To Serve Man

The Seventeenth of April Two Thousand and Twelve. Tuesday.

Oh, man I'm going to have to clean my microwave. My porridge is beginning to taste like the vegetarian hot dogs I regularly zap therein. Why is cooking so hard?

Nacho kit, why have you forsaken me?

I'm going to have to learn to cook properly, aren't I? It always seems like a really hard thing to do. Thank goodness the best cooks are attractive women!

I've already detailed my failed romance with Katy Ashworth.

She caught me borrowing her boots, and then it was all downhill from there. Yeah, that's right. She's got unexpectedly large feet. Stop trying to point out the implausibility of my story. Nobody likes a smart alec.

So I got out the Yellow Pages (the book - I'm having nothing to do with Yell.com after they let me down with my last enquiry) and looked up attractive female cooks and got hold of the email of Rachel Khoo off of The Little Paris Kitchen.

We began to correspond and she kept sending me recipes to try out. This one sounded good: oeufs en cocottes.

I got into all sorts of a panic! I couldn't find my ramekins! I knew I'd seen them recently but for the life of me I couldn't find them. I started to lie to Rachel, saying I was making stuff when I was really just knocking back the pot noodles (pots noodle? (actually they're not pot noodles, they're Golden Wonder 'The Nation's Noodle' cos they're on offer at Tesco. They've gone up a bit now, but a couple of weeks ago it cost £1.10 for one and only £1.00 for two! How mad is that? (and here's a bonus: the last one I had had two sachets of mango chutney in it!))). There was no way I was going to be able to knock up Nids de Tartiflette! What was I thinking?

I did have a go at the oeufs en cocottes but somehow I ended up with egg in soup like Doctor Sanchez makes in Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, my Sixteenth Telly Recommendation.

 'Here, let me cut up your pork pie...'

Anyway, I think she's cottoned on to my mendacity cos she doesn't respond to my emails anymore. And she's blocked me on Twitter. And then there's the restraining order...

But one of the things I do enjoy about British Cuisine is that we are spoiled with the largest selection of crisp flavours of anywhere in the world. Depending on my mood I can dine on a Prawn Cocktail crisp butty or a Roast Beef Monster Munch sandwich. Maybe I don't have to clean that microwave just yet.

More soonliest.

Next day bonus edit! In an example of the sort of synchronicity you get in these blogs the Radio Times posted a gallery of Rachel here. Bit disappointed about the lack of crisp butties.

What Katy Did

The Twenty-Sixth of June Two Thousand and Eleven. Sunday.

Dear Katy.

Thank you for the delicious cakes.

I have always liked coconut and it was very sweet of you to remember this. You must tell me sometime how you manage to keep the sponge so moist. My buns always come out dry and it was a real treat to enjoy your thoughtful gift with a nice cup of tea.

However, I'm afraid our time together must come to an end. It has been a lot of fun, but your energetic lifestyle - the cycling, the Brazilian dancing, the children's choir not only in Hampshire but also in Bristol - is proving too much for me. I am basically a couch potato who likes to stuff his face full of crisps and watch telly all day - the growing sense of your disapproval as I cram in another bagel during The Mentalist (and the way you frown when I call it El Mentalista) is beginning to get to me.

Also, it doesn't help that I am old enough to be your dad. Just.

I will always be there for you, but it can never be as anything more than a friend. I remember how upset you got when the jealous hags on Mumsnet started carping on about you putting grapes on pizza. If I'm honest, I think it's a bit daft too, but I know it meant a lot to you so I respected your choice. I will always respect you - I just can't be with you.

If this is to be the last time that we contact each other, let me bow out by suggesting a recipe to you that you may wish to try out on your infant charges. It's called Chicken Curry Super Noodles. 

First you need a packet of Chicken Super Noodles. Bring a pan of water to the boil, add the noodles and then add only half of the flavour/seasoning powder. Roll up the sachet containing the remaining powder in order to maintain freshness for future use. Then open a packet of Curry Super Noodles. Take out the flavour/seasoning sachet but leave in the noodles. Add half of this sachet to the simmering noodles. Roll up the remaining powder and place both half sachets inside the unused noodle packet. There should still be enough sticky left on the packet that you can more or less reseal it - don't worry if it's not perfect, just make sure you eat this second lot of noodles before they go stale. No-one likes that.

If you have prepared the noodles correctly there will be far too much water in the pan. You can impatiently drain off the excess and lose much of the flavour, or boil the damn things to within an inch of their life probably burning them on to the bottom of the pan in the process. Serve with a meat thing and a peas/beans thing.

You see, Katy - I can cook.

Keep rocking the jeans/leggings and boots look - not for my benefit, you understand, but for whoever is truly worthy of your affection. And cakes. When I see you on cBeebies dressed this way I will imagine you as a beautiful shepherdess looking after your flock.

Thank you for caring for this lost sheep.

love (and biscuits)

Vin

ps, more soonliest