1712: Les Oignons

There are, as you’ll know if you’ve been reading this blog a while now, many things that I do not like and wish to change about myself. Some of these are things I probably could change if I tried hard enough. Others are things that appear to be hard-wired into me, and I couldn’t change them now even if I tried.

One of the most frustrating things in this latter category is my dislike of onions.

I have hated onions for as long as I can remember. Initially dismissed by my parents as me just being a fussy eater — like most children, I was fairly fussy about a lot of unfamiliar foods when I was young — I continued to insist that not only did I simply not like onions, but they actually made me want to be sick.

That’s not an exaggeration, either; even today, if I can so much as taste a bit of raw onion, it makes me retch and completely puts me off whatever it is I am eating that has turned out to be stuffed full of onion. I won’t even eat something that has had raw onion on it, because I remain convinced that raw onion infects the flavours of everything around it, making everything else taste of onion even when the offending slices themselves have long been removed.

The strange thing about my violent dislike of onion is the fact that, in many cases, I’m absolutely fine with it if it’s been cooked into something. I don’t mind a pasta sauce that incorporates a bit of onion, for example — so long as it’s not too much — and I don’t mind a curry or Chinese dish that has a bit of onion in it — though again, not too much. Basically if I can taste it, it’s out; I cannot think of a single dish that is improved by the presence of onion, but handled correctly I can at least tolerate it.

What’s even stranger is that over the last couple of years or so, I’ve started to find even specifically onion-based things more palatable than I have done in the past. I can eat and even quite enjoy an onion bhaji, for example — though in most cases these have been deep-fried to such a degree that any resemblance to actual onions is by that point purely coincidental — and I have been known to have battered onion rings with steak and the like, too — though I will add to that that I usually smother them in so much sauce that it becomes impossible to discern their oniony origins.

Despite these changes in the last few years, though, I’m doubtful I’ll ever be able to eat onion in the same way as a lot of other people I know — and I certainly doubt I will ever get to a stage where I like it enough to specifically want to add it to things. This is frustrating, because it’s surprising quite how much food out there — particularly stuff designed for lunchtime consumption like sandwiches, wraps and the like — is absolutely rammed full of onion, in many cases ruining what sounds like an otherwise delicious item of food for me and, more often than not, making it completely unpalatable.

Oh well. I’ve survived 33 years without onions; I’m pretty sure I can probably go the rest of my life without them, too.

1703: Beans, Beans, Beans

I’ve never really felt like all those pieces of conventional wisdom regarding certain foods and drinks actually have the intended effect on me — at least not until the last few years or so. I’m not sure if they’re actually having more of an effect on me as I get older, or if I’m simply more conscious of the effect they’re having on me. Either way, I’m starting to notice that some of the things regarding food and drink I’ve long had a certain degree of doubt over are perhaps a little more true than I thought.

Take coffee, for example. Now, my past resilience to caffeine — I’ve long been able to drink a cup of joe in the evening and not have it affect my sleep patterns, though this is perhaps due to the fact that my sleep patterns are already somewhat questionable — can perhaps be attributed to the sheer amount of the stuff I’ve put into my body on a regular basis ever since I was quite young. Coffee is seen by some as a “grown-up drink” — perhaps because of its bitterness, and the fact that, without milk, it’s an acquired taste — but I’ve been drinking it in various forms for as long as I can remember. Okay, for the first few years of my life it was milky Nescafé, but as soon as the world discovered fancy, expensive coffees I was right there with everyone — though I must confess I don’t go as far as some people, largely because I have no idea what a “wet latte” is.

Anyway. The fact is, I’ve always drunk a lot of coffee — and buying a nice coffee machine a while back certainly didn’t help me cut back, not that I particularly wanted to. As such, my body has apparently grown somewhat accustomed to caffeine, and thus a simple coffee never felt like it had a huge amount of effect on me. Sure, if I drank too many coffees and Red Bulls in a day, I’d get the shakes and feel a bit sick — as bad a feeling as any hangover, that, let me tell you — but for the most part, I never felt like caffeine made me any more “alert” or gave me a buzz as legend had it that it was supposed to.

Recently, however, I’ve cut back on coffee somewhat, largely due to the fact that it costs money to go and get a decent coffee at work (I could take instant, but, frankly, I’m a snob about coffee now and find that most instant — with the possible exception of Nescafé Azera, which is actually pretty good — tastes like crap) and thus I drink far less on any given day. And, as a result, I feel like caffeine is having more of an effect on me. I know a morning coffee certainly feels like it helps — and if I need to pep up a bit in the afternoon, another cup feels like it helps too. It’s possibly psychosomatic, of course — which is what I’ve long suspected when it comes to caffeine — but, well, it’s working for me.

An area where I have less doubt is in the matter of baked beans. Now, those of you with fond memories of the schoolyard will doubtless remember the short piece of juvenile poetry that taught everyone that while beans were indeed good for one’s heart, they had a habit of also afflicting one with a certain degree of flatulence.

I’ve never really actually considered this to be true, despite the popular perception of eating beans being akin to allowing a Northern mining town free rein to hold brass band rehearsals somewhere within the cavernous expanse of your rectum. However, once again, just recently I have discovered that there may, in fact, be a degree more truth in this piece of popular wisdom than I had initially anticipated.

I had a jacket potato for lunch the other day, you see. My workplace canteen boasts some of the largest baked potatoes I’ve ever seen, and they’re cooked nicely so that there’s a bit of crispiness to the skin while they remain fluffy and not dried out within. There are few fillings available for said baked potatoes, but one of them is the old staple baked beans, optionally with the addition of cheese. I indulged in this classic combination, then went back to work in the afternoon. Upon reaching the end of the day, I found myself feeling a little bloated, but thought little of it and walked the 15-minute walk back to my car.

Upon reaching my car and sitting down inside, it happened: an attack of flatulence that bore an uncanny resemblance to distant — but rapidly approaching — rolling thunder. Starting subtly but quickly building in a crescendo of gaseous overtones, the entire affair lasted a good ten seconds or so, after which the feeling of being somewhat bloated had magically passed. It took another ten minutes for me to stop laughing enough to be able to drive off safely.

Naturally, upon discovering that the canteen’s particular brand of baked beans had such a dramatic impact on me, I had to try again. And so it was that today I indulged in another gigantic jacket potato with beans and cheese — and a jelly for afters, because who can resist a jelly? — and so it was that once again, upon returning to my vehicle after a long day staring at my computer screen, I erupted in a cacophony of full-bodied guffs that I can hardly deny were extremely satisfying to release. I was even a bit sorry that no-one was around to hear them.

So yeah. Beans, beans, good for your heart; beans, beans really do… you know.

1697: Adjustments

I am very tired. This is a side-effect of my new routine, which necessitates getting up at some point before (or, more commonly just before) 7am, going out, doing some work for a normal working day, then coming home in time for about 6pm, eating dinner, then doing something relaxing and pleasant in the evening.

This may not sound all that tiring to those of you who have happily been holding down nine-to-fives for the last umpteen years, but it’s been something of a culture shock to me.

Actually, that might be a slight exaggeration. But after four years of working from home, often in my pants, there have been a number of adjustments I’ve had to make. And, you know, aside from the whole “getting up early” thing (which I still loathe thanks to my body’s uncanny ability to be extremely tired in the morning regardless of whether I go to bed early, timely…ly or ridiculously late) these adjustment haven’t been all that bad — and I think they’ll have a positive effect overall.

The biggest change is, of course, the fact that I am no longer working from home and consequently have to 1) put clothes on and 2) travel to work. The former’s not really an issue — I joke about working in my pants, but in reality more often than not I did get dressed to do work, because it put me in the right mindset to do useful things.

The latter, however, is a noteworthy change. I have a drive of about 45 minutes or so to my place of work, followed by a 10-15 minute walk from where I park my car to the actual office. This means that I’m getting a bit of very light exercise every day, which is probably a good thing. I can’t say it’s particularly strenuous exercise, given that I tend to walk quite slowly — a trait I have apparently inherited from my mother without noticing at some point — but it is exercise of sorts, and it’s every day.

There’s also actually a gym on site at my new workplace, which I will probably join at some point soon, since it’s a lot cheaper than the one I’m currently a member of. (Plus I walk past it on the way out of work every day, so that makes it a lot more difficult to ignore… and it has the advantage of meaning that if I stay late to do even a short workout, I’m less likely to run into rush-hour traffic on the way home, which will be very nice indeed.)

The fact I’m working in an office rather than in my own house, which, to put the following in context, is approximately 5 minutes’ walk from a Tesco Express, means that I’m less inclined to wander out and purchase various snacks and sugary drinks when I’m feeling hungry, too. Instead, I’m drinking a lot more water, I’ve cut down a fair bit on the lattes — no more than one or two a day, usually just the one to pep me up a bit in the morning — and I’ve almost entirely eliminated fizzy pop from consideration when I think about what I’d like to drink. I take my own lunch when either Andie or I remember to prepare it the night before (because let’s face it, neither of us feel inclined to do so at that ungodly hour in the morning) but even when I don’t, the work canteen is pretty good, with a selection of decent food rather than the usual “chips with everything” situation I typically associate with the word “canteen”.

So on the whole, then, things are going well and I hope they will have a positive impact on both my physical and mental wellbeing. It’s too early to say right now, but I’ll certainly be keeping an eye on things as I continue to settle in.

1300: I’m Not a Foodie

After going out for a very nice (and expensive) meal for a friend’s stag weekend tonight, I can confirm something I’ve suspected for quite some time now: I’m not a foodie.

It’s not that I can’t appreciate food that has had care, attention, time and effort expended on it to make it look, taste and smell great. It’s just that I don’t think these expensive restaurants are significantly nicer than something simple. If anything, I find fancy food too fussy — there are too many flavours for me, when I much prefer something simple, homely and enjoyable.

Take steaks. I love a good steak. Steak is one of the most delicious meats there is when just cooked nicely and served up by itself, perhaps with some chips and/or a bit of salad. Smother it in some sort of sauce or marinade, though, and it becomes considerably less appealing — the delicious taste of the steak is, more often than not, overwhelmed by the taste of the sauce, and that’s not the reason I wanted to have steak in the first place.

The menu this evening had a lot of delicious things on it — steak, fish, chicken, pasta, gnocchi. And yet I found it very difficult to pick something I actually liked the sound of, because for every item that was based on something I enjoy — steak, fish, chicken, pasta, gnocchi — it was promptly made far too fussy by rubbing rosemary all over it, festooning it with onions or incorporating herbs and spices I’d never heard of.

This may sound like being a fussy eater and I guess it sort of is — my longstanding violent dislike of onions precludes me from eating a lot of fancy food, which is often riddled with them — but more than being fussy, it’s simply the fact that I just don’t really enjoy food that’s too “complicated”, for want of a better word. I don’t know whether this is because I don’t have a particularly refined palate, or because I’m not used to food of this type, or because it’s just my particular tastes, but regardless of what the reason is, I think I would, in most cases, much rather have a pub lunch or a nice roast dinner than anything that been anywhere near the word “jus”.

I wonder how you refine your palate for things like this? I often contemplate this question when confronted with an impressive-looking cheeseboard, none of which I have the slightest inclination to eat, or am invited to appreciate a salad as being anything more than just bland leaves… or, indeed, as with this evening, am presented with a number of individual ingredients I like by themselves that are smothered with things that I either actively dislike or don’t really appreciate in conjunction with the things I do like.

So there you have it. I’m not a foodie. Consequently, I’m something of a cheap date, too.

1291: The Gentrification of Snack Foods

Have you noticed how it’s increasingly difficult to buy a bag of salt and vinegar crisps these days?

I don’t mean that they’re hard to find — they’re still everywhere, and still the second-best flavour of crisps (the best being, of course, prawn cocktail) but rather it’s increasingly difficult to find a bag that just says “salt and vinegar” on them.

No, these days it’s all “sea salt” and either malt, cider or, in extremely pretentious cases, balsamic vinegar. Granted, each of those does have a distinctive taste from the others, but it’s a distinction we didn’t used to make because no-one knew what the fuck balsamic vinegar was.

Crisps aren’t the only type of food that has undergone gentrification, though. We now have “fruit terrine” rather than “jelly with fruit in”; “artisan bread” rather than “crusty bread” (or, you know, “bread”); and almost everything that involves chocolate that isn’t a chocolate bar has suddenly become “Belgian chocolate” as if its Flemish origins somehow make the poor-quality chocolate sauce you get with a chocolate pudding magically better.

There’s probably some sort of deep-seated sociological reason for all this happening that marketing people have picked up on. At a guess, I’d say it’s something to do with people having aspirations towards being “middle class”, and what’s more middle class than balsamic vinegar? Slap that on your bag of crisps and you immediately no longer have crisps — which are clearly a working class food — but instead you have posh crisps or, more accurately, “nibbles”. The sort of things you pour into a bowl because eating them out of the bag is just so frightfully common.

Where does it end, though? Wagon Wheels become Alloy Rims? (with Jammy Alloy Rims being marketed as “a delicate berry jus nestled in a bed of delectably fluffy mallow, all encased in rich, smooth Belgian chocolate”) Cheestrings launch a new “Cheestrings Pro” range made out of suitably pongy blue cheeses? Cheetos complement their Pepsi flavour (yes, it totally exists — see?) with an array of flavours based on popular wines and ports?

I jest, of course. I’m not annoyed about all this; I just think it’s an interesting cultural phenomenon that appears to have been growing over the last few years in particular — or perhaps it’s been going on for a lot longer and I just never noticed. When I was a student, for example, I didn’t go looking for pretentious crap like balsamic vinegar; I bought value goods. (Actually, that’s not so bad; cheap crisps are frequently the best due to the sheer amount of flavouring crap they cover them with. Plus you’d never get Tangy Toms rebranding themselves as “Sundried Tomato Flavour Bites”.)

Anyway, I’m off to enjoy a cool glass of triple-filtered cow beverage, and perhaps a Belgian chocolate chip Snack Disc.

1231: On Your Doorstep

Something sprang to mind for me and Andie while we were over in Toronto. Our friend Mark was taking us out for lunch to an intriguing little Vietnamese place called Banh Mi Boys that served all manner of interesting sandwiches and meat buns and the like, and we suddenly realised that were the roles reversed, there weren’t all that many interesting places we’d be able to take visitors to our fair(ish) city of Southampton.

This evening, then, we went out in an attempt to start rectifying this situation just so, on the off-chance that friends from abroad do come and visit, we’d have somewhere more interesting that Burger King or a Wetherspoons to take them.

We actually visited two different establishments this evening. The first of these was La Cantina (or just Cantina as it appears to be known now) in the Bedford Place area of the city, just on the outskirts of the city centre. This is a Mexican place that I’d heard good things about in the past, but had somehow never made it to. They serve you standard Mexican platters like nachos, burritos and whatnot, but they also do tapas servings of tacos and various other tortilla-based dishes whose names I’ve forgotten. Andie and I had a sharing platter of nachos with beef mole and two of these tapas dishes each, and that was plenty of food for the pair of us.

It was some tasty food, and a good level of spice — just enough to get you sweating a bit, but not so much that your tongue goes completely numb and you can no longer actually taste what it is you’re eating. The beef mole had a bit of a kick, though I suspect this came from the seasoning of the meat rather than the slices of chili pepper that were in it, which actually turned out to be pleasantly mild-ish.

After dinner, we decided to drop into a brand new establishment that has just moved in almost next door to Cantina — Tutti’s Gelato. This is, to my knowledge, the second dedicated gelato shop that has opened in Southampton — the first being Sprinkles in “student central” area Portswood.

Tutti’s offers a wide variety of gelato flavours, available either as scoops in a cone or little bowl, or as part of a bigger dessert. Said bigger desserts — crepes, waffles, sundaes — all look like they’ll probably give you a heart attack, but I most definitely intend to give them a try at some point in the near future, perhaps when I haven’t filled myself up with Mexican food beforehand.

My only real criticism of Tutti’s — which was clean, looked good, served delicious desserts and had some comfortable seating — was that their menu was riddled with spelling and punctuation errors, and wasn’t even consistent about the mistakes they made. If you can correctly pluralise “crepe” into “crepes”, then why the fuck did you put an apostrophe in the word “sundaes”? And don’t even get me started on how they spelled “raspberries” (hint: it involved an apostrophe, and did not involve the correct “-ies” ending.)

This aside, though — which, after all, isn’t really the most important thing (yes, I winced a bit writing that, but it is true) — Tutti’s was a great place to go, and I’ve been all for the “late night dessert” thing ever since I was taken out to a shop that specialised in chocolate-based desserts in New York several years ago. (I can’t remember the name, but by God it was amazing. They had a chocolate pizza that looked like instant diabetes.)

Anyway, my rambling point in all this is simply that now, if someone comes to visit, I have two places I can take them. And hopefully we’ll discover some more in the near future.

1209: Further Adventures in Fudz

As I noted the other day, one of the fun things about our trip to Toronto is that we’ve had the opportunity to sample some of the city’s more colourful eating establishments. Mark and Lynette both know the places that Torontonians (I bet they hate being called that) visit on a regular basis rather than the inevitably much more expensive touristy places in touristy areas. Consequently, we’ve had the opportunity to eat well for relatively reasonable prices — Mark and Lynette refer to a $20 bill as a “yuppie food stamp” and it’s easy to see why, since the vast majority of meals we’ve had while we’ve been here have come out somewhere in the region of $20 each.

We’ve had a lot of Asian cuisine of various descriptions since we’ve been here, as I noted the other day. Today I added to the range of Asian foods that I’ve experienced by having a taste of okonomiyaki. I had no idea whatsoever what okonomiyaki was prior to today, but I had at least heart of it — the character Kirari in the visual novel Kira Kira (which is eminently worth your time, by the way) is obsessed with it.

I was half expecting okonomiyaki to be something similar to takoyaki — the small fried rice flour balls filled with octopus meat and other goo, then drizzled with Japanese mayonnaise. Okonomiyaki is, as it turns out, absolutely nothing like takoyaki. No; rather than being small bite-sized thingies like takoyaki, okonomiyaki is instead somewhat akin to a cross between a potato cake and an omelette, with lashings of a rich barbecue sauce-style substance slathered all over the top of it. I forget exactly what the omelette-type-thing was made from and am far too tired to actually research it at this hour in the morning, but it was quite tasty. Like an omelette, it could also be made with a variety of different fillings, ranging from beef to shrimp or squid. I had a squid one to make up for the fact I didn’t have a squid taco at Banh Mi Boys the other day, so I now feel suitably guilty about devouring some of Ika Musume’s relatives.

I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to make of okonomiyaki, as I was aware going into it that it was made with onions, which those who know me well will know are a vegetable I despise with a great passion. (I had terrible trouble growing up convincing my parents that I really genuinely didn’t like onions, despite actually retching at the dinner table when I could taste them on several occasions; the fact that being able to taste onion today still makes me retch makes me feel somewhat vindicated that I wasn’t just being an awkward child about them.) Fortunately, however, the onions were shredded up to such a degree (not to mention having had the shit fried out of them) that they were inoffensive to my palate’s delicate sensibilities, and consequently there was no retching.

Actually, I enjoyed the okonomiyaki very much. I’m pleased I tried it; I’m not sure it’s my favourite of all the Japanese food I’ve tried to date, but I am happy that I’ve tasted it and now know what to expect should I find myself ordering it again.

Now all we have to do is complete the “Japanese trifecta” by having sushi one night this week and we’ll be all Asianed out.

1207 Part 2: Food Travels

Here’s a full update to make up for the pitiful effort last night. Apologies for that, but I was in far too much pain to even contemplate writing more than a couple of sentences at the time. I was even sick. You really wanted to know that, didn’t you? Of course you did. BLAAAARGH.

Anyway, what I actually wanted to talk about in last night’s post was one of my favourite aspects of travel: food. I’m not necessarily talking about sampling local cuisine — which here in Toronto would probably be poutine, I guess — but wandering around and having a chance to sample some local eateries, and eat some interesting food that you might not be able to get back home.

Toronto is particularly good for Asian eateries of various descriptions. Yesterday we sampled two of them: the Banh Mi Boys sandwich shop, and Kinton Ramen.

Banh Mi Boys is a pokey little shop that often has queues extending out of the door. They serve a variety of Vietnamese-inspired food that includes Asian-style tacos — floppy rather than crispy — and steamed rice flour buns known as bao. They also do Vietnamese-style baguettes, the titular banh mi, which are a decent meal in themselves. We tried the tacos and the bao, both of which were delicious. I had pulled pork in my bao and some sort of spicy beef in my taco — there were several different options on offer besides these, including squid tacos, which I sort of regret I didn’t try now, even if eating them would make me feel a bit guilty towards Ika Musume-chan.

Kinton Ramen, meanwhile, is fairly self-explanatory. It’s a ramen shop. All they do is ramen and a few side dishes. They do do several different types of ramen, to be fair, but if you don’t want ramen this is probably not the place to come. I must confess to not being overly familiar with ramen, as it’s something we don’t seem to get all that much of back in the U.K., but the couple of occasions I have had it in the past have been thoroughly enjoyable.

For those unfamiliar with Japanese cuisine, eating “ramen” generally involves getting an enormous bowl full of broth made from pork bones (with the amount of fat used in it determining how “rich” it is) which is then filled with ramen noodles, vegetables such as beansprouts, nori and various other bits and pieces, and typically topped with a lump of pork. Some also have a whole egg in them — sometimes this is served chopped, but at Kinton, there’s just a whole egg dropped in it, which is quite amusing. You then proceed to consume the whole bowl using a combination of chopsticks and a wooden Japanese soup spoon. At Kinton, they take your photo if you finish the whole thing, which is actually quite an achievement — there’s a lot of food there, and due to the way it’s structured, it often looks like you’re not making any progress with it for a very long time. Like the Persona 4 beef bowl, if you will.

Anyway, that should hopefully make up for last night. And hopefully my headache will fuck off and die now.

#oneaday Day 566: The Top Arbitrary Number of Quintessentially British Foods

This post is largely aimed at my American readers out there — you know who you are. (Largely because you live in America.) I thought you might be interested to know an arbitrary number of the things that we have over here in Britainland that are considered edible. Some of them you may have come across before, some of them you may not. So without further ado, let us jump into the list.

Bovril

You’ve probably heard of Marmite, the thick, brown, goopy substance that supposedly you either love or hate. Well, its bastard sibling is Bovril, which rather than being made from “yeast extract”, whatever that is, is apparently made from beef. What you end up with is a thick black tar that supposedly tastes of beef but more accurately tastes “of black” and has a propensity to burn the roof of your mouth off if you have too much at once. It’s good on toast. It’s especially good on toast when dipped into Heinz tomato soup. You can also make it into a drink, which is inadvisable unless you like a mug full of black, salty, slightly beefy water.

Biscuits

What you know as “cookies”. You may have the awesomeness that are Chips Ahoy! but we have a wide selection of biscuits that are firmly ingrained into our culture. We have the bourbon cream, for example, which is two chocolatey biscuits with a layer of chocolatey creamy stuff in between and no actual Bourbon involved. We have the custard cream, which is like a bourbon only more square and vanilla-y. We have the jammie dodger, which is another two-layer biscuit with jam in the middle. And we have Rich Teas, which are rubbish until you dunk them into a hot beverage or squish melted marshmallows between them.

Fish and Chips

Plenty of places in the States sell fish and chips, but you haven’t had it the truly British way unless you follow several steps in the process. Firstly, get a portion of chips that is enough for at least three people and put it in some paper. Then smother it in enough salt to give a midget an immediate heart attack. Then drown it in vinegar. Then slap a large, greasy, wet battered fish on top of it. Then wrap it up into a neat little parcel and admire as the grease seeps through the paper. The key element of British fish and chips is the size of the portion. If you can finish a portion, the portion wasn’t big enough. There is also generally an inversely-proportional relationship between the price of a portion of chips and the amount they will give you. The cheaper the chips are at the chip shop, the bigger the portions will be.

Curry Sauce

Companion to the above, the slightly-lumpy brown-green-yellow curry sauce that is on offer in most chippies is the perfect companion to your carb overload. It may look like someone has just blown chunks over your bag of chips, but it’s a one-way ticket to spicy heaven.

Indian Takeaway

British takeaways are something else. You may have had a curry from your local Indian, but you haven’t had it properly until you’ve had it from a dodgy British takeaway — the kind of place that sells dishes like the entertainingly non-specific “meat curry”. Also, when a dish says it’s “hot”, it means it. A vindaloo will probably blow your head off. And having a drink won’t help.

Proper Chocolate

You have chocolate, sure. But you don’t have our chocolate, which is just better. From the immensely calorific Yorkie bars (which still somehow manage to get away with marketing themselves as “not for girls”) to the legendary Cadbury’s chocolate, we sure know how to do it properly.

HP Sauce

HP Sauce is the perfect condiment that goes with pretty much anything and even makes a good sandwich by itself. (On bread, obviously.) It has a taste that is impossible to describe except through the word “brown”. It tastes like brown sauce. Because it is brown sauce. Try it on bacon or sausage sandwiches for the perfect breakfast, or dribbled over baked beans to give them a pleasingly spicy kick.

I hope that’s educated you on British cuisine. Next time you pay us a visit, remember to give them a try.

#oneaday Day 544: Om Nom Nom

After a delicious meal at sort-of Japanese restaurant chain Wagamama, I find myself inspired to write about food. Food is delicious and, after all, essential to survival, so you may as well enjoy what you eat.

I’m not a fantastic cook, really, despite having spent a memorable period working alongside my friend from university and beyond Mike Porter in a pub kitchen. We made a mean prawn cocktail and only occasionally accidentally deep-fried an Ultimate Combo when no-one had ordered one in order to have something delicious to munch on ourselves. (There was also the memorable time that a bunch of food was being thrown out and Mike ended up with a ridiculous number of rib-eye steaks, finding himself eating them for breakfast, lunch and dinner for some time. And the time we had an apple sauce fight that culminated with the pouring of apple sauce into each others’ chefs hats and a strong temptation to pour it down the hairy and perpetually-visible bumcrack of our (female) companion in the kitchen.)

My one redeeming trait in cooking is the fact that I’m willing to experiment and improvise. I’ve made some delicious spaghetti sauces, curries and chilli con carnes using said talent, and they’re never quite the same as each other.

All those foods are staples, of course, and pretty much anyone who’s been away to university knows how to prepare all of the above as a means of dining reasonably nutritionally well on a teeny-tiny budget. But over the years, it’s become clear that the interpretation of each recipe varies enormously according to each person. I, for example, never put onion in anything because onions are actually little Satan poos, and no-one wants to eat Satan’s poo. I may have made that up, but onions still taste like shit (not actual shit) and make me retch if I can taste them, so I avoid them at every opportunity.

I was quite happy with my simple chilli recipe, too — tin of tomatoes, packet of mince, tin of kidney beans, bit of chilli powder — until I went over to a friend’s house one evening and he made a chilli that was somehow infinitely, indescribably more delicious than any I’d ever made. His secret? Using twice as many tins of tomatoes as you “need” and then allowing them to reduce over a much longer cooking period. Also, adding bacon and/or chorizo.

Even within relatively simple foods, then, there is a huge amount of variation. This goes right down to the simplest of the simple dishes. Take two people who enjoy Bovril on toast, for example — one may put a thin film of the beefy, yeasty black stuff on top while the other may enjoy the curious enamel-stripping mouth-burning sensation inflicted by putting slightly too much Bovril on a piece of toast. (Incidentally, try Bovril on toast dipped in Heinz tomato soup. It’s amazeballs. Assuming Bovril doesn’t make you gag.)

I’d like to cook better, and once I get back into my own place again I have every intention of exploring and trying things out. Cooking can be a pain in the arse, but it’s also immensely satisfying when it goes right — to look at, to hear bubbling away in the pot and, eventually, to taste. And if you fuck up, well, you’ve learned from the experience — plus hey, the Chinese takeaway is only just down the road if the worst comes to the worst.

“Healthy” food can eat a dick, though. At least the interpretation from a lot of people, which is either “undressed, extremely dull garden salad” or “fat free, flavour free bullshit”. I’m fully aware that it is, in fact, possible to make delicious and healthy foods — the BBC Good Food magazine have a range of low-cost books with some excellent recipes designed around this very principle for example. But with healthy eating it’s all too easy to fall into a bland, boring trap of flavour free nonsense and forget how amazing it is to eat something with a bit of sugar or salt in it.

Food, then? Delicious when prepared correctly, enough to make you wonder if it was worth bothering with if prepared incorrectly. This has been a message from the Ministry of Stating the Obvious.