Cooking

Tired of Lazy Tastebuds

by Enormous on February 2, 2008

I am so bored with my diet – well, not bored as such, more ready for a change. Something is coming, looming on the horizon. Storm clouds are gathering in my little kitchen, neighbours are battening down their hatches, a gastronomic revolution is about to shake the foundations of the Fantastic household. Or something. Probably.

Don’t misunderstand me: I eat very well and very healthily. It’s just that I consume the same thing every day. I have forgotten how to be imaginative with food. When Nelson was here at Christmas, you could not keep me away from the stove. Every night of the week, I prepared for him some mouth-watering dish of garlic prawns and roast tomatoes and peppers, my special ratatouille, Moroccan fish tagine, or his favourite: wild mushroom kebabs and rocket salad.

But there is just something slightly insalubrious and unsavoury, I believe, in cooking large and extravagant meals for one when you live alone – so I never bother. The fact remains, however, that, on some lonely nights, my mouth is crying out to have something more exotic and glamorous placed inside it. (Careful . . . Ed.)

I need something more substantial that I can really get my teeth into, as it were. Mangoes, star-fruit, Mediterranean seafood, South American hot sauce, artichoke, sun-ripened Canadian cherries, goats’ cheese from the Loire Valley, colour-themed New York dinner parties with Champagne: mmm . . . the list goes on.

My daily intake of sustenance has become so insipid and predictable: Oatmeal for breakfast, an egg sandwich for lunch, boiled potatoes, sometimes with a soya sausage, followed by a portion of fruit for dinner. For extra excitement on a Sunday, I may open a tin of tuna or have an orange instead of the usual apple.

I’m not complaining – far from it. I appreciate that there are many people in the world today who have nothing or hardly anything to eat, and I feel their pain, I truly do. But, subjectively speaking, I think it’s time my culinary lifestyle took a capricious turn.

The change is bound to be a shock to the system, mind you; but I feel there is no turning back. It is incredibly liberating and exhilarating – but also deeply agonizing – to have such historic decisions to make.

To paraphrase an old adage: I have reached a fork in the road and it cuts like a knife.

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Trimmings

by Enormous on December 21, 2007

The man on the cheese counter in the Co-op earlier this morning was for some inexplicable reason dressed as a Viking.

‘Didn’t they have any Santa outfits left?’ I asked him while ordering my Christmas Stilton and Camembert.

‘I’m a Viking,’ he hissed, ‘and I can’t wait to get out of this frightful outfit, darling’ – I think he leaned a little towards the lavender as my Aunty Gladys used to say – ‘it’s playing havoc with my hair.’

I thought about having a seasonal joke with him but I wasn’t sure he would appreciate it: his eyes gave away nothing as he went about his cheesy business. I got the distinct impression he wasn’t in the mood for my irreverent and restless festive questioning so I paid for my smelly provisions and left.

I plan to cook some ripe oyster mushrooms in a Stilton and sherry sauce for Nelson when he arrives from London this evening. After our meal, we shall no doubt be patronising the local beer cellars, our recording duties deferred until tomorrow.

It is at this point that I would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I plan to not post very many words over the festive period due to heavy recording commitments and Nelson’s insistence on poisoning me with alcohol. I might manage a drunken paragraph or two but if not, calm your crazy hearts: I shall return in a few days.

Happy Holidays – I sincerely hope you are having a wonderful life in your very own Bedford Falls.

Cheers! Napoleon. X

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Dye Another Day

by Enormous on August 21, 2007

I was planning on paying a visit to the chemist’s in the village today and to take again the opportunity to tease the little old lady who works there. (In my view, they charge a ridiculous price for some of the hair-care products that they stock.)

I need to purchase hair dye for the weekend. Nelson and I plan to polish our mojos and see if we cannot each snare a lovely young female-woman one evening while he is here.

I shall have to make the trip to the shops tomorrow, however, as today I cannot stray too far from the immediate vicinity of the downstairs toilet.

I made a vegetable chilli last night and, like a fool, I used a whole packet of army-strength chilli powder. Not surprisingly, my insides are now like volcanic magma.

If only I could not be so greedy and if only I were less idiotic, then perhaps the effects of the meal would not have been so devastating. But, as usual, I went too far. I ate so much and made the food so hot that I think I actually burnt my spine.

I once made a chilli con carne on a rare night off when Slaughterhouse 5 were on tour, and the band were so internally violated by my cooking that we had to cancel the following night’s gig.

We always considered ourselves to be rather hardy souls. We were musicians who played neither by note nor by ear: we used brute strength.

Well, youthful and resilient postpunk-pop rockers we may have been, but a match for Davy’s famous chilli we definitely were not. Nor would we ever be, as it turns out.

On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
Innervisions – Stevie Wonder

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Under Pressure

by Enormous on March 25, 2007

Stupid pressure cookers. I’ve had a Tefal Pressure Cooker sitting in a box in a kitchen cupboard for about five years now and yesterday, feeling adventurous, I decided to try and cook some vegetables with it.

I think the principle behind the appliance is primarily to enable one to cook food very quickly using a volatile combination of pressure and steam, thus retaining more of the nutrients than normal cooking would allow. The problem is, the manufacturers mistakenly assume that people like me (hello) would never be tempted to employ such potentially dangerous culinary devices. But we are.

I am ordinarily a very clumsy person with somewhat limited mental acuities, but with this latest disaster I have truly surpassed myself. The problems began when Audrey decided that she wanted to play with her pink pig while I was trying to read the instructions provided by Tefal. I happily gave in to her, abandoning the numerous warnings about the dangers associated with acute localisation of water steam under pressure, and casually secured the lid above my carrots and swede and nonchalantly lit the gas underneath the saucepan.

Twenty minutes later I was rushing into the kitchen from my garden games with Audrey having been alerted by a series of very powerful, high-pitched whistles and hisses. God knows what the pressure cooker was trying to tell me but I assume it was something along the lines of: ‘Stop me now or we’ll all die.’ Then the lid blew off and I soiled my trousers.

I am happy to report that no one was badly injured as a result of my irresponsible behaviour – it would have been much worse had I been standing any closer. Observing my pantomime, Audrey hastily retreated upstairs to her favourite spot under the bed and hasn’t spoken to me since. (Though she ought, by now, to be more accustomed to such regular and exciting episodes.)

I am still cleaning the remains of half a dozen carrots and a medium-sized swede from my kitchen walls and surfaces and expect to be engaged thus for many hours in the days and weeks to come. The pressure cooker is in the bin where it was ultimately destined to find itself; I should have just put it there in the first place and saved myself from a truly dramatic and terrifying experience.

In conclusion, it must be said that fellows with an innate talent for domestic disaster such as I should never be allowed to own potentially lethal or hazardous contraptions; and people shouldn’t give them to us as presents. I have now given up trying to operate any comparable piece of apparatus and plan to return to more conventional food preparation methods directly.
Stupid pressure cookers.

On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
London Calling – The Clash

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