Friday, 2 April 2010

I am the best cook, ever.

No wait, I am not a cook. Calling me a cook is like calling Miley Cyrus an artist. No, no, I am a KILLER CHEF and Miley Cyrus is an artiste. I think (ok, ok- I KNOW) that it's maybe disputable; how amazingly amazing my cooking abilities are, I mean. There has to be a few quirks to your personality for you to fully appreciate my skills, I'll grant you that. I mean, for one... you have to really love toast. It probably helps as well for you to have been in eating disorder treatment at one point in your life, or to have had especially controlling parents- you have to have an urge to fight pre-conceived notions of what combinations are APPROPRIATE (bread, appropriate- you're starting to get where this is going, yes?). You have to love sugar. And cheese. You have to have nothing against bin raiding (I think that's a bit of a Bulimic thing, but go with it. The best pizza, for example, is the takeaway that you drunkenly bought two days ago, and then threw away when you sobered up, because suddenly you were afraid of it, only for you to dig out and consume desperately. Actually, you know, that's the worst pizza. But we're not being fukmalyf today, ok? It's the most depressing, true, but probably the most satisfying. NOM). Anyway, what else? You have to have a really short attention span, because the best recipes come from sticking together what'll cook quickest and also from being too impatient to make it to the shop to buy appropriate (hahaha) ingredients.

Well, a'ight- that last bit doesn't always work, hahaha. I wanted to make a cake one day, ohh... it must have been early 2008. Problem was, it was winter, it was dark and we didn't have any flour. Normally, when I wanted to bake (I was going through a right baking phase at that point, because I wasn't long out of Anorexia and scared that if I bought cake people would know, dundundun, that I ate), I sort of mixed anything kind of dry- flour, cornflour, Ready Brek, icing sugar. Owt, really. But we had nothing, absolutely nada, and so I thought I better get creative. Really, there wasn't a lot of thinking, I was a little too nut-so by that point and so my hunter/gatherer thing really got going and I realised that BREAD HAS FLOUR IN IT.

Anyway, long story short (well, shorter) I ended up with bread, custard (we didn't have any eggs and I'm scared of milk), Splenda (sugar=calories), butter, grated apple (the mix ended up being too wet and I thought apple might thicken it) and MY BLOOD (I grated the apple. And my finger) in the smoothie maker. By this point, I was starting to have my doubts, but I blitzed and baked and SURPRISINGLY... it was a little disgusting. Not so cake-y. The whole experience got worse, though, because I was bleeding like a bugger (not even my blood likes my body) and I was concerned about how I'd make myself sick with a bleeding finger. So I wrapped a bit of string around my finger, which actually has a very cool effect when you're heavily bleeding. It stops the bleeding, like, right away but it also makes your finger swell to about a million times it's actual size. Alien finger, bloody mint.

I think people regretted, in the week or so after, asking what I'd done to my finger.

But oh no, don't judge my talents on that! You shouldn't use that last story against my cooking skills! You shouldn't use the finger bit, anyway. I just wanted to illustrate how even GENIUS LOGIC (I am a cookery genius, therefore I have genius logic. Shhhh)can go awry. I'm going to finish with my classic recipe, the one that'll one day launch the sale of a batrillion-jillion cookery books, to redeem myself.

Bread- Lots and lots and lots, because it's a damn good recipe and you should want a lot. It has to be crappy white bread, though. Own-brand, ceiling tile type.
Sugar- Enough to cover one side of each slice of your crappy bread. Not too much, the more you have the longer it takes. Like... a tablespoon per slice. ish.

Put the bread under the grill.
Oh wait, am I supposed to tell you to turn on the grill? Do that before you put the bread under.
Grill until, like, it's grilled.
Turn it over (take it out from under the grill, or you'll get burnt) and put the sugar on. IT'S VERY IMPORTANT that you use your finger to spread the sugar, and that it's pretty evenly spread.
Whack the bread back under (sugar side up, moron) until the sugar is golden and caramel, and if you touch it you get 3rd degree burns (you have to suffer for art).
Then eat it.
Then call the dentist.

Most recipes to come ;)


  1. 1. I fucking love toast
    2. I've been inpatient for an eating disorder
    3. I bin raid. Too often, far too often,
    4. Fo' sure I am going to try that recipe it sounds DEELISH

  2. I just loved how your comment on my blog was longer than the blog itself. It made me smile. And you made complete sense. And I like that.

  3. I have the typing form of verbal diarrhea. I also have verbal diarrhea. And usually diarrhea-diarrhea.

    I think I'm maybe spelling diarrhea wrong.

  4. Right so I really don't want to hog up all this commenting space but each time I leave a comment I have to confirm the comment with a verification code with a few letters and next to it there is the symbol the disabled. I feel a little bit special (in the disabled kind of way) every time I click post comment, k byeee

  5. Diarrhea (from the Greek, διὰρροια meaning "a flowing through", also spelled diarrhoea, is the condition of having three or more loose or liquid bowel movements per day.