We all have them. Things we eat that we would rather people not know about.
It’s unlikely yours are as monstrous as mine. Most of mine belong on This Is Why You’re Fat. And only some of the reason is because they all seem to involve very large amounts of white bread.
These are things you really have to eat alone… or at least in secret. James was at a play, we have a mutual “mamma’s going out” rule so I cooked this beast of a secret.
There are nostalgic reasons behind it. When I was at university in Sydney there was a pizza delivery place that served what it called an “Ultimate Hawaiian” which was a normal Hawaiian with mushrooms. I loved it.
The place quickly went out of business.
Given that the number of people who actually like pineapple on (some) pizzas is down to three in the whole wide world and only occasionally includes James (if he’s hungry), this -teamed with a bottle of cheap wine- is how I “treat”/shorten my life when he goes out.
- A store-bought plain pizza. It’s almost impossible to find decent pizza bases in supermarkets in the UK but that’s fine. It somehow makes more sense in this terrible context.
- Diced pancetta. These come in handy little ‘two pizza’ plastic tubs. Cook them in a little fry pan for about ninety seconds.
- Half a can of pineapple rings. I prefer the rings so I can rinse and pat them dry before putting them on the pizza. (You want the flesh on the pizza, not the juice. The juice is why everyone hates pineapple as an ingredient.)
- Button mushrooms. Sliced very thin. They’ll shrink so absolutely cover every available bit of pizza real estate before popping it in the oven.
- Wild thyme and freshly grated Parmesan. Model’s own.
Obviously I don’t need to include a ‘method’ component to this ‘recipe’ but I will leave you with one point that has driven me completely insane over the last two decades. When it comes to home-made pizzas, put the toppings on last. Literally every time you have ever gone out for pizza this is how they do it. Why are you doing the opposite in your house??
Here are a few more, principally toast-based recipes of genuine, horrible shame.
- Vegemite and peanut butter on toast. The key is to spread the peanut butter first and then ‘swirl’ the Vegemite like boysenberry ripple. Try it. It took James years of punching me in the face in disgust but he’s come round and is now an advocate.
- Plain beetroot sandwiches. Triple decker (three slices like a club). Must be the brownest, most horseshit tasting bread you can find. Add slices of beetroot from a can and nothing else. Blame my father for that one.
- Aeroplane soup. Okay we actually haven’t had this for about five years so it doesn’t really count. Essentially it’s chilled custard with fridge-cold jelly aeroplanes from the supermarket mixed in. Served in chilled bowls as a freakish pedophile dessert.
- Tomato sauce on buttered white toast. Try this. For me it tastes like McDonald’s somehow and I haven’t been to McDonald’s in years, not even for a McFlurry.
- Cold baked beans. I prefer these to hot. Usually on buttered white toast but also just straight out of the can like a stabbing hobo.
- Vegemite and tomato sauce on toast. No butter. It’s saltier than salt. Like eating rust. But somehow in a vaguely good way.
- Cold leftover spaghetti sauce either eaten straight from the bowl standing in front of the fridge or -again- on toast.
- Kraft macaroni cheese with cut up chicken sausages.
And I am unrepentant about all of them. All. Of. Them.