After a shopping fail that meant I ended up having toast with just Flora on it for both breakfast and lunch the other week, I started thinking about times in the past when I’ve had to go culinary Ray Mears.
You know, when you’re reduced to scouting in kitchen cupboards, creating unholy concoctions that have no business existing in this world or on any other. Food so sad, it doesn’t even repeat on you out of pity.
Out of Sunday morning boredom, I’m going to list some things I have eaten in desperation, out of necessity as I was drunk, or because I simply couldn’t be arsed. They might save your life one of these cash strapped days.
1. ‘Chocolate’ digestives.
Following a row with my ex, I was crazed for chocolate digestives yet had only plain ones in the biscuit tin. I came up with the ingenious idea of spreading them with Cadbury’s drinking chocolate that I’d mixed with a tiny bit of margarine. That’s clever isn’t it? It is isn’t it?
No, there’s no need to weep for me, I did enough crying that night.
2. Pasta ‘sauce’.
I have, in days gone by, used the following as emergency pasta sauces:
Don’t look at me like that. It’s possibly no coincidence that all these ‘days gone by’ were drunken ones.
3. Pot noodle canapés
Pringles, in the flavour of your choice
Spoon a small amount of noodles onto a crisp.
Insert into mouth.
I know what you’re thinking, ‘Chrissy, why haven’t you yet written a cook book?’
Well, I’ve considered it. But the look of horror on people’s faces as I eat these things has held me back if I’m honest.
Though in these days of recession, my make do and mend cookery might be just the ticket for those of us with only coppers rubbing together in our torn pockets. I won’t patronise us by looking up a gruel recipe, I don’t think we’re quite there yet.
One day I’ll win the lottery.
I’ll eat things that came out of the ground 10 minutes ago (not corpses), and still have dirt on them. My personal gardener, Harrington – I’ll call him this no matter what his name is – will harvest organic vegetables and animals for my kitchen were my personal chef – who will be French, gorgeous, and constantly flirty but worried about crossing the employee/employer line until I wholeheartedly encourage him to do so one warm July evening out on the terrace as we discuss the following week’s menu – will turn them into culinary masterpieces almost holy in their perfection and presentation.
Until that day, I will continue to use my imagination on inferior ingredients and hopefully turn them into more than they ever thought they could be. Twice-tossed chicken in Marmite sauce anyone?