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.


  • 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

13 comments on “Pork Vestibules

  • This literally, actually, totally made tears run down my face. (Although I do have conjunctivitis, so it could be unrelated).

    Out of interest, which map did this get you on?

  • I am sitting at work and I also have tears running down my face. This might be the best thing I have ever read. I am going to cook it as soon as my garlic mangle arrives.

  • They cover my grooming bills and wallpaper paste addiction.

  • Heston Blumenthal has a lot to learn if he wants to aspire to your dizzy heights of cookingness

  • I’ve decided to do my own version of this, avoiding Ian’s steep and unjustifiable fees. I’m calling it Pork Foyers.

  • I am sometimes groomed by a very tall heron. He stands in the back yard and cuts off the bad bits, or split ends as some people call them, to sell off as wigs in her international wig shop located somewhere near Chris’ flat.

  • * leads Ian towards a comfy chair and sits him down with a blanket, and a nice cup of tea. *

    Don’t worry Ian, I’m sure your family will come visit soon.

  • The herons. The herons. The herons leave Tony in the lurch.

    The lurch.

    *sips his tea*

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Optionally upload an image to accompany your comment (JPG only)