Nice simple recipe for breakfast hash browns coming up – and coming up quickly, mind you – but first, I want to share three little irritations. I need to get them off my chest otherwise they’ll bubble and boil and I’ll end up taking it out on the cat, perhaps by forgetting to turn on their chilled water or giving them Whiskas instead of their fancy organic shite. That’s a waste of money, anyway: yes, it might be organic, but I’ve seen my cat vomit up a bird and have another bash at eating it immediately after. They’re not picky.
Firstly, I’ve been gravely wounded. I’ve been cut up. Shanked. Given a ‘Welcome to Byker’. I jest, though I passed through Byker once in the car. They didn’t film Byker Grove there, by the way – it’s just one devastating lie after another. No see, I’ve started giving a toss what my hair looks like. Normally I like to let it grow cheerily for seven or eight weeks, spreading out however it wished like Molton Brown-scented mould. But now my face is slightly less egg-like I’ve taken to getting it cut with a straight-edge razor at a Turkish barbers that I’ve discovered in Newcastle. I only called in to try and get taken around the back to have my comb dipped, but alas, no dice. Anyway they’re usually very good and, for the most part, don’t chat, which I like. I can’t stand making small-talk especially when I’m gazing at my own reflection in the mirror – it feels like the most schizophrenic interview ever. The thing with having your head shaved with a proper razor is that you can’t move – you can’t nod or jolt or disco dance because otherwise you’ll end up looking like Carrie White.
I’m good at sitting still – being fat does tend to gift that skill to a person – but even I was on edge. We were almost done when he must have jolted and, in the process of doing so, gave me a lovely long cut right on the back of my shiny bald bonce. Worst part is, I didn’t even feel it happen – the blade is that sharp, I only noticed when he apologised and stuck a square of kitchen roll on the back of my head. Apology accepted, he then set about doing my beard, and you have to understand that there’s no tension quite like what you feel when you’ve got a man capable of random spasms holding a razor-blade right in front of your throat. Brrr! He did a fabulous job though, and gave me a free haircut. Someone said the scar would add character and make me look like a hard man: aye right fella – I’m more Ann Mitchell than Grant Mitchell.
I couldn’t find the right place to drop this in, so please, accept this bon mot floating out of place: “It’s certainly the closest a wet gash has ever been to my face“.
Second, let’s talk needless offence. This always happens when we have a swell of new people in our facebook group – the professionally offended itching for their chance to climb on their high horses and look down at those chuckling at good humour. Let me give you an example: someone shared a post of a photography business who had posted a load of ‘new parent’ pictures, only instead of a baby they used a cat. Said photos included them cuddling their swaddled cat, the ‘father’ crying with emotion and the mother whipping her breast out as if to feed. The cat wasn’t latched on. It wasn’t pushed out of her fadge. It was happy enough in a blanket being cooed over. But Christ, you’d think we’d uploaded footage of a cat being tied to the space shuttle for shits and giggles. Cries of ‘omg this is sik’ and ‘shud be band ADMIN’ rang out like bells at Christmas. There was a common theme amongst the complainants was that it only took 30 seconds to review each Facebook profile and find a ‘97% OF PEOPLE WON’T SHARE THIS PICTURE OF A BACON SANDWICH DO IT BEFORE FACEBOOK BAN IT’ meme. I wish we could take the Internet away from these folks. They’re the same cavalcade of clits that complain about men kissing in soup adverts or the fact Tesco use Muslims in their Christmas adverts. Arseholes, in short.
Lastly, elderly drivers. No look I’m sorry, I know it’s a blanket, sweeping statement, but I’ve had years of hearing how bad boy racers are at driving their little acne-carriages, let’s have a pop at the elderly. Before I do: I know there’s loads of good old drivers out there, but they’re seemingly all down South – they’re certainly not in bloody Newcastle. You know what I mean: going 40mph whether on the motorway, outside a school or ploughing into pedestrians. Incapable of seeing over the steering wheel. Rictus frown on their face. My latest encounter was outside of Lidl only today, and actually, I was on foot and yet they still managed to aggravate me. I was just stepping onto a zebra crossing to cross the car-park when a Nissan Family-Circle-Tin ran over the front of my left shoe, having elected not to bother stopping. Normally I’d just give him some Newcastle sign-language but because he’d actually kept going, I banged on his roof. Well, he almost shit himself (and there’s a certain inevitability about that). He wound down his window and muttered that he hadn’t seen me. How can you not see me? I’m the size of a vending machine and I know for a fact that my outlet-bargain Jacamo jacket doesn’t have a double-function as a fucking invisibility cloak. I waited for an apology that wasn’t coming, gave him a shitty look and hobbled off. Tell you what: I reckon a good 80% of the folks who cut me up, slam their brakes on or drive like bellends are octogenerian or plus. But of course, it’s not their fault. No-no. Argh.
Actually, fuck it, let’s add a fourth irritation: the ad-bumpers on The Chase, featuring the most excruciating raillery even committed to film. I love The Chase but I have to turn it over before it cuts to the drama students guffawing into their hands. It’s either that or I put my foot through the telly. Who approves this nonsense? The same degenerate who allowed the TUI adverts to go ahead. You know the one: some canyon-toothed dolly-dippit singing an appalling cover of Ain’t Nobody in that awful drab register so common these days whilst men who ought to be ashamed of their life tap-dance in the background. I’d sooner book a flight on a crashing plane than TUI. Dot the Ts and cross the Is? They don’t even do that! Bastards!
Eee I feel better for that – it’s like lancing a boil. And, on that attractive note, let’s do these sausage and egg hash browns, shall we? This made six, but it really depends on the size of your Yorkshire pudding tin.
to make breakfast sausage and egg hash browns, you’ll need:
- about 800g of potatoes
- one red onion
- 80g of lighter extra mature cheddar
- six eggs
- a few sausages of your choice – we don’t go for anything fancy, just the 0.5 syn sausages from our Musclefood offers – grilled – and then cut into chunks. If you want to syn two pieces of 0.5 syn sausage, you crack on. I’m not stressing about quarter of a syn.
- lots of black pepper and salt
- a good clean teatowel
- a Yorkshire pudding tin
- squirty oil spray
to make breakfast sausage and egg hash browns, you should:
- preheat the oven to 190 degrees
- grate your potatoes (skin on) and onion – use a box grater or, if you’ve got a fancy Kenwood like us, the grater blade – it’ll take no time at all
- using the clean tea-towel to wrap the grated potato and onion in, squeeze as much liquid as you can out of it – then do it again – you need it as dry as possible
- add lots of salt and pepper and mix the cheese in too
- spray your pudding tin with some spray oil (0.5 syns for 5 sprays, you only need ten at most, and this makes six hash browns, so it’s up to you if you syn them
- press equal amounts of mixture into the tin – really press the bottom down mind and then up the side
- add diced sausage and crack an egg on the top
- pop in the oven for a good twenty five minutes or so
Make life easy for yourself: don’t make the ‘walls’ of the hash-browns too thick, or they’ll not crisp up. Also, rather than squeezing with a tea-towel, use a potato ricer. Yep – the thing we always recommend for perfect mash can also be put to use here by squeezing every last drop from your potatoes in no time at all! These freeze really well, too! I’ve included the cooking picture so you can see how I made them.
Want more breakfast ideas? Please take a look:
- ready, steady, go overnight oats (syn free)
- savoury porridge with bacon, egg and sprouts (syn free)
- a perfect boiled egg (syn free)
- basil, mozzarella and tomato frittata (syn free)
- super speed berry breakfast (syn free)
- tomato and ricotta toast (syn free)
- stuffed omelette – so tasty (syn free)
- yoghurt bark (0.5 syns)
- chocolate and marshmallow pop tarts (3 syns)
- strawberries and cream overnight oats (1.5 syns)
- raspberry and dark chocolate baked oats (3 syns)
- goats cheese and honeyed blackberries on toast (1 or 2 syns)
- peanut butter and jelly overnight oats (4 syns)
Hey! I’ve just read your Hash Brown recipe, ( which sounded very lovely, the by way…), and I quite enjoyed your Turkish Haircut story, as well.
The bit where you said that it was the first time your face had been that close to a wet gash had me in stitches. And I’m recovering from a heart attack! You will kill me yet with those wacky tales!
Anyway, my friend and I must disagree with your statement, however. Unless you were born by c-section, that was NOT the first time your face was that close to a wet gash..
Haha! Glad to hear it! Get well soon!
Heh, quality rant James! I’m so glad someone else feels the same about that woman on the TUI ads. Is the fact that she can’t sing and has the vocal range of an alley cat on helium supposed to be “relatable” ? I don’t want to relate to a deluded Karaoke Queen of Cringe! I want to grab her by the ears and scream into her vacuous face. “Stop it! You just can’t fucking sing!”
I saw that.commercial!! I felt left out, so I Googled it..I live in Canada, so we don’t get that advert over here. We have plenty of our own ridiculous commercials, though.
Anyway, I looked it up, and I agree! The dancing air stewards and the warbling of the toothsome young woman is, as my.Yorkshire BFF proclaimed, indeed “naff”.
Iam recovering from a “cardiac event”, and have been following this blog with interest. It helps fill the lonely hours while.I recline in mon bedchamber, dreaming of all the lovely food described here, and laughing myself into fits over all of your adventures. Seriously. I had such a fit of the giggles.a few days ago, I started to get pangs! I have to clutch a pillow to my delicate bosom now while I read, to help.cushion any damage to my person. Iam very delicate at the moment, you see….
Thanks for the fun!
Totally agree with you ‘re the TUI ad. It makes me want to grab the kitchen clever and attack a rock hard butternut squash (pacifist normally ). I love your sense of humour funny we were warned at SW not to read your rants but it was acknowledged your recipes were good. Keep it up chubby cubs ☺
Lovely recipe again, lads. I’m so glad you love real food and haven’t fallen into the trap of mixing mullers and eggs to make syn free downers. It’s so nice to be able to trust someone who says a recipe is good. Thank you. In addition I’d like to say feck off to all the hangry hippos who harass you for the spicy humour. It’s a free world and if you don’t like something just jog away on. I’m off to make one of your gorgeous overnight oats concoctions.