I am happy to announce that I have invented what I call the "stir" "fry", a meal composed entirely of – and this is the clever bit – things you have fried while stirring. The stirring is key, because otherwise the things will burn.
I have never to my knowledge eaten any Nigerian food, but it sounds like it involves big piles of chicken and rice, which is very much in my wheelhouse. I decide to eat some.
All food bets are off around the Christmas period: a lawless time when it feels reasonable to have fudge for breakfast and you can drink Hofmeister at 10am without anyone raising an eyebrow. So as going to the effort of making one burger seems a waste of energy, I'm going to have two.
I ended the year as I lived it: doing something to a standard that was acceptable but ultimately fell short of its potential.
As my grandfather used to say, you can't griddle a chicken without humiliating a junior halal butcher.
I’m heading home doing a mental fridge/cupboard inventory, and I’ve got all this stuff to use up. An onion on its last legs. Two rashers of bacon that I’m not wholly convinced haven’t gone off. Massive reserves of pasta and frozen peas. I Google a recipe. All I need is to score some soured cream on the way home. I can do that. I can do anything.
It's Friday night, I've got a three-and-a-half hour train journey ahead of me, I've had three pints of Doom Bar and I won't get time for dinner at the other end. This requires a plan.
Getting rid of unwanted things in the kitchen cupboard is becoming a bit of an obsession. I’ve had a bottle of Coke in there since it came with a takeaway pizza deal some time last year and I’m not a fan of the stuff. You can use it quite effectively to clean the toilet apparently, or you can drop a bit of a dead pig in it and boil it for a while.