Month: April 2018

Coronation Frickin’ Burger, 13p

I discovered a taste for Coronation Chicken when I was still in primary school, finding a tub of the pre-made deli style stuff in my parents fridge and, after a tentative sniff, decided to try a little of it with my undoubtedly disgusting small-child finger. And I LOVED it. I begged my parents for it, queer little thing I was. Not that I knew its delightful secrets at the time, but the combination of sweet sticky mango chutney with a creamy sauce and subtle spice, spiked with fat juicy sultanas, became one of my favourite things. As a teenager,...

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Leftover Beer Bread, 5p

I had a small gathering of friends for lunch yesterday – the recipes of which are numerous and will follow in good time – and as is usually the way when a gathering imbibe themselves on sun and soaking up well-deserved drinks, as I tidied up this morning (for I am a slattern, but also have concussion and took my sober self to bed early after such frivolity), I came across half a glass of warm beer that had been sitting on the table all evening. Rather than pour it down the sink, I decided to rework the very...

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Mac n Swede, 19p

The humble swede is a much misunderstood vegetable, and one I can truly empathise with. Misshapen, lumpy, outwardly tough, slightly bitter and difficult to get under the skin of, but once you get inside, it’s soft, delicate, sweet and surprisingly versatile. Asda have them for 20p each at the moment, and as the author of an ultra low budget cookery website, it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up really getting to know the inscrutable rutabega once and for all. The cheese in this recipe can be substituted for any vegan cheese of your choice – I didn’t...

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Perfect Roast Potatoes, 14p

Perfect roast potatoes are simply one of life’s greatest pleasures – one of the soft and easy comforts that transports me straight back to a wicker chair in my elderly (and now devastatingly dearly departed) Aunty Helens conservatory in her house in Plymouth, where I spent the summers of my childhood being chased around the garden by a large and furious goose called Charlie. Aunty Helen – as any great Greek Cypriot woman is intuitively inclined to – would feed us from the moment we awoke beneath hand-crocheted heavy blankets, until the moment we crawled satiated and delighted back...

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