Tag Archives: food

Pretending to cook

I can cook. I’ve mentioned that before on here, I’m sure. But I tend not to cook properly. I’ve also mentioned that before on here. I’m sure you all care. I’ve probably said that too (I have).

But there are little things I do that may well make me mental, and I’m of the thinking that others do it too. Because they just have to. I can’t be alone in this.

Say, for example, I’m making super noodles. Because that’s what I made today. I say ‘made’ as if there’s any effort or ability or thought involved, but hey. I know it’s shit. It’s empty calories, nothing more. More nutritional value (and flavour) in a puddle.

But then I throw in some bits. Some veg. Some spices. A bit of chicken. And suddenly I can pretend to myself I’m actually cooking something worthwhile, and the feeling of shame that comes with being 28 (I’m 28) and making super noodles (for tea when you’re 28) melts away.

A bit.

Like when you add a little bit of something adult, like – again – spices on toast. Or maybe you put a bit of tomato on your cheese and toast and pretend it’s a mini pizza.

Or when you put beans in your coffee to turn it into a breakfast drink.

I might have made that one up.

Or when you put everything you possibly can on a slice of Ryvita because why not eh? It’s healthy, it can’t be bad to put deep fried heroin on top of the little rye bastard.

I need someone to look after me.

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Ian Wright advertised Chicken Tonight at one point

Rather ridiculously, I hadn’t ever cooked a whole chicken until Friday of last week. I have no idea why. I’ve been involved in many a home-cooked meal where the whole of a chicken has been prepared, flavoured stuff rammed up its arse and put into a hot cubbyhole for an hour and a bit. But I’d never actually done it myself until last week.

I also hadn’t ever cooked a fried egg using a pan to cover it until today. I’m 28. I also learned that technique from Metal Gear Solid 4. No lie. It’s still taken me many a year to actually bother doing it, mind you. Odd times.

What am I getting at? No idea – not like many of these blogs have strong narrative arcs. I suppose it’s something about how, even though I’m pushing 30 and am capable and able when it comes to cooking, it doesn’t mean I’ve done anywhere near all of the ‘normal’ stuff you might associate with culinary practices.

This is mainly because I am a deeply lazy person, incapable of being able to muster up enough enthusiasm to open a tin of tuna (that’s already open), nevermind put something in a hot metal box for more than an hour.

I mean – do you know how long more than an hour is? It’s a long-assed time to have to wait for food. No, I’m much happier with putting shit in a microwave and nuking it for a couple of minutes. Problem there is I don’t have a microwave. Damn world.

There’s the narrative for this entry, then: I want a microwave so I can eat worse food.

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Japan or chips

But, of course, it’s the one you’ve all been waiting for. The catch up entry you had started to fear might not be coming – the one that’s going to change your life.

Well, no, that’s a lie. You’re going to get bored reading it. Anyway.

I ate food in Japan, and it confused my tiny northern mind. I am from a town in South Yorkshire. I grew up on chips, pies, gravy, mushy peas, more chips, chip-flavoured ice cream for dessert and pie-flavoured chips. With gravy. Naturally this means my tastebuds are what you would call ‘refined’.

Heading to Japan (I went to Japan etc) I expected to be confused by food. I was not let down. Now I am shit and picky and annoying like that – I don’t like fish and, while I will try lots of things, I don’t actually like a great deal of things.

I am aware of how much this irritates people, but shut up. At least I try stuff.

Anyway, fish. Christ. Japan: stop it with fish. Exchange it for chips. And the seaweed? Well it’s not that bad, but you might as well replace it with chips. All those cow guts and hearts and livers you put in stuff? Swap them for chips, it makes sense. Sake? That’s quite nice actually, but you might as well switch it with chips. Rice is delicious and filling, especially with some good soss on it, but to keep with some kind of theme you should probably switch it with chips.

In fact, swap the entire landmass of Japan with chips.

CHIPS.

Those compacted mashed-up fish cakes with the feel and consistency of firm putty? Those were just weird. Swap ‘em with chips.

3 of 14 catch up entries to go.

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Cinemas: shit, or REALLY shit?

I haven’t been to the cinema in bloody ages. In fact, the last film I saw was Clash Of The Titans (Titans Will Clash) in 3D, which was absolute ass of the highest order. I think it was really expensive too, but then I didn’t pay for it so WHO GIVES A FUCK?

I am, today though, going to the flicks. The pictures. The cinema. The movies. The picture house. The other name for it. The porn salon. No, wait – not the last one. There I will watch The Hangover 2: Hangover In Space.

I do not expect much from the film. Mainly because I really loved the first one, and it absolutely did not need a sequel at all. Hopefully low expectations will be rewarded with some fun, though.

Anyway, I need a topic away from aimless rambling here… hmm… cinemas, yeah. They’re a bit shit really, aren’t they? I mean, you have to sit in a room with other people, and we all know how shit other people are. They’re all “blah blah” and MUNCH MUNCH and screaming stupidly and smelling bad and being alive and other crap.

God I hate them.

Then there’s the skin diseases you can get from cinemas. Seriously – when I went to see Rambo in Leeds I went really itchy on the seat then a few hours later half my body was covered in a horrible rash. I mean, it went away pretty quickly, but still – that’s fucking foul.

Then there’s the shit expensive food and drink that can barely be classified as either of the things they claim to be. The massively expensive tickets. The inconvenience of having to go there. THE PEOPLE.

Yeah, I think I’ve convinced myself not to go now. OPPS.

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An ode to Super Noodles

Whenever I have been hungry, you were there, waiting for me with your steaming sloppiness that doesn’t really taste of anything I would call ‘real’.

Whenever I was too down to care about cooking properly, you were there to make it easy for me not to die. Though admittedly your nutritional value isn’t exactly what anybody would call “nutritionally valuable”.

Whenever I was so confused I couldn’t possibly think what to cook and so had to resort to something stupid, crap and simple, you were there. You’re more effort than something like a Pot Noodle though, so you’re certainly not the best option.

Whenever I was simply too lazy to cook anything other than you, you were there. Just like today then, really.

Whenever I wanted to put together a bunch of leftovers into something but had no base element to justifiably make a ‘meal’ out of it, you were there to be just that base element. Though this usually meant lots of ham and cheese mixed in with you.

Whenever I really fucking wanted some Super Noodles, you were there. Because I wanted you, and you were what I wanted, and you were there.

So thank you, Super Noodles, for making my life so much more… well, for making my life that bit… well, I suppose you made my life… hmm. You didn’t really do much. But you’ve always been there.

Unless I’d forgotten to buy you, obviously. Then you were just a letdown, like everything else in life.

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Half arsed entry for a half pound burger

Sorry to be boring and talk about this crap again, but I’m very tired and need to go sleepsies soon. Anyway, I know you all secretly love every time I write about losing weight and that you all want me to succeed and feel every knock to my confidence when I hit bumps along the long, winding road of… umm… yeah. Whatever.

This has been the absolute worst week for my health kick since I started it all of not that long ago. From the “I’m so hungover, tired and drunk that I literally can’t do anything other than order some fried chicken” or last Sunday, through the stupid work stupid meeting after stupid hours where I stupidly got a stupid kebab and onto yesterday’s “yeah, whatever, pizza is fine” I’m not doing so well.

Naturally I just ordered a burger. I’m hungover and tired again, leave me be.

Hopefully when I weigh myself on Tuesday we can all see that I’ve lost some pounds and will therefore be able to continue this style of ‘not really doing it properly’ and just shoving my stupid face full of cheese and shit all the time.

Yeah, that’s your lot. No apologies for the shitness on show here. No retreat, no surrender, no remorse etc etc.

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Eating (this stuff) is cheating (as is putting in half-arsed efforts)

Cheating is an interesting concept. Not the kind where your significant other decides to be a complete dickhead/coward/evil twat. No, that’s not interesting. That’s just bad. Nor is cheating in MY FAVOURITE THING EVER (videogames, of course) that good, because all you’re doing is ruining it for yourself. Unless it’s big head mode or something, in which case go wild.

It’s the little cheats – the times when you feel like you’re letting yourself down by doing them, but you see no other way of getting around it. I’ve done two.. three.. four in the last seven days – all related to The Most Boring Subject In The World, my losing weight thing. I have twice done a far shorter workout on EA Active than I was supposed to, first because I had just got back from playing football and second because I had been in a meeting all night (tonight).

The second cheaty thing is far less forgivable, as it involves personal choice. Being hungover, tired and drunk as I was on Sunday night, I couldn’t be bothered cooking and I had the drunchies. Hence, I got fried chicken. Not exactly what you’d call health food. Unless you were a complete moron or WANTED TO DIE. Then today, again at the meeting, I didn’t say “no, I will opt out” or “I have brought my own, good food”. No, of course I immediately pounced on the opportunity to scream “CHICKEN KEBAB!” as fast and as loud as I could.

So, actually, this isn’t the little cheats you allow yourself. This is being a willpowerless twerp who falls off the wagon as soon as he gets the smallest excuse. Ah well, back on the health juice from tomorrow. By that I mean heroin, naturally.

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New York: The Definitive Review (7/10)

I just realised I never got around to doing this, so here you go: my ultimate, tell-all and take no prisoners review of the city so GREAT they named it twice. That’s New York, by the way. Not Manchester, where I am currently freezing my nips off. This place shouldn’t have been named once, as far as I’m concerned. Though I do still like Chorlton.

Anyway, that place on the anti-west coast of America. My first issue with it is the size – not just the sprawling, square (tidy) mess that is the city and its layout, but the actual height of everything. Why couldn’t everyone involved in building things in New York just calm down a bit? What’s wrong with making everything a bungalow? At least that way I won’t have to crane my neck up so much I don’t see the street urchins at ground level robbing me of all my pocketly possessions (1x fluff, 2x more fluff). It would also mean less lifts inside these massive buildings that have to propel you at just-about-lightspeed to get you to the 36th floor in a timely fashion. They’re just not good for hangovers, guys. You didn’t design the city – aesthetically, at least – with hangovers in mind. And that’s an oversight.

An undersight, though – yes that’s my new dictionary opposite of an oversight – is the food. Now granted, I lucked out in being ferried around to some reasonably fancy places, but I did get to go to a deli where the insane woman told us stories about Robbie Coltrane and Helen Mirren and my brisket sandwich was big enough to feed double-me. Though I forgot to collect the wrapped up half as I was too busy dying inside. I also had a great burger. I would like to return to New York to sample the food properly, as I think being babysat so much isn’t particularly conductive to a ‘real’ food experience. I have no idea why this has gone half-genuine here, sorry.

Shower? Well mine was fine. Good, even. But a chum had one that was long enough for me to lie down in and had two actual showers in it, so I can’t help but feel a bit let down there, New York. Bed was very comfy and massive though. Big enough to fit 3.42 me on it, at a quick guess, and soft enough to that only 12.5% of each me would remain uncomfortable in some way. This therefore makes me think all beds in New York must be of the same quality. MUST BE.

I didn’t get to see much of the city in all honesty, bar Times Square which was a bit shit. Not exactly my idea of a good place when there’s a 20 metre tall advert for Piers “Cunt” Morgan’s new show on CNN staring at me. Or the tossers who hassle you. Hey I am walking here, etc. I’d like to go back, hopefully the second time without massive illness, with the ability to explore and with other changes I can’t be bothered going into.

It was going to be a different number, but then I got some cheap MS points from Zavvi thanks to a freebie 15% off code which levelled me out, so it’s back to a resounding: 7/10

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Sandwiches, or something.

What’s the greatest sandwich you’ve ever had? Is it ham? Beef? Cheese? A combination of other things all put together into one pile of nonsense? It could be, I don’t know. Maybe your favourite sandwich involves hammers and beans. That would make you a bit squiffy, truth be told, but at least if you admitted to it there wouldn’t be much weirder you could go.

But maybe your favourite idea of a sandwich is one with pastrami, mustard, cheese and something else you love. Maybe it’s a case of the best things that could possibly go in a sandwich combined with the best things you never thought could go in a sandwich (but could). Maybe it’s just that damn good.

Basically I want you to picture, or taste that ‘wich. I want you to imagine you’re feeling its flavour all over your mindtank. Then I want you to think of bread and butter.

Bread and butter is clearly the best thing ever made, even if you have olive spread instead of butter like some loser might (hello!). It tastes of very little, it’s of no nutritional value beyond being bread and making you eat it and… well, it doesn’t do much for the street cred of “the kids”. So there’s clearly no viable point in bread and butter.

Fuck viable though, I love it.

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Can’t (be bothered) cook(ing), won’t (bother) cook(ing)

I am astoundingly lazy, to the point where – when I actually think about it – I surprise myself. I mean, for the last few weeks I haven’t eaten a great deal while at home. No food in the house has been a reason for this in the past, but I do have food. No, I just can’t be bothered cooking anything. And by “cooking” I mean “making some pasta go into its edible state then dousing it in some pre-made sauce”. I even have fresh produce that’s gone… less fresh… as I just couldn’t be bothered using it up.

Have I gone mental? Can someone with some kind of degree in brainology tell me what’s wrong? I am hungry, but I’m not ‘oweeee it hurrrrts’ starving, but I just can’t be bothered. It doesn’t seem worth the effort, somehow.

Maybe I should just get a massive stock of Pot Noodle-like snack food things, as I always boil the kettle for tea and coffee so… wait – it just dawned on me. I have no milk, therefore I have no way of making tea (also I ran out of coffee so it eliminates the black option). This means I have nothing pushing me to constantly return to the kitchen, and I in fact feel like going to the kitchen would bring back too many painful memories of the fact I have no milk, thus meaning I am avoiding the kitchen because I have no milk.

And avoiding the kitchen means I will make no food. It’s so simple when you think about it out loud. Nope, definitely nothing wrong with me in my head – it’s all because of a lack of milk. SORTED.

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