I'll be moving out soon, but no one will ever be able to say I never made a lasagne here.
There's a lockdown trend afoot: recreating fast food at home. You can imitate the meal, but there's no substitute for the shame.
A week before lockdown is announced there are rumours it's coming. I go out to buy food, feeling panicked, though it goes without saying I'm not panic-buying.
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.
As my grandfather used to say, you can't griddle a chicken without humiliating a junior halal butcher.
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.
I thought I'd invented this, but then it turned out it was something I'd bastardised from another recipe years ago. I did come up with the idea of turning it into a bake, though, so effectively I invented the concept of putting a load of cheese on top of something and putting it in the oven. You can't take that away from me, BLAIR.