KRAMPUS DINNER
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 meaning of Christmas - that being the consumption of vast quantities of truly awful crap as quickly as possible before getting blind drunk. So what better way to do that than to invoke the name of Santa's evil twin? Yes, it's our Krampus Kristmas Krac...actually, that'd abbreviate to KKK wouldn't it? Krampus Dinner it is then!
If you fancy cooking along at home, you'll have to lance the following pustulant prezzies from Santa's bulging sack:
* A packet of some sort of awful reshaped turkey stuff. This will almost certainly be made by Bernard Matthews. And possibly made of Bernard Matthews, given he died a while back and I wouldn't put it past them.
* Some form of cruddy potato 'thing' that is crunchy but devoid of fun and/or goodness. So waffles wouldn't qualify as they're fun. Croquettes would be alright though - they're just mash with delusions of grandeur. I went for 'potato pops' (wheeee).
* Some sprouts
* A carrot
* Some green beans
* Some beer (novelty, ideally - but failing that just plain bad such as Budweiser)
* Some gravy
* Some packet stuffing
* A hot dog sausage
* Some meat-flavoured corn snacks
* A mince pie
* 6 pints of mulled sherry (optional)
Even though we're covering everything you'd expect in a Christmas dinner it's pretty easy prep this week - no getting up at 3am on Christmas Eve to shove a bag of satsumas up a massive dead bird's arse here! No, our version will take you all of 20 minutes and probably be about 45% as enjoyable. So yeah it's a trade-off - but I bet you'll be looking this page up on Christmas morning after you get in late from the pub, oversleep, and now have 10 guests due in half an hour and nothing to give them apart from bits of raw meat you've chipped off your frozen turkey with a hammer and then tried to thaw under your armpits.
Anyway, first, pop your turkey twatters and potato lumps on to cook. If these are anything like what I bought (i.e. cheap crap), they should take about 15 mins.
In the meantime, dunk a hot dog in some hot water to cook. If you're snobby this can be boiling water from a kettle, but hey - it's a meat cigar made of cow eyelids and abattoir dust. A quick bath in tepid water from the hot tap will be fine, as it's not going to get much worse is it? Then, arrange your meaty crisps around your hot dog and there you have it - pigs in a blanket! Or rather, a massive bloated sow in a soiled duvet in this case.
Next, let's kill 2 birds with 1 stone and deal with the stuffing and gravy. Gravy is a liquid, and stuffing needs a liquid to make it up. So, tenets of basic human decency aside, why not combine the two?
Chuck in as much gravy as your stuffing says you should add in water, stir, and regrettably you'll get something like this:
Leave this to congeal, and while the rest of the gravy is still hot it's time to sort out the veg!
Now, every year, every TV cook and chef will make some determined effort to cook sprouts in a way that mean they don't taste of sprouts, and claim that even sprout haters will love sprouts if you use their way of cooking sprouts to disguise the fact that sprouts taste of sprouts.
Well you know what? Here's an even better idea: don't cook sodding sprouts in the first place, because they're shit and we all know it. I mean, most people don't like the taste of used pants either, but you don't see Jamie Oliver or Nigel Slater desperately trying to make a pair of stained y-fronts taste of bacon or chicken.
Nevertheless, I felt compelled to include them here for authenticity, along with the other staples of carrots and green beans. But to be frank, who can be arsed? Veg in a Christmas dinner is just a barrier to get through before you can eat the far more interesting brown foods without feeling guilty. So what better way to get through them as quickly and easily as possible than to do exactly what you'd do to tiresome fruit and veg the rest of the year? That's right, kids: it's smoothie time! (Sorry.)
Be sure to chop up your veg sufficiently so that you don't knacker the blades of your blender or leave any oversized chunks, because of course to add to their other unpleasant traits sprouts are also tough and waxy; it's almost like eating the veg equivalent of a bitter tarpaulin is more effort than it's worth, isn't it?
Then, slop in your remaining gravy (which yes, isn't really a traditional smoothie lubricant, but even I draw the line at sprouts in milk), and whizz away!
Then all that's left to do is serve it in an elegant glass! Or in my case, one that looks a bit like an upturned Dalek.
We're on the home stretch now. Specifically, the care home stretch. But regardless, by now your oven goods should be done. So all that's left to do is assemble your fabulous festive feast!
The results:
Obviously, if looks could kill this would be the culinary equivalent of ebola - it's about as cheery and inviting as a 20-hour Megabus journey with a hangover when you're sat next to a flatulent old golden retriever and a single Morrissey track is stuck on loop on the PA. But taste-wise, yes it's absolute cheap processed tat, but it's not nasty.
The turkey things are, without doubt, the worst sort of mass-produced, flavourless factory crud - but they weren't drier than a pumice stone washed down with a glass of sand so are already well ahead of a lot of 'proper' turkey dinners I've had. The potatoes are just mash balls, but hey - I didn't have to fight anyone for them either as often happens with proper roast ones, so that's a plus.
My 'pig in a blanket' was actually quite nice. It's a bit of a change from the norm, of course, but I also don't think it can be understated quite how pleasant it is to not have something that looks at best like a greasy chrysalis and at worst like a severely diseased gentleman's appendage on your plate. I mean, it's saying something when a hot dog covered in monster munch looks more presentable than the real thing - you could probably even serve my version to a nun or other local prude without blushing.
The stuffing and gravy - henceforth known as 'stavy', because that's much preferable to 'guffing' - was a work of genius. Salty genius, admittedly, but I reckon I'm actually on to something here. If it worked for wash & go, it can work for this! In as much as being not quite as good as either individual thing can be, but having appeal to the chronically lazy.
But of course, all you really want to know is, 'what did the stuff that looked like what I cleaned out of the bathroom sink overflow last week taste like?'. And the answer would be, weird. Very weird. There's a bit in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when sociopathic confectioner and serial child abuser W. Wonka invents a chewing gum that tastes like a 3-course meal. And there's an element of that here - it doesn't taste like veg and gravy, but more like like you've just eaten a roast dinner with veg and gravy and burped. Or to put it another way, it's all aftershock and no quake. Or to put it an even simpler way it was bloody horrible lumpy shite, and you could still taste the pissing sprouts. Bah.
And to round off our lovely meal, what could be better than the traditional flamed Christmas pud? Well I've no idea, because I didn't do that but instead came up with this bastardised nonsense: a mince pie in beer. The beer is a bit red by the way because it's got cranberry in, thus making it the classiest thing that's ever appeared in this blog. And no, I'm not lying and it isn't Tizer.
All the elements are there: alcohol, crappy dried fruit you wouldn't touch the rest of the year, and copious quantities of sugar. Alas, I couldn't get it to light though what with beer not being flammable and all, so just gave up and ate it un-flambed. And no, that's not a typo - I just have no clue how to get the accent on the e in flambe on this keyboard.
This was really strange, as it just had that taste of when you swig out of a carton of fruit juice and it's a bit older than you thought and so it's fermented a bit and gone a bit fizzy? So essentially, it tasted off. Which seems a fitting finale to our festive feast and indeed my final blog post for the year. So I'll just say I'm delighted you've got so little to do that you bothered to read this far, have an excellent Christmas and New Year, and please to enjoy the worlds best festive joke:
Q. What's Good King Wenceslas's favourite pizza?
A. Deep pan, crisp and even.
Ithankyew.
See you in the space year 2018AD, kids!
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 meaning of Christmas - that being the consumption of vast quantities of truly awful crap as quickly as possible before getting blind drunk. So what better way to do that than to invoke the name of Santa's evil twin? Yes, it's our Krampus Kristmas Krac...actually, that'd abbreviate to KKK wouldn't it? Krampus Dinner it is then!
Ingredients:
 |
| I think it's worth noting that the only animals shown on the packet of Bernard Matthews turkey abominations are a squirrel and two sparrows... |
If you fancy cooking along at home, you'll have to lance the following pustulant prezzies from Santa's bulging sack:
* A packet of some sort of awful reshaped turkey stuff. This will almost certainly be made by Bernard Matthews. And possibly made of Bernard Matthews, given he died a while back and I wouldn't put it past them.
* Some form of cruddy potato 'thing' that is crunchy but devoid of fun and/or goodness. So waffles wouldn't qualify as they're fun. Croquettes would be alright though - they're just mash with delusions of grandeur. I went for 'potato pops' (wheeee).
* Some sprouts
* A carrot
* Some green beans
* Some beer (novelty, ideally - but failing that just plain bad such as Budweiser)
* Some gravy
* Some packet stuffing
* A hot dog sausage
* Some meat-flavoured corn snacks
* A mince pie
* 6 pints of mulled sherry (optional)
Method:
 |
| Now I'm looking at this, I have an idea - these dreadful offal pucks could be an interesting new way for judges to deliver their yes/no verdicts on shows such as The X Factor. Plus it's ITV, and they're so cheap they'll take sponsorship money off of anyone. |
Even though we're covering everything you'd expect in a Christmas dinner it's pretty easy prep this week - no getting up at 3am on Christmas Eve to shove a bag of satsumas up a massive dead bird's arse here! No, our version will take you all of 20 minutes and probably be about 45% as enjoyable. So yeah it's a trade-off - but I bet you'll be looking this page up on Christmas morning after you get in late from the pub, oversleep, and now have 10 guests due in half an hour and nothing to give them apart from bits of raw meat you've chipped off your frozen turkey with a hammer and then tried to thaw under your armpits.
Anyway, first, pop your turkey twatters and potato lumps on to cook. If these are anything like what I bought (i.e. cheap crap), they should take about 15 mins.
 |
| Seriously, how off their faces were the 'new product ideas' team to come up with something that looks like a haunted digestive? |
In the meantime, dunk a hot dog in some hot water to cook. If you're snobby this can be boiling water from a kettle, but hey - it's a meat cigar made of cow eyelids and abattoir dust. A quick bath in tepid water from the hot tap will be fine, as it's not going to get much worse is it? Then, arrange your meaty crisps around your hot dog and there you have it - pigs in a blanket! Or rather, a massive bloated sow in a soiled duvet in this case.
 |
| This Christmas, why not delight your guests with a mechanically-reclaimed meat homage to that festive family classic, The Human Centipede? |
Next, let's kill 2 birds with 1 stone and deal with the stuffing and gravy. Gravy is a liquid, and stuffing needs a liquid to make it up. So, tenets of basic human decency aside, why not combine the two?
 |
| You'll notice I've made quite a lot of gravy here - the reason for this will become apparent shortly. Which I feel compelled to mention just in case you were thinking "Bloody hell, now he can't even do simple measurements right". |
Chuck in as much gravy as your stuffing says you should add in water, stir, and regrettably you'll get something like this:
 |
| Well now I know how they make haggis anyway. And/or fake sick. |
Leave this to congeal, and while the rest of the gravy is still hot it's time to sort out the veg!
Now, every year, every TV cook and chef will make some determined effort to cook sprouts in a way that mean they don't taste of sprouts, and claim that even sprout haters will love sprouts if you use their way of cooking sprouts to disguise the fact that sprouts taste of sprouts.
Well you know what? Here's an even better idea: don't cook sodding sprouts in the first place, because they're shit and we all know it. I mean, most people don't like the taste of used pants either, but you don't see Jamie Oliver or Nigel Slater desperately trying to make a pair of stained y-fronts taste of bacon or chicken.
Nevertheless, I felt compelled to include them here for authenticity, along with the other staples of carrots and green beans. But to be frank, who can be arsed? Veg in a Christmas dinner is just a barrier to get through before you can eat the far more interesting brown foods without feeling guilty. So what better way to get through them as quickly and easily as possible than to do exactly what you'd do to tiresome fruit and veg the rest of the year? That's right, kids: it's smoothie time! (Sorry.)
 |
| Well this looks nice and healthy at least! |
Be sure to chop up your veg sufficiently so that you don't knacker the blades of your blender or leave any oversized chunks, because of course to add to their other unpleasant traits sprouts are also tough and waxy; it's almost like eating the veg equivalent of a bitter tarpaulin is more effort than it's worth, isn't it?
Then, slop in your remaining gravy (which yes, isn't really a traditional smoothie lubricant, but even I draw the line at sprouts in milk), and whizz away!
 |
| ...and that's the end of that. |
Then all that's left to do is serve it in an elegant glass! Or in my case, one that looks a bit like an upturned Dalek.
 |
| Note the 'cocktail bean' for added classiness. Christ knows it needs all the help it can get. |
We're on the home stretch now. Specifically, the care home stretch. But regardless, by now your oven goods should be done. So all that's left to do is assemble your fabulous festive feast!
 |
| All that's missing is the Queen's Speech. That, and a sense of shame. |
The results:
Obviously, if looks could kill this would be the culinary equivalent of ebola - it's about as cheery and inviting as a 20-hour Megabus journey with a hangover when you're sat next to a flatulent old golden retriever and a single Morrissey track is stuck on loop on the PA. But taste-wise, yes it's absolute cheap processed tat, but it's not nasty.
The turkey things are, without doubt, the worst sort of mass-produced, flavourless factory crud - but they weren't drier than a pumice stone washed down with a glass of sand so are already well ahead of a lot of 'proper' turkey dinners I've had. The potatoes are just mash balls, but hey - I didn't have to fight anyone for them either as often happens with proper roast ones, so that's a plus.
My 'pig in a blanket' was actually quite nice. It's a bit of a change from the norm, of course, but I also don't think it can be understated quite how pleasant it is to not have something that looks at best like a greasy chrysalis and at worst like a severely diseased gentleman's appendage on your plate. I mean, it's saying something when a hot dog covered in monster munch looks more presentable than the real thing - you could probably even serve my version to a nun or other local prude without blushing.
The stuffing and gravy - henceforth known as 'stavy', because that's much preferable to 'guffing' - was a work of genius. Salty genius, admittedly, but I reckon I'm actually on to something here. If it worked for wash & go, it can work for this! In as much as being not quite as good as either individual thing can be, but having appeal to the chronically lazy.
But of course, all you really want to know is, 'what did the stuff that looked like what I cleaned out of the bathroom sink overflow last week taste like?'. And the answer would be, weird. Very weird. There's a bit in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when sociopathic confectioner and serial child abuser W. Wonka invents a chewing gum that tastes like a 3-course meal. And there's an element of that here - it doesn't taste like veg and gravy, but more like like you've just eaten a roast dinner with veg and gravy and burped. Or to put it another way, it's all aftershock and no quake. Or to put it an even simpler way it was bloody horrible lumpy shite, and you could still taste the pissing sprouts. Bah.
Bonus time - dessert!
And to round off our lovely meal, what could be better than the traditional flamed Christmas pud? Well I've no idea, because I didn't do that but instead came up with this bastardised nonsense: a mince pie in beer. The beer is a bit red by the way because it's got cranberry in, thus making it the classiest thing that's ever appeared in this blog. And no, I'm not lying and it isn't Tizer.
 |
| As it turned out, I caught on fire a lot more easily than the booze did. Ow. |
All the elements are there: alcohol, crappy dried fruit you wouldn't touch the rest of the year, and copious quantities of sugar. Alas, I couldn't get it to light though what with beer not being flammable and all, so just gave up and ate it un-flambed. And no, that's not a typo - I just have no clue how to get the accent on the e in flambe on this keyboard.
 |
| Burp. |
This was really strange, as it just had that taste of when you swig out of a carton of fruit juice and it's a bit older than you thought and so it's fermented a bit and gone a bit fizzy? So essentially, it tasted off. Which seems a fitting finale to our festive feast and indeed my final blog post for the year. So I'll just say I'm delighted you've got so little to do that you bothered to read this far, have an excellent Christmas and New Year, and please to enjoy the worlds best festive joke:
Q. What's Good King Wenceslas's favourite pizza?
A. Deep pan, crisp and even.
Ithankyew.
 |
| Yes, I really did drink it. Chin chin! |
See you in the space year 2018AD, kids!
This. I love it. I also love sprouts, but then I've always been a bit weird.
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