cats” and a pirated microwave manual.
Five stars would be lovely.
Four stars… I’ll assume you were dropped on your head as a child.
One star… I hope your chips are always soggy, your pint is warm, and every shopping trolley you ever use has one wheel that screams like a banshee.
Honestly though, thank you. Every order, every message, every photo and every recommendation means the world to me.
Now stop reading Facebook, go leave a review… and help me keep climbing the charts.
Jamie Oliver isn’t going to catch himself.
🇬🇧 UK/EU: amzn.eu/d/09Fe064D
🇨🇦 Canada: a.co/d/02ix35FJ
🇺🇸 USA: a.co/d/0eK4UIpj
I’ve cooked for thousands of people over the years.
I’ve catered weddings, Christmas parties, Sunday lunches and more buffet functions than I care to remember.
And I’ve reached one inescapable conclusion.
A buffet is one of the greatest social experiments ever invented.
Watch perfectly respectable adults approach a buffet table and, within seconds, all traces of civilisation evaporate.
Suddenly they’re building a plate the size of Ben Nevis.
Digging through six roast potatoes to find “the best one.”
Mixing serving spoons between dishes like they’re trying to invent a new cuisine.
Then leaving half of it on the plate.
It’s fascinating.
Terrifying.
And strangely predictable.
The buffet doesn’t make people greedy.
It simply gives them permission to stop pretending they aren’t.
Tell me I’m wrong…
What’s the most outrageous thing you’ve ever witnessed at a buffet? 🍽️🍻
#HospitalityLife
#ChefLife
#PubLife
#LiesTheftAndShitOnTheCeiling
#FoodHumour