Gaz Cooks Crap

The past, eh? What a load of shit. Everyone had diseases, died at the age of 14 after having to work in a factory from birth, and the only stuff to eat was bits of cold wood. Then things got better, but there was an inbetween period that we now refer to as 'the 1970s'. This was when folk had stopped living in potholes and probably didn't have rickets, but the food was still awful and your dog was probably still a racist (note: that was a high-concept white dog poo joke). One of the foods that was popular in these dark times (literally: the lightbulb was only invented in about 1982) was arctic roll - a limp cake wrapped round a shaft of vanilla ice cream, usually with a light smearing of jam 'twixt the sponge and a lump of Walls' finest. Clearly, it was awful. With the appearance of some sort of dessert-based cross-section of a clogged artery, you either had to eat it so cold that the cake was hard and got wet as it defrosted, or so warm the ice cream melted - also...

If you've eaten out somewhere in the last decade or so, by which I mean eating out in the restaurant sense rather than eating out of a bin or scraps off of a birdtable (don't make that face - we've all been there), you'll have probably noticed the influence of what I like to call "USA-style excess supersizing bullshit". This is where something perfectly normal - usually a dessert, or a hamburger/sandwich - is ruined by overdoing it to such a degree that the thing it actually was is no longer even the main thing in it. What do I mean? Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words, and - as I'm a lazy sod - if that saves me 10 minutes of typing I'm all for it. So here's what I'm on about in picture form: In a Mason jar, of course. Because 'cool' people are apparently incapable of drinking from normal vessels like cups, mugs and gravy boats (don't judge me). I mean, look at it. LOOK AT IT. There's all sorts of crap oo...

Oh, hello! As John 'Imagine really is a pile of overrated horse shit' Lennon once blurted out between bouts of being a tiresome hippy arse, "And so this is Christmas, and what have you done?". Well, I don't know what you've done, John (the fact you've been dead for 37 years notwithstanding), but I thought it's well past time we  (or rather, I - it's not like I have help. Though arguably I might need help of a different sort) cut through all the usual boring guff issued from TV chefs this time of year. It's all staged dinner parties with sweaty fake friends because it was filmed back in August, smug claims about the best way to cook a turkey that still end up with it tasting like a desiccated  bookmark, and everyone claiming their roast potatoes are so crispy that all the windows in a 5-mile radius shatter from the crunch when you eat one. No thanks. Instead, I think it's time for a full festive menu that really reflects the true meanin...

Hello! Sorry for not posting for a bit, but I had to take some time out while I got a new kitchen. By which I mean a different kitchen in a new house, as we sold our old house and - as is traditional, given I don't live in a yurt or similar - the kitchen was included as part of the deal and apparently I'm not allowed to go back there and mess it up anymore. Which is a shame, as that means I have to clean up after myself in my new one rather than leaving it in the old one for the new owner. Bah. Well I say my 'new' kitchen, but it isn't really. It's new to me, of course, but ironically the cooker in it is this: really really old. So old some of the numbers have actually worn off the knobs, so as if my cooking wasn't bad enough it now has an entirely unwanted element of surprise to it as well - up to and including: 'Is the gas actually on?' [presses ignition] ... 'PTHOOOOMPH!' '...yes, yes that was on.' [puts out eyebrows] Un...

Oh man, the hipsters are going to love this week's attempt. Why? Well hold your horses, Susan - if I come straight out and tell you, you'll have no big reveal for the end and no reason to stick around. Although now I've said that I tell you at the end you could of course just scroll to the end to find it, so I've probably just shot myself in the foot there. Anyway, what is it that they'll love but I'm not going to tell you why? Well it's a cheesecake - but not just any cheesecake. No, this cheesecake is the first step in a transatlantic fightback against the encroaching horror that is the Americanism 'mac 'n' cheese'. Don't get me wrong - I'm not some grammar Nazi who gets stroppy if someone doesn't say 'Whom is at one's door, Mother?'. This irritation comes purely from logic: because it's not 'mac 'n' cheese', is it. It's macaroni cheese. That's the name of the recipe, so that's what...