Something For The Weekend 9

Dear Dave,

Last Sunday morning – not long after I awoke reeking of red wine and garlic and temporarily paralysed by the sound of Motorhead performing an impromptu gig just behind my eyelids – I shuffled downstairs, turned on the television and collapsed on the couch. Unfortunately, I failed to notice that the Sky remote was WAY over the other side of the room and therefore out of reach so for several hours I made do with ALL FIVE of the terrestrial channels that still come down the old aerial on my roof.

For a while there on BBC2, there was some programme called, spookily enough, “Something For The Weekend” presented by that bloke from Soccer AM together with a lovely Scottish girl who looked liked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but give her a couple of Bacardi Breezers and… well… you know what I mean.

The show seemed to consist of showing old TV clips, chatting to D-list celebrities and A LOT of cooking performed by one of those earnest, salt-of-the-earth chefs from Merseyside who, remarkably, didn’t utilise the Scouser’s Laptop* in any of his recipes. As you can imagine – having been awake now for three whole minutes – I was like, SO TOTALLY starving so when the show ended I crawled through to the kitchen to see if I could replicate what I’d seen and rustle up a wood pigeon Kiev and a fois-gras cheesecake. Alas, the larder was bare of all but a few scant leftovers so what follows is my ad-lib recipe for the perfect hangover omelette.

Step 1. Get a frying pan and heat up a little oil. Olive not Castrol.

Step 1A. To prevent third degree, oil-spatter scalding, put on a comedy kitchen pinafore. The one with the fake boobies from the 1970s is always a popular choice. At least it was with my Dad.

Step 2. Crack (hatch? peel?) two eggs into a bowl and whisk together with a little milk. If you’re feeling adventurous and want to add a softer texture to your omelette, mix in some crème fraiche – from the French ‘crème’ meaning ‘delicious cream’ and ‘fraiche’ meaning ‘not really’.

Step 3. Scramble furiously around the fridge / cupboards / down the back of the couch, searching for ingredients to add. Here’s the three I found.

Step 4. Grate some white, creamy, crumbly Cheshire cheese, taking care not to let the blood or skin from your serrated fingers get mixed in with the gratings. Wensleydale is also good.

Step 5. Slice some pitted black olives in neat.. um.. slices. I’m a freak for olives at the moment; have them with everything.

Step 6. Scoop out the last of the potato salad (Healthy Living variety, of course) from its little tub and mash with a fork. I’m sure there’s an official Kitchen Masher implement to do this task but I don’t have one.

Step 7. The pan and oil have to be pretty hot so when your smoke alarm goes off, add the eggs. The edges of the omelette should form almost immediately and you should peel them back a bit from the sides of the pan (using an official Kitchen Spatula) and then swirl the pan to allow the rest of the liquid egg to fill the gaps.

Step 8. Sprinkle in the cheese evenly. Then the sliced olives. Then spoon in the potato salad.

Step 9. Two minutes later you’re ready to fold the omelette in half.

Step 10. A minute after that you can slide it on to a plate on top of some buttered toast.

Step 11. And 30 seconds after that you can lie back down on the couch having eaten the whole f#cking lot. Bon Appétit… or, if you prefer, Good Appetite.

*pizza

Now let me just double check if I’ve covered everything…

Omelette recipe? Check.
Objectify women? Check.
Stereotype Scousers? Che.. eh.. no, hang on a minute…