'CORNERS'
So since I last posted, I thought I was moving house, then I wasn't, then my cooker broke. Hence I've done buggerall for weeks. Hooray! But enough about me - you just want to see someone gagging on something unpleasant without the risk of having to type 'video of someone gagging on something unpleasant' into Google, and then having to run an exceedingly lewd gauntlet before finding what you're after.
This week, what with it allegedly being summer (note: as I type this, it is of course pissing down) I didn't fancy cooking much so thought I'd branch out into refreshing, light summery desserts. Only in the case of this blog, the branch I've branched out onto has a terrible case of Dutch Elm disease and is about to fall off. So here, for your rancid entertainment, are some variations on everyone's favourite slightly better than the crappy Ski yoghurts we had as a kid but still not actually THAT great curdled milk product: fruit corners.
You will need, as Paul Daniels might have said had he not had the audacity to die over a year before I wrote this post, 'not a lot':
Some yoghurt. Plain is probably best, unless you really want to push the boat out and try it with a flavoured one (and also: sink the boat when you subsequently fill it with vomit)
Assorted 'fillings' for your corner - I did 6, you may wish to do 1 or fewer. Or more, if you're having a dinner party for people you really don't like! Mine were:
* polos
* marmite
* baked beans
* hula hoops (cheese & onion flavour)
* quorn
* Branston pickle
An authentic Fruit Corner pot, for authentically authentic authenticity
REALLY?
If you can't put some yoghurt in the big bit and the other stuff in the small bit, and then tip the small bit into the big bit, you'd probably best leave the kitchen before you accidentally inhale a blender or something equally stupid.
For once, I think there actually was a fairly obvious order of (de)merit, so let's start with the least worst first and then slither downwards like a drunk down a lamp-post.
The quorn corner (or 'quorner', whose alliterativeness is more or less the only reason I thought to try it in the first place) is at the top of this list, but to be honest barely qualified at all as this tasted of nowt other than yoghurt. Y'see quorn is remarkable in that, while it whiffs slightly of mushrooms (befitting of a product based on fungus protein), it has basically no taste at all. Even the packet says 'cook it with your favourite sauce', which while falling short of saying 'be sure to put it with something else because this is as delicious as cardboard', is about as close to honesty in marketing as it gets. Though I assume it means something like pasta sauce rather than e.g. golden syrup. Unless you happen to like gritty fructose.
Anyway, true to form this tasted of fuck all. Next.
Now I was expecting this to go one of two ways. Well, I suppose it could have gone any number of ways - I could have been in the midst of eating it and had my house swallowed up by a sinkhole, or a pelican with dementia could have smashed through my kitchen window or something. But of the two ways I thought most likely to happen - awfulness or okayness - this turned out to be very much the latter. Which when you think about it, isn't that surprising: it's crisps and plain, tangy yoghurt, so this is basically the 'council pop' version of party food like chips & dip. Chintzy!
This one was a bit of a surprise in that it sort of, kind of, worked. Not as well as the hula hoops, but it definitely wasn't horrible either. It was a bit unusual, which you'd probably expect given it's baked beans and yoghurt (also: as I'm lazy the baked beans were cold as well), but I think this could pass for a genuine novelty flavour. Look, I even finished it:
Admittedly I won't be rushing to have this again, but it's the sort of odd flavour combo you'd probably get in a posh restaurant and go 'ooh, I'm having my palate challenged!'. But enough of mere challenges to your palate - let's drag your palate into a back alley and properly duff it up.
Now don't get me wrong - I like a brown meal, and usually adding brown to any meal is an improvement (e.g. bacon, sausages, chips, chocolate, or wood if you happen to be a beaver). This must be the exception to the rule though, as it was thoroughly awful. All you got was saltiness and tang - this might therefore appeal to land-based mermaids who miss having everything taste of brine (with the added bonus that yoghurt looks a bit like spume), but that's probably a fairly niche market. Still, I got to use the word 'spume', so I'm happy.
Salty. So. Very. Salty.
This isn't so much at the other end of the spectrum from the hula hoop one as a 30-minute train ride from the end of the spectrum, and also there's a replacement bus service on today and it'll take 2 hours and the man next to you has fallen asleep and is dribbling onto your shoe.
Anyway, they say a picture is worth 1000 words, so here's a few minutes of moving pictures that'll save me writing 487,000 words or so. Mmm!
That's probably enough for now anyway - I'm off for some more kidney-salvaging, non-spumey water. Spume!
This week, what with it allegedly being summer (note: as I type this, it is of course pissing down) I didn't fancy cooking much so thought I'd branch out into refreshing, light summery desserts. Only in the case of this blog, the branch I've branched out onto has a terrible case of Dutch Elm disease and is about to fall off. So here, for your rancid entertainment, are some variations on everyone's favourite slightly better than the crappy Ski yoghurts we had as a kid but still not actually THAT great curdled milk product: fruit corners.
Ingredients:
You will need, as Paul Daniels might have said had he not had the audacity to die over a year before I wrote this post, 'not a lot':
Assorted 'fillings' for your corner - I did 6, you may wish to do 1 or fewer. Or more, if you're having a dinner party for people you really don't like! Mine were:
* polos
* marmite
* baked beans
* hula hoops (cheese & onion flavour)
* quorn
* Branston pickle
An authentic Fruit Corner pot, for authentically authentic authenticity
Method:
REALLY?
If you can't put some yoghurt in the big bit and the other stuff in the small bit, and then tip the small bit into the big bit, you'd probably best leave the kitchen before you accidentally inhale a blender or something equally stupid.
The results:
For once, I think there actually was a fairly obvious order of (de)merit, so let's start with the least worst first and then slither downwards like a drunk down a lamp-post.
Quorn corner
 |
| This looks a lot like it could have been gravel. And tasted a lot like it too. |
The quorn corner (or 'quorner', whose alliterativeness is more or less the only reason I thought to try it in the first place) is at the top of this list, but to be honest barely qualified at all as this tasted of nowt other than yoghurt. Y'see quorn is remarkable in that, while it whiffs slightly of mushrooms (befitting of a product based on fungus protein), it has basically no taste at all. Even the packet says 'cook it with your favourite sauce', which while falling short of saying 'be sure to put it with something else because this is as delicious as cardboard', is about as close to honesty in marketing as it gets. Though I assume it means something like pasta sauce rather than e.g. golden syrup. Unless you happen to like gritty fructose.
 |
| If you squint hard enough, this could be a delicious crushed-up chocolate biscuit. It also helps the illusion if, while squinting, you eat a chocolate biscuit. |
Anyway, true to form this tasted of fuck all. Next.
Hula hoops corner
 |
| NB: I haven't got an exceptionally tiny spoon - turns out I accidentally bought giant hula hoops. |
Now I was expecting this to go one of two ways. Well, I suppose it could have gone any number of ways - I could have been in the midst of eating it and had my house swallowed up by a sinkhole, or a pelican with dementia could have smashed through my kitchen window or something. But of the two ways I thought most likely to happen - awfulness or okayness - this turned out to be very much the latter. Which when you think about it, isn't that surprising: it's crisps and plain, tangy yoghurt, so this is basically the 'council pop' version of party food like chips & dip. Chintzy!
Baked bean corner
 |
| Admit it. This looks like it could be a genuine product. |
This one was a bit of a surprise in that it sort of, kind of, worked. Not as well as the hula hoops, but it definitely wasn't horrible either. It was a bit unusual, which you'd probably expect given it's baked beans and yoghurt (also: as I'm lazy the baked beans were cold as well), but I think this could pass for a genuine novelty flavour. Look, I even finished it:
 |
| I left a bean in as evidence, just in case you thought it was actually a strawberry one and I'd just fiddled with the contrast. |
Admittedly I won't be rushing to have this again, but it's the sort of odd flavour combo you'd probably get in a posh restaurant and go 'ooh, I'm having my palate challenged!'. But enough of mere challenges to your palate - let's drag your palate into a back alley and properly duff it up.
Polo corner
 |
| The mint with the hole. And as it turns out, the hole was the best tasting bit. I could have happily had a lot more hole. Mmm, hole. |
Now we're getting somewhere. Unfortunately, it's somewhere a bit rubbish - like a yoghurty version of Clacton. This just tasted very very odd indeed. The best description I can give of the flavour is it was a bit like cleaning your teeth, but if your toothpaste had gone off (that's as in 'off milk', not 'Bang!'). Also, what with them being an attrition-based consumable polos are bloody hard (and multiple polos all the moreso), so this was considerably crunchier than I'd have liked.
Marmite corner
 |
| There really is a spoonful of marmite under the thin layer of yoghurt there. The amount of water I've drunk this afternoon is testament to that. |
Now don't get me wrong - I like a brown meal, and usually adding brown to any meal is an improvement (e.g. bacon, sausages, chips, chocolate, or wood if you happen to be a beaver). This must be the exception to the rule though, as it was thoroughly awful. All you got was saltiness and tang - this might therefore appeal to land-based mermaids who miss having everything taste of brine (with the added bonus that yoghurt looks a bit like spume), but that's probably a fairly niche market. Still, I got to use the word 'spume', so I'm happy.
Salty. So. Very. Salty.
Branston pickle corner
 |
| Pickle is sort of fruit-based, so I thought this one might be OK. But then again I thought it'd be a good idea to start this blog so clearly my judgment is thoroughly questionable. |
This isn't so much at the other end of the spectrum from the hula hoop one as a 30-minute train ride from the end of the spectrum, and also there's a replacement bus service on today and it'll take 2 hours and the man next to you has fallen asleep and is dribbling onto your shoe.
Anyway, they say a picture is worth 1000 words, so here's a few minutes of moving pictures that'll save me writing 487,000 words or so. Mmm!
That's probably enough for now anyway - I'm off for some more kidney-salvaging, non-spumey water. Spume!
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