In which I am the victim of a serious crime, and for what might be the first time eat veal: the pork of beef.
In lockdown, things to look forward to are vital. Lunch is one. The delivery of whatever useless tat you've been suckered into buying online is another.
When two worlds collide: a 1997 Paul McCartney album and its influence on the trailblazing decision to put chilli in a pie.
My most long-term fridge resident, the jar of Tesco Finest garlic chutney, has finally moved on to better things.
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'm having the leftovers of last weekend's tagine tonight, but I want to make a side dish and I've got a couple of hours this afternoon to kill now my enthusiasm for Safe on Netflix has waned, so how about dropping some stuff in a food processor and watching the blades spin round remorselessly until everything's dead.
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.