Exploding Eggs

I have been trying to master the art of poaching eggs these last couple of months and I am failing miserably. This morning I decided to increase my chances of producing something edible for Mr T's breakfast and decided to poach 3 eggs in the saucepan in some silicon holders (my latest purchase having failed just using the pan and various spoons) and, at the same time, poach two eggs in the microwave. This was the result:

Disaster! Those egg holders cost me £4.99. What a rip off - you need a degree in  boating to make them stay afloat.  I have now used them about four times and I cannot produce anything that doesn't look like insipid breast milk.

This was the best shot; you should have seen the ceiling of the microwave.  Notice how the force of the explosion has overturned the egg holder. Hmm ...I wonder if that's where Barnes Wallis got his idea for the Bouncing Bomb.

Tomorrow morning I am going to try coddling my eggs in a traditional egg coddler. I have two of them which belonged to my mother. I don't think she ever used them as they sat in her display cabinet untouched for years. I've looked them at several times thinking about whether to risk it but I've been worried that I'll crack them or blow them up or the metal lids will fly off and embed themselves in my nostrils. However, I've decided that tomorrow is D Day; tomorrow I will throw caution to the wind and risk coddling my eggs. I think Mum would be proud of me - taking up challenges, facing fear, flying in the face of failure.

 I mean -who needs to climb Everest or walk on the moon? I just want to cook a F****** egg properly.

I'll let you know how I get on.

A Fatally Flawed Mrs T

Question: Am I trying to kill myself?

It's just after 4 am. I have insomnia again and I've been awake for the last hour mulling over the direction my writing is heading. I finally worked it out this week; I'm not going to be the next John Le Carre - I can't write seriously for more than a couple of paragraphs. So I might as well just get on and write the bonkers stuff.

So no Nobel prizes for literature for me. Maybe a turkey?

So anyway, eventually, I decide I might as well get up and write. What's the point in thinking about plots and scenarios? I know where I'm going now, so I might as well write it down since there's no chance of drifting back to sleep.

I grope for my fleecy jacket and make my way onto the landing. Immediately, I notice there's a strange smell in the house...

I raise my hooter to the air...the odour is a cross between waffles and...

burning.

But there's no smoke! And I haven't made any cakes( for about 20 years) what is this strange smell? Has my pussy, Mr Bond, dumped in the sugar bowl?

I wander downstairs and put the kettle on, looking for the source of this peculiar smell...

I have left a giant pan of chilli con carne cooking for at least 10 hours. I...um...forgot about it.

Fortunately, it had a lot of fluid in it. So...I guess it's only burnt to a depth of... an inch?

So, in answer to my question Am I trying to kill myself ? No, not deliberately, but I may yet succeed!

Me and My (Potentially) Award Winning Cupcakes!

I'm sure most of you are aware that I am an excellent chef...there isn't any type of pizza I haven't unwrapped cooked. Or, indeed, any type of cake I haven't  eaten baked. Other women produce cakes with hints of lemon, cinnamon and coco but I like to challenge the status quo of cooking with my daring recipes. It's not unknown, for example, for my cakes to contain hints of Mr Muscle, charcoal and sometimes even tinfoil.

So, a few days ago, I was suitably thrilled when an email from a women's magazine arrived in my inbox inviting me to enter a cupcake competition. My heart began to beat fast with the anticipation of winning a set of silicon spatulas or maybe even a new pinafore. Immediately, I clicked through and studied the pictures of a variety of cupcakes already submitted by my potential rivals. Naturally enough, there were some amazing entries...but I was not deterred. I, Mrs T, mistress of the kitchen, conqueror of the wedged-in frozen food tray, vanquisher of greasy saucepans and subjugator of chocolate bars would attempt the impossible - to produce a unique cupcake that would reduce my rivals to quivering jelly. The key to winning, I concluded, was originality. Thus, I put on my thinking hat and came up with several unusual designs and now you, Dear Readers, have the opportunity to pick the recipe I will submit...

Right, here we go...

Number One;

The Karl Malden Cupcake.

Inspired by the actor Karl Malden. If you're under 40 and don't recognise the name think The Streets of San Francisco - he was the guy with the big hooter who played opposite Michael Douglas. Hollywood has been the inspiration for many a fashion..so why not the cupcake? I think this cake will have aphrodisiac qualities as it well known that men with big noses are particularly attractive to women. And I should know... as Mr T has a particularly large conk. In fact one day when we were on safari in Africa a women pointed at Mr T and said "I want a ride on that elephant!"  To which I replied, "Excuse me that's my husband, please would be so kind as not to point at his conk."

Okay, I lied - we weren't on safari - it was Bognor Regis High Street. Anyway, I see this cupcake as being a real hit with the ladies. What d'you reckon?

Number 2

Oh cripes...sorry...how did that get there? Oh yes...I was cleaning the cat litter tray...and well accidents happen...

Um, I'll call this the Chocolate Surprise Cupcake then - with the surprise being that it's not chocolate. Obviously.

Number 3

The Carmen Miranda Cup Cake

More inspiration from Hollywood. Speaks for itself really. A fruity little number with a lot up top. Counts as part of  your daily portions of fruit and veg. Should be popular with vegetarians, environmentalists and anyone who likes a nice pear. Notice how strategically placed the pear is so you can see the delicious shop-bought sponge cake underneath.

Number 4

The Chocolate Drop Cupcake.

A variation on the traditional chocolate sprinkle theme. As you can see, I was very generous with the chocolate sprinkles - mainly due to the fact I opened the wrong side of the container. However, the overall result is pretty pleasing...

Hey, wait a minute..something doesn't look quite right...

Oh no!  Those aren't chocolate sprinkles; they're beef gravy granules. Cripes, no wonder I thought it tasted a little meaty.

Number 5

The Smiling Banana Cupcake - otherwise known as The Piers Morgan Cupcake.

A particular favourite with monkeys, gorillas and readers of The Daily Mirror.

(Oh and if you haven't heard of Piers Morgan in the US - don't worry you soon will. Bad luck.)

And finally Number 6 , my piece de resistance, the ultimate chocolate cupcake...



The Leaning Tower of Toblerone Cup Cake.

Probably the best cupcake you'll ever have. Comes beautifully presented in high quality packaging and a tower of chocolate. What more could one want? A sure-fire winner with any man, woman or child.

Ohhhhhhh....noooooooo...

This is the The Fallen Tower of Toblerone Cupcake. You can see where the foundations were wholly inadequate and the icing substandard.

Oh well. It tasted good anyway.....

So which one should I submit? Let me know.

Oh, and if you fancy some real quality cupcakes for a special occasion check out this company run by my fellow writer, Jen, at The View From Here. Now that's what I call tasty!

To read my highly academic article (cough, cough) on the delights of the kitchen read my post To Cook or Not to Cook

The End is Nigh!

The day is coming. Yes, it is!

No, I'm not about to preach that the end of the world is approaching; I mean the day is getting nearer when I no longer have to do the school run.

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!

Sound the trumpets, wave the flags and blow the horns. Notify the Queen! I will be a free woman at last!

(Well, from 8am to 4pm anyway.)

Yes, finally, after 14 years of the school run, my two younger sons will be catching the school bus from the end of our road and my eldest will (hopefully) be going off to university. Believe me, as this day draws closer you've never seen a happier woman than Mrs T - except perhaps Demi Moore when she hooked herself Ashton Kutcher. (That was before she realised the cost of the extra childcare.)

Okay, okay get out your exercise book Mrs T...

I am not jealous of Demi Moore
I am not jealous of Demi Moore
I am not jealous of Demi Moore
I am not jeal..........

Look, there is something to be said for having an older husband! Umm.. When I discover what it is I'll let you know. In the meantime, what can I say?

I have an aversion to slippers.

Anyway, in preparation for Young Sam leaving the bosom of the family I have spent the last week or so researching second hand cars. And blimey, what a nightmare! I haven't even had time to blog what with the endless searching, insurance quotes and test drives.  Of course, Young Sam would happily settle on anything with 4 wheels - but when I suggested a scooter with some extra wheels he didn't take too kindly to the idea. Pity. I kinda liked the idea of him scooting down the bypass at 60mph - I think actually seeing daylight and breathing air instead of living in that darkened room with the fetid odours of decaying salami sandwiches would have worked wonders for his acne. Still, what am I to know? I'm only his mother.

However folks, since Yours Truly is forking out for this car I have noticed that Young Sam has been slightly more appreciative of my cooking. Hmm..what a duplicitous fellow. Does he think I can't work it out? Anyway, little does he know that I have plans for him this summer;

I am going to teach him how to cook! (No laughing please.)

Yep, the best Young Sam can presently do is warm up a tin of soup. And if, horror upon horrors, I should ask him to make a cup of tea he looks at me with a face like the president of BP might have when he finally realises the UK shareholders aren't going to let him have a bonus this year. Yep, you know the look that says;

What? I'm innocent! I swear to God I screwed that cap on really tight; it's not my fault it was a toothpaste cap! I blame my secretary she didn't send me a memo that I needed a bigger cap....."

Said the actress to the vicar. (Sorry couldn't resist that. Too easy.)

WARNING, WARNING, WARNING, I AM INTERRUPTING THIS POST FOR A NEWSFLASH WHICH I JUST HEARD ON THE RADIO....

TOM CRUISE IS IN NEGOTIATIONS TO MAKE A SEQUEL TO TOP GUN!

May I suggest we all cover our eyes and ears now before this catastrophe of film making is unleashed upon the world.

Hmm... I wonder; do they use midget replicas for those action sequences? Do you think the props man glues together Airfix models of F11s and then tells Tom to hop on in? Hmm...just curious....

Anyway, back to Young Sam. So I'm going to teach him how to cook. Now folks, I have actually tried teaching him before but he never takes me seriously. So this time I think I'll start with some of my simple recipes such as;

1. Pizza. Take off wrapper. Put in oven. Stand next to it so you can rescue it before it starts to burn.

2. Cheese omelette. Whip up 3 eggs with a little milk. (Remember to remove shells first.) Put in hot frying pan. When it looks a little firm add cheese and fold over into a pancake shape. When that fails mash it all up and make it into scrambled egg. Serve with beans.

3.Chicken curry. Dice up some chicken breast and fry in a little oil. Open jar of sauce and tip on top of chicken. Simmer for 30 minutes. When 27 minutes have passed, open packet of rice, place in microwave on high and cook for 2 minutes. Perfect.

4. Tuna and pasta speciality a la Mrs T. Boil some pasta, when cooked rinse under cold water. Add some tinned tuna and salad cream. Chill in fridge and Hey Presto one culinary delight!  (If feeling adventurous, add some tinned sweetcorn.)

5. Angel Delight. Open packet and whip contents with half a pint of milk. (If you pour in too much milk serve in glass as a milkshake.)

So that's my easy recipes. Not too too difficult to handle I feel. My spaghetti bolognese might prove a little more difficult - I have problems with that stringy stuff.

Anyway, don't think I'm stopping with just cooking folks; I also have plans to teach Young Sam how to clean the bathroom!  Now I have actually being making hints about his lack of bathroom cleanliness for sometime by using the following subtle remarks;

1. Oh my God...what is that?!

2. Bloody Hell...someone pass me the air freshener.

3. Cough, cough, splutter, splutter. SAM!!!!! Would you mind opening the window, I can't reach because I'm having convulsions.....

4. Sam..... do you have a problem you want to tell me about?

5. It's alright everybody; I've just fenced off the bathroom.

6. If that's a slug trail then I'm Coco the Clown.

7. I've only got rubber gloves Sam, not body armour.

8. Jesus, and I thought meconium was bad.........

9. HELP! There's a python down the toilet!

10. Pass the gas mask Sam; I'm too young to die.

11. Have you got a dead rat up your arse Sam?

12. So how's the experiment going Sam? Is is safe to turn the lights on?

And so on....

But so far he's just not getting the message. Now I don't really want to call my own son thick ...

But he's thick.

But is that intentionally thick or unintentionally thick? Is he pulling a fast one on me Readers by ignoring this problem? Hmm...Mrs T is perplexed. But one thing Mrs T does know is that all the males in her house have the same problem......

You know, I think I'm going to become a lesbian and move in with a woman. Bathroom cleanliness issue instantly solved.

Okay, I could have a problem in that I actually prefer men but well sometimes where needs must.....

Right... so I'm looking for a woman who is prepared to do all the cooking and cleaning and just let me slob around and do whatever I want. Any takers?!

To Cook or Not to Cook? That is the question. Oh - and bottoms. (Just because I felt like it.)

Some women love cooking. They live and breathe cooking. They have shelf upon shelf of cook books; basic, speciality, charity and, of course, the celebrity-chef cook book. They have glorious kitchens filled with dozens of gleaming pots and pans, rows of aromatic spices and cupboards full of exotic ingredients. (I prefer erotic ingredients like chocolate, strawberries and clotted cream. You’ve seen 9½ weeks haven’t you? (Hey, I may be approaching the Knackers Yard but I can still fantasize you know…)Let me assure you there is nothing “gleaming” about my kitchen; it’s a godforsaken place where even the living dead fear to tread. I’ve also only got two cook books; that’s all and frankly that’s enough. One book was given to me by my mother in law. (Possibly as a hint that her son required some nutrition in order to remain alive.) The second I bought myself for a pittance. Whilst I happily waste Mr Turley's hard earned cash on books of almost any description I draw the line at cook books; I actually bought mine from a clothes and household department store. You didn’t think I actually went to a book shop deliberately to buy one did you? No chance. I saw it by accident on a promotional stand; a book containing 1000 recipes for a mere fiver couldn’t be bad could it? That’s what I thought anyhow; I’d get a few ideas; spice up Mr Turley's meals with some daring recipes; maybe even make a little fruity sauce. Well that was the idea but you know it required just that bit too much effort…

Now before I had kids I worked long hours and commuted so I didn’t cook much except for quick, simple stuff; a roast was as good as it got. But when the children arrived a strange and bizarre thing started to happen; I began to hate cooking with an intensity unknown to my women friends and yet at the same time I was COMPELLED to eat everything I saw. How weird is that? And now everything I’ve unnecessarily eaten has developed into a rather large bulbous lump which has attached itself to my bottom. God, it’s embarrassing when people yell “There’s an alien!” …and then I realise they’re pointing at my (once pert) derriere. However, in my defence and in defence of other women afflicted by this phenomenon let me point out that there are some possible benefits of having a large bottom;

1. You’ll never get a sore butt like skinny women do. All that extra cushioning provides valuable comfort. I find this is particularly the case at Parent’s Evenings at School when one must sit on one of those miniature chairs for hours whilst Darling Johnny’s mother twitters on about his ability to recite the 9 times table backwards whilst jumping through a burning hoop. By the way… parents who keep other parent’s waiting really annoy me… but at least I can sit comfortably while I’m envisaging Darling Johnny with his hair on fire. Have you noticed that women who keep you waiting always have skinny butts? This is because they live on lettuce leaves, chick peas and celery and are usually too busy coaching Johnny for his role as The Fairy in the School panto to remember about eating.

2. If there is a world wide famine you will be last one of the last surviving members of the human race. Your butt will be carved on cave walls, remembered in hieroglyphics and possibly carved in stone and erected alongside The Sphinx. New civilizations will worship at the cheeks of The Butt. (On the downside though it’s just possible you may be hunted down and eaten.)

3. It is my personal opinion (and I’m not prejudiced in any way) that the size of one’s butt is related to size of one’s brain. As a butt enlarges and matures so does the brain. Women with big butts are usually amazingly clever. This is because big butts are illustrative of the nutrition that is necessary for the continued development of the brain. Women with skinny butts usually have minuscule brains which is why they can still fit into children’s clothes and don’t know the difference between but and butt.

4. Men can get a firm grip on big butts. This is very, very satisfying. Sadly, men can’t get a proper hold on skinny butts without hospitalizing their owners. This is a major disadvantage if you are planning a night of rampant sex but can’t do so unless you’ve remembered to take calcium tablets for the last twenty years. I have it on very good authority that men secretly like a big butt, especially a butt which has style. Look at Jennifer Lopez; a typical example of a successful, high profile butt.


5. History repeats itself. Soon the era of the Skinny “Size Zero” Butt will be over. The Renaissance woman will return to mock the skinny butted women; knickers that droop from bony arses will be outlawed; itsy-bitsy bikinis will be burnt on beaches; Twiggy will be imprisoned for subversion. It will be the dawn of a new era that will live for a thousand years; The Age of The Big Butt.

Now where was I? Ah yes, cooking, cook books and celebrity chefs.

In my opinion, there are far too many celebrity chefs in the UK and far too many of their (overpriced) books. Now I don’t have any of their books (obviously) but I’ve flicked through them in shops when I’ve had nothing better to do. I’ve also studied them in depth when I’m at the houses of the women who purport to be my friends and I’ve been ensconced upon their toilet.( I live in a posh area where lavatory reading matter is on a par with a chic coffee table book.) I’ve never been impressed by the contents of these books. However, I’ve noticed if you happen to run out of loo paper the pages are very handy for the necessaries. (Albeit a little too glossy for my liking; I prefer the pages of a Sophie Kinsella novel which are usually very absorbent.) In addition to perusing these books I’ve also watched plenty of celebrity chef TV shows. So you see, I do know something about celebrity chefs….

… and will someone please, please tell me, WHY OH WHY, celebrity chefs CANNOT make a dish without the use of some overpriced, overrated ingredient that has to be especially couriered from such diverse places such as Istanbul, a small field in remote Scotland, or indeed a small delicatessen on the fringes of Hampstead Heath? Because…

I JUST WANT TO COOK SOMETHING WITH THE INGREDIENTS IN MY CUPBOARD. I DO NOT WANT TO GO SHOPPING.

I’ve observed that the top five celebrity chef ingredients are;

1. Truffles. (The only type of truffle I’m interested is a chocolate one; sorry, I’m just not interested in any ingredient that might originate from France and been snorted at by a pig.)

2. Mushrooms. (Usually a rare hybrid mushroom that they have picked themselves that very morning as they have nonchalantly strolled through the nearby woods with their wicker pannier swinging at their side as the sun rises romantically over their “small holding” (which extends to 30 acres) and has been purchased on the back on their overpriced cook books.)


3. Offal from a Royal Estate. (Disgusting stuff; not even the poorest people in the UK buy offal to actually eat it; they buy it to feed their dogs. There is nothing appealing about “Slice up your heart,” “Dice your kidney” or “Marinade your liver.” The only person who might be interested in these recipes is Hannibal Lector. In fact at this very moment I’m drafting a letter to Gordon Ramsey suggesting that he call his new book “A Fuckin’ Load of Tripe - 101 Ways to Make Offal Taste Even More Shite.” (Subtitled “Me and My Organic Cow.”)

4. Caviar. (Just in case you are completely ignorant caviar is actually fish eggs. This is not really an appetising concept; especially when you think of the amount of effluent pumped into our seas daily. However, if you want a nice glowing complexion you might as well give it a try.)


5. A rare nut harvested from the slopes of the Upper Andes which men have fought over and died for. Wars have started over it, politicians eulogised about it, and even The Pope has blessed it. It costs £2,000 per nut as is available at your local supermarket in a removable shell.

6. Ok, I know I said 5 but I’ve just remembered Parmesan Cheese. About which I will say; it stinks.

Now here are MY top five ingredients;

1. Water. God, this stuff is bloody marvellous; it stops anything from burning and it is readily available from your tap. However, I hastened to say that when I am having guests I do use the bottled variety.

2. Beef Gravy Granules. A fabulous, fabulous, miracle ingredient which will make any piece of cheap sinewy meat taste great if it’s been slowly cooked in it for 24 hours. In addition, if your in a particularly fowl mood, you can use its companion; Chicken Gravy Granules.


3. Tomato Puree. If you don’t have this Tomato Ketchup will do. It instantly adds colour and flavouring and is a sure fire winner with the kids. If you find yourself being in the unholy situation of having run out of both don’t forget to rinse out the Ketchup bottle with some water and use the dregs up.

4. Baked Beans. Provides substance to any stew or casserole and you have the satisfaction that they qualify as part of the daily vegetable quota. A kid’s favourite.


5. Red Wine. Failing that; white wine, vodka, sherry, brandy or methylated spirits. Adds pizzazz and an intoxicating addictiveness to your cooking. You can also get pissed with the remainder of the bottle.

So in answer to my question; “To cook or not the cook?” The answer is… No, not if I can possibly help it. However, I will happily eat anything prepared by anyone else - which may explain the size of my butt.

Oh, I haven’t finished on the subject of the wonderful Mr Ramsey yet but I’ll save that for another time. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a little poem;

There was a rude chef called Ramsey
Who had a lovely young Lambsey

He cut it to bits
It gave me the shits
And now poor Gordon feels lousy

Alas, I must now prepare tea for my boys…

Now where are those gravy granules?

© Jane Turley 2008