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.
I have had The Lads round. We spent Friday night playing poker, talking about which cars are the fastest cars and objectifying women. As a result on Saturday morning I have two rinded oranges left over from Old-Fashioneds. So now I need to find something to do with two oranges. Something that doesn’t involve autoerotic asphyxiation.
This pork marinade usually suits pesto on the side, but a roast needs gravy, and it worries me that these flavours might be overcome by a gravy. I say "worries": it'd be a blow but I'd probably get over it.
I am eating some chaource cheese on corn thins for lunch when I notice that the rind is a bit blue-tasting for my liking. I hit upon a plan: what if I could throw it all into a saucepan with some other stuff this evening to deaden the flavour and still fulfil my weekend goal of stuffing a lot of cheese into my idiot face? It's not a very intricate plan admittedly but it's worth a bash.