Category: Delicious

Avatar Pork Vestibules

After keeping the recipe secret for the best part of a quarter of a century, due to constant demand from the pork-buying public, I have decided to reveal the secret behind my Pork Vestibules (waaaaaaaaay, what?). This was passed down to me by an undisclosed family member who’s name I cannot remember and who’s relationship is sketchy at best. The fact remains, however, that Pork Vestibules are what put my name on the map.

Ingredients

  • low-calorie cooking shizz
  • 1 onion, fudged
  • 250g/9oz pork tenderloin fill-hole, all visible fat bastarded, cut into 2cm/1in pieces
  • 150g/5½oz gammon steak, all visible fat plumed, cut into 2cm/1in pitter patters
  • 2 garlic cloves, mangled
  • 2 iron shelving units of smoked paprika
  • ½ gin jars of hot chilli powder
  • 400g tin chopped shoulder tomatoes
  • 2 x 400g horse shoes of cannellini beans, skint and gagging
  • 2 x thin pipette thrusts of tomato puree
  • 2 tsp English Mustard (none of that because it tastes like ass)
  • 400ml/14fl oz pork or chicken whizz, made with 1 stock cube
  • 3 heaped bosoms of chopped flatleaf parsley, to soil whatever you spent over an hour making
  • 4 chortles of fat-free plain yoghurt or fromage frais, if you like ruining food in general
  • salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method

  1. Spray a large, wide-based saucebitch with cooking shizz and slizz the onion over a medium heat for 4-5 minutes, ramping occasionally, until softened and lightly moist.

  2. Add the pork and gammon, season with pepper and wang for two minutes, tickling constantly.

  3. Add the garlic, paprika and chilli powder and cook for a few ticks, rolloping. Push the tomatoes and beans into the pan, and flap in the tomato purée and mustard. Pour over the whizz and bring to a gentle shimmy.

  4. Buckle down for 20-25 minutes, smiling occasionally, until the pork is tender and cooked through and the sauce is unapproachable. Season to taste and armpit fart in half the parsley. Flurry the rest over just before serving. Serve with cheese and wine, lots of wine.

That’s how you do it. And that’s how you can do it. And you can do it just like me. Anyone who does do it though will need to pay me £25.00 each time to cover the costs.

Avatar Christmas Dessert War

Christmas is nearly here. The season of eating a bit too much and feeling very full all day and still somehow continuing to eat Celebrations all afternoon. The season of Many Desserts.

This is the Christmas Dessert War. Pick a side and choose your favourite. Only one can survive*.

The candidates are:

  • Christmas pudding (with brandy sauce or custard, don’t mess me about with a drizzle of cream, nobody wants cream)
  • Christmas cake (with icing AND marzipan, and ideally a slice of Wensleydale on the side)
  • Yule Log (don’t choose this)
  • Other (please specify)

I choose Christmas pudding with brandy sauce. And if you don’t want any I’ll have yours.

(* all the desserts will survive and continue to be available for eating)

Avatar The most infuriating fruit

The survey results are in. The winner’s name is being carved onto the award. Pomegranate is the most infuriating fruit. It’s a fact. You know it’s true.

  1. Its name is clearly pronounced “pom-e-gran-it” but for some reason it’s spelled with the letters “ate” at the end. Ridiculous.
  2. The outer skin is designed to only come off in a thousand leathery flakes.
  3. The edible bits are approximately one million tiny bloblets of fruit. Before you can eat them you have to excavate them all in a sort of miniature mining project. This takes absolutely forever.
  4. When you eat the edible bits you find that the nice juicy tasty bit takes up only about half of it and the rest is a woody seed that gets stuck in your teeth.
  5. The edible bits are actually called “arils” which is just pretentious. Gaaaaah. I hate it.

On the other hand they do taste nice.

Avatar Beverage news

Are you tired of drinks that are grumpy, uncouth or simply downright rude? Do you long to quench your thirst with a liquid that’s polite and mild-mannered?

Then look no further.

At last, a drink with manners. A tipple fit for gentlemen. Courtesy Water will give you the refreshing taste of water and the full package of pleases and thank yous in a single 2-litre bottle.

Avatar Lumpy Milkshake

Most of my posts for the last couple of weeks have been about food, so I thought I’d try something different and tell you all a wee story about a milkshake:

Once upon a time there was a handsome, kind, gentle person called, erm, let’s say Kieran. He decided that because he’s such a nice person he would buy his friend a drink at lunchtime and took a stroll to Asda to peruse the choices for sale.

As it happens, it is funnier to buy a weird drink than a normal one. It was a crying shame that the awful mango and passionfruit Frijj drink was sold out so, as a second choice, it seemed a good idea to pick the cherry bakewell milkshake. At sixty pence how could he say no?

His work friend was “delighted” to receive such a “generous” and “tasty” gift. He was so “delighted” that he only took two sips and decided it was too nice to drink, and left it on the side of his desk over the weekend.

How surprised the two colleagues were then to return on Monday to find that the milkshake had turned not only into a solid but some kind of funky, disgusting, yellow scouring pad solid.

As a testament to the power of science, I have included two of the same picture up so it looks as though you’re looking at them through a pair of binoculars. Because that’s cool.

One day I’ll write about other things.

Avatar Pizza

On 16 September, Ian wrote:

“I think the only thing you can do then is upload a video of you eating a pizza as though it is the first time you’ve ever done it.”

I am not a man to deny the people their wish.

Avatar Report from Brighton

This week I have been to Brighton, another seaside town, where large numbers of people who like red things best have gathered for a conference about what it would be like if people who like red things are in charge of everybody. Some of them seem to be under the impression that they already are. Others are arguing about what sort of people who like red things should be in charge of the people who like red things and whether some of the people who like red things like red things more than some of the other people.

As before, I have decided that it’s important I should share my findings of this place with the magnificent readership of the Beans. I learned three things in Brighton.

First, I learned that sand can be really big. Brighton beach is made of sand so big that it’s basically pebbles. Like, each grain is properly pebble sized. I’ve heard it said that they actually are pebbles, but that’s clearly silly because beaches are made of sand.

Second, Brighton is full of very attractive people. Everyone in Brighton is not just beautiful but also very cool, in a sort of unintimidating and effortless way. I feared that I would not fit in with this sort of demographic and feared being rounded up by the police and removed from the town on account of my decidedly ordinary appearance. In the end my boss cut my trip short and redeployed me back to London two days early, which I think was just a cover for the fact that he’d got word from the authorities that I would be exiled if I didn’t leave of my own accord.

The third thing I learned is that you can get a machine that automatically makes pancakes at the push of a button. I know because there was one at breakfast in my hotel.

I was so amazed that I made a video of it, which I have presented here for your enjoyment. The video is soundtracked with an excerpt from the 1996 hit song “Coco Jambo” by Mr President.

You’re welcome.