Category Archives: fakeaways

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

April 23, 2022

Posted under

beef mince, burgers, fakeaways, recipe card

recipe reacharound: cheesy meaty fingers (600 calories)

Sometimes I look back over the blog recipes of old and wonder what on Earth we were thinking. This was definitely one of those instances but in the spirit of making sure we hadn’t gone fully doolally-tap back in 2016, we decided to revisit these cheesy meaty fingers. Partly for the name, partly for the fact they’re essentially squished burgers topped with cheese and if that doesn’t give you a dewpoint in your knickers, whatever will?

Imagine a future where a flash of pink doesn’t mean you’ll be eating out (cough) but instead, staying in to try a delicious recipe from our wonderfully rainbow new cookbook DINNER TIME. It’s a wonderful thought no? We’ve talked about the new recipes, the funny intros, but one of the things we’re most excited by is how utterly gorgeous the new book is. So many cookbooks out there are as dull as dishwater to look at but ours is a technicolour explosion and an utter treat for your eyes. You’d be a fool not to bring the sunshine home! Luckily you can put that right by pre-ordering now!

Now, before we get to the recipe, my apologies: there’s the final part of our London trip to get through. No I know, but I am determined to finish a bloody holiday trip on here! If you’re hankering for the food just swoosh straight down to the photos. You can find part one here and part two right here.

Rather than write out a big wall of flowing narrative about what else we did in London, I’m going to write out some random bits and bobs because that’s the fresh, forward thinking style you have come to expect from a blog that probably still has Realplayer adverts sitting on the server. Plus it’s been nine years since we were in London and I have only my scribbled notes on my phone to work from. Don’t like it? TOUGH TITTY. (Spoiler edit: I totally didn’t end up doing this, but I’ve left it in to show you my optimism)

We did a fabulous escape room in Shepherds Bush – an officially licensed Sherlock themed room starring the actors themselves. Well videos of them, Benedict Pumpmysnatch wasn’t taking a break from filming Doctor Strange to show me where the fire exits were. It was possibly one of the best rooms we have done to date, even if we did get off to a bumpy start by being paired up momentarily with a very argumentative couple who insisted on sniping at one another through the introduction. I’m not sure if they thought they had come along to a Relate session – my perfect marriage to Paul must have shot jealousy straight into their souls – but after the story had been discussed (you’ve got 60 minutes to…evil Moriarty this…don’t CLIMB ON THE WALLS ROFLMAO…if there’s a fire WE WON’T JUST LEAVE YOU TO BURN OMG LOLZ) we were sent into separate rooms. The puzzles were complex and well done, culminating in a room where you had four puzzles requiring some physical dexterity. Somehow we avoided the urge to push the fire alarm button and let ourselves out, persevered and – hooray – completed the room.

We left the room to have a look around the gift shop – I’m always glad of a chance to purse my lips and say ‘I think the fuck not’  – when the rowing couple also emerged into the gift shop, still bickering, and were told they hadn’t managed to complete the room. Naturally Paul and I took all of four zeptoseconds to announce we had completed the room with a couple of minutes left over with the smuggest grins you can imagine. The girlfriend of the couple came back with the most curious of responses though – she pointed at her partner and told us, thin-lipped and accusatorially, that he ‘had diabetes’. What do you say to that? I just nodded sagely in a manner I hoped conveyed both understanding to her and a ‘get away from her, as far as you can, and if you can’t then don’t buy a rabbit’ to him. Anyway, the room was mint, and I encourage you to give it a go – your ability or otherwise to produce insulin really doesn’t have a bearing on it. You can find more details here.

We spent an hour walking around the Tate Modern, as ever waiting for inspiration to strike, and left the same uncultured swines that we always are. I’ve put many words into explaining the desire of both Paul and I to finally have an epiphany in an art gallery and for us to both finally ‘get’ art, but the only thing we got from our visit was sore cankles and a telling off from someone with a clipboard and a failing art degree (I guarantee it) because we stood in the wrong spot on the unmarked floor. There was a faintly interesting exhibition of an open room with some white powder nicely arranged on the floor (they must have had one hell of a giant credit card just behind the curtain) but once we realised that we could replicate this at home by not hoovering up after Paul has been ped-egging his feet, we left. Thing is, we probably would have enjoyed it more if it hadn’t have been rammed with the type of insufferable arse and their utterly awful children all running around screaming and getting in the way.  Now that I am now officially middle-aged I am all for parents being told to leave their children in a locker when they enter such places but even then, those big halls would still echo with the strangulated vowels and upward inflections and pseudo-intellectualism bollocks that doesn’t so much set my teeth on edge as set them on fire inside my own angry mouth and demand I bite the flames out with malice. Ever since I twatted myself off the side of an installation by Yoko Ono I’ve been immoderately angry about art galleries and this looks set to continue ever onwards.

We were lucky enough to have our publishers put us up in the Sea Containers hotel for two days over Valentines – this was very thoughtful as they must have realised we always like to argue somewhere ritzy on Valentines Day – and it really was something else. Paul and I aren’t fancy people – I’ve only just managed to persuade Paul to stop brushing his teeth with reeds from the garden – but it was a beautiful room and a wonderful treat. Our publishers had kindly indicated that we could claim expenses and we did take advantage of that by enjoying the minibar, ordering room service and tipping everything that wasn’t nailed down into a suitcase. Paul had to hold me back from nipping down to Screwfix for a set of wrenches to take the television off the wall. What can I say, I’m a terror. We did laugh the shrill laugh of the long-married at the ‘Lover’s Kit’ included in the room which consisted of flavoured lubes, condoms, a pair of fluffy handcuffs and my personal favourite, those dice with ‘actions’ on one die and bodily parts on the other. So you may roll ‘LICK’ and ‘ELBOW’ to make ‘lick elbow’ (I realise I picked the worst pairing of words there but I’ll be damned if I’m going back to change it) and sexy shenanigans would ensue. We were tempted to give it a go but as I say, we’ve been married fifteen years now and unless ‘THE IRONING’ came up after ‘DO’ or ‘SHOP ELSEWHERE FOR’ came before ‘PENIS’ we’d both be left disappointed. We consoled ourselves with a £6.50 packet of £1.50 Haribo and then went for dinner downstairs.

And what a dinner – possibly one of the best meals we have ever had, although Paul counts a burger he had on an aeroplane as the nicest meal he has ever had so I’m not sure we have an especially high benchmark. As we weren’t paying we took great pains to walk our way through the extensive cocktail menu which was a delight, though we couldn’t help but notice an uptick in service once the snotty waiter had realised that despite our George at Asda shoes we weren’t just going to order tap water and a bread basket. I had bone marrow for starters (and again later, well, it was Valentines) and Paul had some especially good fried chicken which made your arteries crinkle just looking at it. Of course, wat wiv it being ded posh like, you only got enough of a portion to mollify a churchmouse’s hunger pains, so we didn’t feel too stuffed with a heavy starter. I somewhat rashly ordered an oyster when Paul nipped off to the loo, knowing full well I don’t like them but keen for Paul to try. When it arrived he somewhat blithely reminded me that he went to Cambridge University and they had oysters all the time, presumably to keep up their strength for knocking homeless folks about. He refused to try it, citing the fact he had half of the spirits from the bar rolling in his stomach, so it was up to me to take one for the team. I remain resolute in my dislike: there is nothing redeemable about an oyster. The texture, the taste, the look: it’s like a sea captain hockled in my mouth during rough sex. I swallowed, dry-heaved politely into my elbow and spent the next five minutes chewing my way through some roasted padron peppers to take the shame away.

Nothing about that says eat me does it?

The rest of the meal was an utter triumph though: I had a length of pork loin that I’d have blanched at had it slid through a gloryhole and Paul had ribs that went on for days. Halfway through the main course the table next to us was filled by an especially embonpoint banker and his by-the-hour date. I’m not even being catty: we were treated to him asking what his money got him almost as soon as the waiter had brought the water. Happily she played the game very well and ordered the most expensive dish on the menu accompanied by some very costly wine. Speaking of a classy whine, Paul was complaining that he hadn’t left enough room for dessert. I reminded him that in all the time we have been together I’ve never known him not be a greedy pig – he remains the only person I know to ask for a side-dish along with his barium enema – and as soon as the waiter appeared Paul was ordering food without a care. The dessert was the shining star though: two cheesecakes formed into imitation Magnum ice-creams served with jelly rose petals and other exciting flimflam. It was that good that I took great pains to explain to Paul that he was simply too full to enjoy it properly but he was having none of my transparent attempt to steal it. He’s a poor sport. As it happens, halfway through eating his it melted and fell on the floor. You know in the Lion King when we all bubbled and sobbed when Mufasa went tombstoning off the hyena gorge? It was just like that. We asked for the bill, shrieked loudly, charged it to our room and went twirling into the night.

I think, from memory, we ended up back in the Kings Arms which was full of dating couples and all terribly sweet. Paul and I discuss this with (probably worrying) regularity – we’ve been together so long that the idea of being single and going out on dates terrifies us both. Paul is wrong to worry though: if I die, I expect him to dress in black for the rest of his life and become one of those crazy folks who spend their days shouting at the skies about the injustice of a life taken from them. If the unthinkable happens and Paul shuffles off first, we have agreed that I’ll try and keep my knickers on until at least the police officers who came over to break the sad news have left. The dating couples were a keen contrast to the night before which was karaoke night – you’ve never lived until you’ve seen a bloke the size of a transit van caterwaul his way through Think Twice by Celine Dion whilst a hundred other gays hold their lighters in the air until the barman shouts at them for almost setting off the sprinklers. To be fair there were so many open bottles of poppers on the go I’m surprised the whole thing didn’t end up like Backdraft.

We ordered breakfast the next day to take the edge off our hangovers. It was delicious, see?

It felt unusual to have a hotel breakfast where a battery of children, or an oversized man-child, hadn’t sneezed into the sausage tureen

The final thing to talk about with this trip to London is the fact we got to film some recipes ahead of the book launch, something which is always a delight because working with our publishers and the camera chap is great fun. However, it doesn’t half hammer home how difficult it is to actually ‘cook to camera’ – neither Paul or I have the coordination, grace or ability to not mutter ‘for fucks sake’ under our breath to master it. I’m fairly confident speaking to most people but stick a camera in front of me and I lose the ability to speak with any sort of coherence. Paul is worse, he freezes and worries about making a boob of himself, which he really shouldn’t because he always comes across so well. Even if it does look a little like I’m operating him like a glove-puppet. Which to be fair, I usually am. However, you will hopefully enjoy this little blooper reel of ours.

I will never tire, never, of the bit at 1:23 where Paul cracks up at my little boop noise in his ear.

And that, as they say, was that – our trip to London. We made our way back on the late train to Newcastle, thoroughly exhausted but having had a wonderful time. Naturally, because we were looking like we had been freshly dug up, not one but two people recognised us and wanted a photo. This is the weirdest feeling of them all, not going to lie, but we don’t mind in the slightest – if anything, I like to imagine someone showing their partner a photo of us and said partner asking what it was like to meet Hale & Pace. We arrived home safe, delighted to see Goomba had managed to figure out how to use a tin-opener and feed himself, and off to bed. All in all, a bloody fun weekend!

Now, shall we look at the cheesy meaty fingers? It’s so weird looking back and seeing recipes where we dithered about whether to use a bread roll that was 64g instead of the prerequisite 60g Slimming World used to allow. That said, if you are following SW, then you could still use a wee wholemeal breadbun, so no harm no foul.

I’m going to say it: these don’t photograph well! They look like the pure junk food that they are. But you know what? They’re delicious. The type of food you need sometimes to leave your chin greasy. Serve with chips on the side if you really want to trouble your cardio system.

Side note: the article that accompanied the old recipe was a walkthrough of my pyrophobia of old. I mention that growing up my biggest fear was the house burning down and that I used to have a little routine that my young self had to do before going to sleep to stop such a thing. Thankfully growing out of that tic had no real consequence. Still, we gotta be strong, and we need to be brave [high note intensifies]

cheesy meaty fingers

We recommend making sure the pepperoni is totally under the cheese if you don’t like it cremated. But I do, and these cheesy meaty fingers are mine, so swivel

cheesy meaty fingers

Add green chilli if you like your bum troubled with cheesy meaty fingers

cheesy meaty fingers

Add chilli sauce to your cheesy meaty fingers if you REALLY like your bum troubled

Print

cheesy meaty fingers (600 calories)

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 8 cheesy fingers

Cheesy meaty fingers then. As always the calorie counts are approximate - you can lower them depending on what bread roll you use, how much cheese you put on vs how much you say you put on, whether or not you bother with the sauces...just a guide folks. This makes eight halves and the calorie count is for two, so one submarine roll.

Ingredients

  • 500g of extra lean beef mince
  • four submarine rolls - we used the bog standard Tesco white rolls, but you can drop the calories by using wholemeal or smaller buns if you want
  • 50g panko or other breadcrumbs
  • one egg, beaten
  • one medium onion, diced fine
  • one teaspoon each of thyme, garlic powder, pepper
  • half a teaspoon of salt
  • two tablespoons of tomato ketchup
  • one tbsp of Worcestershire sauce
  • green chilli sliced finely (or use jalapenos)
  • 50g of mixed grated cheese - we used spicy because we're scum
  • a few slices of pepperoni

Instructions

  • preheat the oven to 220 degrees 
  • slice the submarine buns along the horizontal and pop on a baking sheet with the cut side up
  • bake in the oven until lightly toasted and then remove, turning down the temperature to 190 degrees
  • mix together the beef, onion, Worcestershire sauce, thyme, garlic, beaten egg, salt and pepper and panko in a bowl until nicely combined
  • spread the beef across the top of the buns, making sure to cover all the edges so the buns don't burn
  • spread the tomato sauce on top with a little egg brusher
  • bake in the oven for about 25 minutes, making sure the beef is cooked through at the end by breaking a bit off and checking it isn't pink
  • remove from the oven, add the pepperoni, chilli, then top with cheese and grill until bubbling and lovely
  • drizzle with chilli sauce and serve

Notes

Recipe

  • as discussed, feel free to jettison the pepperoni, extra cheese or chillis to control the heat and calories of this dish. I mean we both know you won't but isn't it a pleasure to do the dance

Books

  • twochubbycubs: Dinner Time is coming out soon and will give you satisfaction every night, unlike whatever it is that you bought from lovehoney which you need to power with a car battery - you can pre-order here!
  • our second book, Fast and Filling, is full of recipes that are either quick to make or super filling - well actually, they're all both of them and then some: order yours here! 
  • our first cookbook might not have a sexy cover but there's so many classic recipes in there you'll be cooking for days: click here to order
  • if you're struggling with keeping on track, get yourself a planner - there's cartoons of us to colour in and everything: here

Tools

Disclosure: the links above are affiliate links. This means that, at zero cost to you, we will earn an affiliate commission if you click through the link and make a purchase. Which is handy, as I must leave, I'll have to go, to Las Vegas or Monaco, and win a fortune in a game, my life will never be the same, unless you know, you buy a few whisks from our links and keep the pennies rolling in.

Courses fakeaways

Cuisine fingers

I know, we’re fabulous. Looking for something else to fill your gob? Try these! 510 calories for a sloppy mince. I mean haway! Click the picture to go to the recipe.

‘Cause when you’re half-way up, you’re always half-way down (sing it Celine!)

Jx

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

March 23, 2022

Posted under

beef, diced beef, fakeaways, recipe card, retro

recipe: super simple beef and broccoli (300 calories)

Come for the beef and broccoli, stay for the stories. And there’s a sock to wipe up the first bit of that sentence, you filthy cow. Fans of my rotation will note that this should be a retrorecipe post but the thing is, my Fanny has been shut away for a few days and I haven’t had time to slap it out and give it an airing. The retro recipes will be back, we promise, as they’re as much fun to write as they are to cook, but for now, just a recipe reacharound to tide you over.

As of today, our new cookbook DINNER TIME is at the printers getting turned into hundreds of thousands of copies. It’s a super exciting point of the process for us – we can’t change what has gone in: the i’s are dotted, the t’s are delicious. Now begins the two months or so where we spend it fretting that you’ll all hate it and send us angry letters or we’ve made some massive faux-pas that’ll set our windows put through and Paul crying on a ten minute long apology video. But fingers crossed that doesn’t happen. Of course, to alleviate our imposter syndrome, feel free to buy the book and make us feel more secure about putting down a deposit on a holiday. You can order it here 

 The good news is my arm is better and I can go back to typing one handed purely in incognito mode as opposed to having to wince my way through doing blog entries. I’m sure I used to laugh off such aches and pains (after spending four hours googling symptoms and demanding an MRI) but I’m taking it as yet another sign of my advancing years. Actually, on that googling thing, I broke my own health-anxiety rule and was busy googling whether or not my arm was anything to worry about when it suggested blood poisoning as a result of muscle tearing and had to stop.

Speaking of advancing years though, it’s my birthday next week and quite frankly I thoroughly intend to mark it because for the last two years, I’ve ‘cancelled’ it – we were in lockdown in 2020 and in that awful semi-lockdown in 2021 so it didn’t feel worth celebrating but I’m 37 and let’s be honest, pretty unlikely to stumble my way anywhere near to living past 74. So I’m treating this as my mid-life point and I won’t be told otherwise. Historically I’ve always been a bit down in the mouth about my birthday, seeing it as a personal affront when the numbers on the left side of my age tick higher than the right, but I’ve been listening to a podcast by Derren Brown of all people which touches on how we mustn’t be fazed by the passage of time nor the advancement of age because there will come a time when you’d give anything to be right back here in this moment with the people and health and tchotchkes you have around you right now. Unusually for me, that actually sunk in, presumably because I was concentrating hard listening to him in the vain hope he was trying to put me under and lead me to some evil bidding.

He also promotes the concept of philocaly – finding beauty in the small things you tend to overlook – and I happen to think that’s a charming way to live. For my part, I’ve stopped swearing and throwing my arms around like I’m conducting an orchestra when I’m stuck behind some old dear doing 25mph on a 60mph road – they might be a nervous driver, they may have things on their mind – plus they’ll be dead soon enough. It’s really quite easy when you tune in to your feelings.

Anyway: just a short blog entry today because I want to take Goo out now that it’s getting light at night. It’s just so much easier chasing after his poo-walking with a bag thin enough to see through when the sun is shining. This recipe was originally on the blog from 2015 and comes with a very sweet, very innocent trip report from our last visit to Berlin. Heavens.

beef and broccoli

but in the end he needs a little more than me, beeeeeeeeeeef and broccoliiiiiiiiiiii

Is it even a plate of beef and broccoli if you don’t over-saturate the picture so it looks as though you’re serving it up on a nuclear moon and spill gravy all over the place?

Print

recipe reacharound: beef and broccoli (300 calories)

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 4 servings

This little fakeaway dish might not exactly scream excitement and flavour, but listen here slick - it's one that we keep coming back to when we can't be arsed with anything flash. So check your attitude at the door and crack on.

Calories (300 of them), as ever, are approximate. Don't be tempted to skip on the cornflour, it's needed for the sauce to thicken, and if you have a dodgy ticker or high blood pressure, and yes Susan, I do mean you, perhaps switch to low-sodium soy sauce. Because the thing is, well, close up, he was almost purple.

Ingredients

  • 500g of diced beef - now we just buy the ready diced stuff from the supermarket, but feel free to get steak and chop it up, you heartless monster
  • 75ml of light soy sauce
  • 1 tsp of cornflour
  • one large onion, diced finely
  • two tsps of garlic paste 
  • same again of ginger paste
    • look, we know you can use fresh, and that's fine if you prefer, but this is a lazy dinner
  • 250g of broccoli, chopped into tiny little trees
  • pinch of chilli flakes if you like your arse all-a-tingle
  • 250ml of good beef stock

Instructions

  • over a high heat and with a little bit of oil, fry off the beef for a minute or so with two tablespoons of soy sauce until browned on all sides, then set aside
  • in the same pan, add a little more oil if needed and saute, on a medium heat, the onion until golden, adding the ginger and garlic towards the end
  • add the broccoli and chilli flakes and keep frying off for a minute or two more
  • mix together the cornflour, beef stock and remainder of the soy sauce, making sure there's no lumps or so help me god
  • add the beef and the liquid above into the pan and bubble away on a high heat until cooked and thickened and what have you
  • serve with rice

Notes

Recipe

  • we prefer our broccoli with a bit of crunch but if you're of the generation that believes a vegetable ready for tea should be set away boiling seven months before because you'd take rickets over vitamins, then parboil the broccoli before hand
  • but seriously, get out of that habit, enjoy some flavour
  • add peppers into this to bulk it out - chopped into fat strips and thrown in with the onion
  • buy your broccoli pre-chopped by all means, but it's easier to just cut your own. Well no easier no, but certainly less bougie

Books

  • 100 dinner time favourites for your perusal in our newest cookbook DINNER TIME, launching in May - you can pre-order here!
  • perhaps you prefer things fast and filling - well there's over 100 speedy recipes in cookbook two: order yours here! 
  • let's go back to where it all began - cookbook one: click here to order
  • you want somewhere to track your successes - try our diet planner: here

Disclosure: the links above are affiliate links. This means that, at zero cost to you, we will earn an affiliate commission if you click through the link and make a purchase. Which is handy, because Paul seemingly needs a new set of clothes every time he leaves a room and he's costing us a tonne in fabric conditioner

Courses fakeaways

Cuisine fakeaways

Now listen: Paul and I are taking a short break – only a couple of weeks, and then we’ll be back with more content. Until then, look after the place, feed the cats, blast the skidders off the netty. Back April 5.

Every time I shut my eyes, it’s always the same.

Jx

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

March 17, 2022

Posted under

beef, beef mince, fakeaways, italian, recipe card

recipe reacharound: sloppier cubs (510 calories)

If you think I’ve called this recipe sloppier cubs simply because between that and the word reacharound anyone googling it is going to get a filthy surprise, well, you’d be gosh-damn right, Susan. But this little trip down into the recipe archives is a hot take on our bacon cheeseburger sloppy cubs recipe from 2017 and frankly, it’s one that we ought to have revisited a lot sooner BECAUSE THEY ARE BLOODY AMAZING. Seriously, if you like sloppy mince between your buns – and once you’ve finished sending me your number / nudes – you need to try this. But first…

What do you call your evening meal? Whether you’re an ASDA sort who calls it tea, a Marks and Spencer sort who calls it dinner, a Waitrose type who calls it supper or a Juice Newton who calls it Angel in the Morning, it hardly matters. We’ve got 100+ evening meal ideas in our new book which is bursting with colours and flavours and you just need it. You do! You really do. You can order it here 

Oh I know, I’m never off!

I do want you to know – and I am not trying to guilt trip you, mind – that I am writing this blog in an unusual amount of pain, even for a hypochondriac like me. In a misguided effort to lose some weight before we go on holiday, I’ve been attending our local Elite classes again. For those that div-not-knaa, they’re high intensity fitness workouts where you get thrown about and shouted at for forty-five minutes three times a week. I’m making them sound awful when in reality, I bloody love doing them when I can actually motivate myself to get out of the car (currently at a 50/50 split on that success). Anyway, one of the recent classes involved a fitness test where you pair up with someone else and do as many reps of various exercises as you can in a minute. Paul is actually attending a different class so there’s no slacking off for me, which I feel is a sign of our crumbling marriage.

The problem is, I’m a dangerously competitive person in situations like this and as a result, as soon as I have to get as many things done in a minute, I have to really, really push myself, way past what I should ordinarily do. That’s fine if it is eating skittles or satisfying Lederväters in a dark room, but not when it comes to mountain-climbers and bicep curls. I ought to clarify, given my reputation, mountain-climbers is that exercise where you get on all fours and bring your legs up your chin, like you are running on all fours. That’s all well and good if you’re skinny and lithe but I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve kicked my own tits into my teeth. Plus I’m always a bit self-conscious doing that pose whilst someone behind me shouts ‘HURRY UP’ and ‘PUSH YOURSELF’ and ‘FEEL THE BURN’ because it takes all I can do not to shout ‘YES, DADDY, YEEEEES‘ back at them. 

It was those exercises which have done me in though: I actually felt something twang in my right elbow at the end and since then, it hurts like absolute buggery to straighten my arm. Typing hurts. Ironing is a knacker. I may as well forget about my fantasy of being picked up by a rough lorry driver whilst out hitch-hiking. I’ve had to look at Paul with a pained face more than once and explain that I couldn’t possibly do the hoovering because I’m clearly dying. See also: taking the dog for a walk, cleaning the glass in the shower, marital relations.

I’ve taken to walking around with my hand wedged into my coat pocket as a makeshift sling because it hurts to let the arm flap around too much. That was fine until yesterday afternoon when I had to go to a jewellers to get my ring finger measured and I strolled in looking like I had a shooter and was about to turn the place over. The look of panic on the poor lady’s face soon dissipated when I tried to explain I needed my ring measuring and burst out laughing when she cautioned that ‘as you warm up, your ring will expand’, which was a relief to all concerned.

Still, at least I got through the actual class without any major incident. The last time I did an actual bleep test was back in high school where I got put in detention for a week for telling my PE teacher to ‘fuck right off’ when he screamed at me to keep running. In my defence, he was absolutely one of those PE teachers who wanted to be in the police, failed because he got angry trying to spell his name without a prompt, and decided to buy a whistle and bully schoolchildren instead. I hated him and he hated me just because I didn’t treat football as something worth turning my face beetroot for. And listen, it’s not that I minded an authoritarian teacher – my favourite teacher of all was a tiny little bloke who once thew a football boot at me for talking – but this bloke was just a knob. Still, who’s laughing now.

So yes, please do keep me in your thoughts, because clearly I’m one moment away from death (or I’ll be better once I rub whatever knock-off Voltarol Paul brings me back from Tesco) – and if I do die, I ask for only modest floral tributes and minimal wailing at your windows to remember me by.

Now, let’s do the sloppier cubs, shall we? Well, you do it, my arm hurts.

sloppier cubs

At only 510 calories each, these sloppier cubs burgers will fill you right up!

Sloppier cubs, but with branding (siiiiiiiigh) – lovely

We only took two photos of the sloppier cubs burgers but when I typed burger into google photos, this popped up – look how wee he was!

Print

recipe reacharound: sloppier cubs (510 calories)

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 4 burgers

If we're entirely honest, we haven't had to make a lot of changes to this recipe - just added a few bits and pieces in. But what you have here is a proper sloppy burger that'll make a right mess of your front, but that's just fine because it tastes so good. Plus: we've added more bacon into the recipe this time, and that's never a bad thing.

We've also cooked the cheese straight into the sauce because, and you'll need to trust me, it makes the dish absolutely perfect.

Calorie counts, like my level of current partners, are approximate.

Ingredients

  • four brioche buns - you can use normal buns if you want, but why would you
  • 400g lean beef mince
  • teaspoon of garlic paste
  • 1 large onion, diced
  • 1 carton of passata
  • 4 tbsp of that sweet, lurid yellow American mustard
  • 1 tbsp worcestershire sauce
  • 8 rashers of bacon
  • 125ml beef stock
  • 100g of reduced fat extra mature cheese, grated

Instructions

  • cook off your bacon, setting aside half for the burgers at the end and chopping the rest into small pieces
  • fry off your onion until golden, add the garlic and cook for a minute or two more, then add the beef mince and cook until browned and lovely
  • add the bacon, passata, stock, mustard and Worcestershire sauce, stir, and allow to simmer right down and thicken up
  • once nearly done, tip all that cheese in and stir through, and cook until gloopy
  • slice your buns, add the cooked bacon, then pour the mince on top

You could serve this with chips. But then you could just do a lot of things if you tried.

Notes

Recipe

  • a tin of chopped tomatoes would be fine here, as long as you let everything break down and simmer
  • although we didn't add them, chopped gherkins would also be a bloody winner

Books

Disclosure: the links above are affiliate links. This means that, at zero cost to you, we will earn an affiliate commission if you click through the link and make a purchase. Which is handy, because see, there was this emperor, and he asks this shepherd's boy, "how many seconds in eternity?" and the shepherd's boy says, "there's this mountain of pure diamond. It takes an hour to climb it, and an hour to go around it! Every hundred years, a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on the diamond mountain. And when the entire mountain is chiselled away, the first second of eternity will have passed" You must think that's a hell of a long time, but I don't care, that bloody sparrow owes me a fiver and he's gonna be ages yet. Sick of this.

Courses burgers

Cuisine burgers man, I literally just told you

Enjoy! Oh and we’ve done another video recipe! Remember to like and subscribe otherwise Paul cries his tears of hot gravy.

I must be careful, I must be kind…

Jx

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

February 22, 2022

Posted under

beef, beef mince, budget, fakeaways, italian, low syn, one-pot, pasta, pressure cooker, recipe card

recipe reacharound: Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese

Let’s keep this strictly business this week shall we? The recipe is a reacharound of the Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese, it’s fabulous, it’s wonderful, it takes no time at all and tastes bloody good. I’ve hurt my shoulder trying to sneak a giant concrete garden ornament into the rubble bin at the tip so it hurts to type. In my defence I didn’t want to pay £2.50 because that seems like an outrageous amount to someone like me: the Queen blinks against the sudden light when I pull a fiver from my wallet. Plus I was giving it the Barry Big Bollocks lifting it out of my Golf like I was Geoff bloody Capes so if anything, it was my hubris that felled me in the end. But isn’t that always the case, eventually?

Luckily, we have the second part of the Paul story to entertain, so over to my slender counterpart. You can read part one here, so you can. Paul doesn’t believe in skimping on the detail, so do just scroll to the photos of the Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese if you’re in NO BLOODY MOOD for his nonsense and flimflam.

You know what would make my shoulder hurt a little less? Seeing some pre-orders on our amazing new book! 100 fast dinner recipes for all occasions! You can order it here 

So really, the next five years or so carried on in the same sort of way. James would cook sometimes and he even taught me how to make a delicious risotto – still one of my favourites. Pretty early on we started going to Slimming World. James had a lot of success in his teen years following SW and knowing I was self-conscious about my weight (actually having access to food and not having to walk 10 miles a day meant the weight piled straight back on again…) we gave it a go. And that go lasted for a good 5-6 years. We tried a few different classes as we moved about but always returned to the same one because it was so super friendly and the consultant was a right laugh. No shade to Slimming World but we didn’t really enjoy the classes. It just wasn’t our cup of tea and our consultant did her best. We fell into the same pattern of turning up, getting weighed and then making an excuse to leave so really our fiver went on standing on a pair of scales, which of course we could do for free at home. A year or two after joining Slimming World though we started to try a bit more cooking, mostly for financial reasons (Papa John’s ain’t cheap) but also we knew that if we didn’t we’d just balloon more and more. Social Media was starting to become a thing so we joined a few of the Facebook groups and started making all the standard fare that used to be doing the rounds. You know the stuff. Curry Loaf. Quiche. Fanta Chicken. If it was about 10 pixels across and badly cropped we made it. We laugh about it now but that was the height of our abilities. And so, twochubbycubs was born! Initially it was more of a place for James’ writing but, for some reason we still can’t figure out, it really started to take off. Fuck knows why, because for the first couple of years the stuff we put out was absolute shite. But it did! And so along with that, out of necessity, we needed to be able to cook.

So, that brings us to the recent times. If you’ve been following us for a while you’ll know that a few years ago we appeared on ITV’s This Time Next Year. It was by chance that we spotted a post in our Facebook group where the production company were looking for people so on a whim we just did it. We knew that weight loss would need to be our thing – by that point we’d ballooned to nearly our biggest size, both well over twenty stone. The process was pretty quick, we had a few interviews and then got the news while we were on holiday in, er, Berwick, that we were going on! Of course we then spent the next month or so absolutely stuffing our faces like never before – thinking that we may as well take advantage before it’d all be taken away for us forever.

The challenge was to lose twenty stone between us, in a year. We got off to an okay start – doing the same things we’d always done – joined Slimming World, stayed for the class, stopped eating takeaways. And that was really it. The losses, as always at the start, were pretty massive but it wasn’t long before they levelled out and we started to become a bit despondent. But the truth is, we didn’t know what else to do. We knew that exercise would help us but we were too big at that point to do anything comfortably, and it was at the bottom of our list of priorities. We’d absorbed all the bad habits that slimming classes drum into us – like eating a giant plate of potatoes or pasta (with us, usually both) and thinking that because it was “Free” we would automatically lose weight. We were falling behind on our weight loss, massively, which became all too apparent when we were booked in for a DEXA scan and I was told that, halfway through our challenge, I was still 50% fat and off the centile charts. We were gussied up to do something about it but still a bit clueless, so we started restricting. We cut out the ten-a-day Muller Lights, switched to skimmed milk and stopped eating cheese. Naturally, all this meant was that we’d both binge on the sly because our meals at home just could not sustain us, and we’d taken out all the deliciousness and joy from eating. By chance, James stumbled across a local company that ran HIIT classes (I think it’s the same as Cross Fit, but without having to pay to licence it) that promised that if you lost 20lb in six weeks they’d give you your money back. He signed us both up immediately and told me, ON MY BIRTHDAY OF ALL DAYS (where I had already finely curated my birthday takeaway for the night) that we were going, and we were going to stick with it. I wish I could say that was the worst birthday I’ve ever had, but the birthday I spent with him in hospital having his willy-hat lopped off probably takes the title.

I won’t lie, I was absolutely dreading it. The thought of going to a warehouse in the middle of an industrial estate to EXERCISE. In my condition?! No. I raced through all the excuses but ‘er indoors was having none of it. We were going.

Fortunately, the first session wasn’t the fresh hell I was expecting. The place was clean, tidy and modern and the staff lovely. I actually recognised the trainer as being the bloke who used to always give me extra chips in canteen at work and never charged me for it (and still to this day I tell him it’s all his fault I got so fat). Because the classes were aimed at people losing weight (and it being just two weeks after Christmas it’s fair to say we were all in a pretty poor condition) they were, thankfully, quite easy to begin with. Lots of squats, wall sits and easing you into exercise, gently at first. Well, would you believe it – I bloody loved it. Well, when I was actually doing it I wanted to die and seriously considered faking having a heart attack so I could get out there (I’m not joking), as soon as we finished singing Freed From Desire (our groups theme song, for some reason….) I felt great! The weight was melting away, and each time I hit the 20lb target, usually landing a few pounds over.

The saving grace of this was that we enjoyed the exercise – and I’ll come back to this later – and if we hadn’t had found that, we would have failed in the first few days. Having the exercise we enjoyed and also importantly getting the results from it made the food a little less terrible. There was also the important fact that we were due to go on the telly in just a few months, where the lovely Davina was expecting her stage to creak a hell of a lot less. Those last six months we really, really went for it. We did the HIIT classes three times a week, and we went to the gym for the other four days for no fewer than three hours at a time. We (to borrow a phrase from the nineties) caned it, and we got the results. By the time we made it to the studio in the May time we hadn’t quite hit our target (I was short by 2.5 stone and James 1) but we felt and looked much better so we didn’t mind. If we had started our fitness part earlier we would have easily hit our target, and probably a lot more (we were still overweight, but only just). We made the promise on that sofa that there was no going back. We were never going to get fat ever again, and the changes we made were there to stay, and we were only just beginning, baby. We left there and went back to the hotel and ordered ourselves a celebratory Papa John’s that we’d been fantasising about for the last six months. So high on our success were we that we ordered a small pizza each and didn’t even finish it. The next day on the way home we went to a Little Chef and I had a yoghurt.

It didn’t last.

Two days after getting home from the studio, fresh in our H&M gear (that we could now fit into) we minced to Tesco to stock up on chicken ‘n’ broccoli, but outside they were handing out vouchers for some Kelly’s ice cream. We bought 4 tubs that day, just as a treat you understand, and it was a bargain after all it’d be silly not to….and ate all four that day. Delicious, mind.

Ever mindful we’d had six months of terrible food and an excruciating exercise regime we promised ourselves that we’d have the occasional treat but we’d stick to it. A few months before we had booked a dream holiday to Canada for six weeks – another thing to aim for, and we were determined we were going to be just as slim as we were for it as we had been on the telly. We signed back up for a six-week programme at Elite and got back on it. By the time Canada came along we were back at our telly weight.

Canada, of course, was awesome. Throughout the whole holiday we’d tell each other, “we’d never have done this if we were still fat!” (which caught more than one bearded Canadian bloke off-guard). And it’s true. Like I said up there, being fat impacts on every single part of your life, and we were realising now what things we would have avoided. Even simple things like not wanting to go up an observation tower because the lift was quite small and people would tut because you’d be taking up too much space. All sorts of daft stuff.

We did six weeks in Canada and, naturally, we did pile on the pounds when we were there. We started off well but by week two we were eating every treat, all the poutine, trying out all the different flavours of crisps… but we promised ourselves that when we got back we’d get back on it, and we’d shed it all. It was just a treat for ourselves anyway, and we were on holiday after all.

When we got back we did indeed get back on it. Back to Elite, back on the brown rice. We hit the 20lb target again and felt pleased, but without having the shadow of the TV programme hanging over us the motivation was gone. We stopped going to the gym as often and when we did we’d slack off. A few weeks later we went on holiday to Tokyo. Already by that point, which was only two months after being on the telly, I was all too aware that the weight was piling back on and I was “big” again. Granted I wasn’t as big as I had been, but was still big, and in somewhere like Japan that meant REALLY big. Naturally we had to try all the local delicacies, and the unusual restaurants we just had to visit, and the bars, and all the different KitKats (plus a melon soda which I swear has heroin in it) just made things worse. After Canada I started in a new job which was okay but was bullied terribly which only got worse after we came back from Japan. Comfort eating became a fast friend, as did all of the bad habits, and in less than a year I was only a few stone off where I had been at the start of the year.

Something that became ever apparent at this time is my absolute total lack of willpower. I have none. James attributes a lot of it down to being a “poor kid” and if something is there I have to have it before it’s gone. When I get an idea in my head that I want something, I have to have it, and nothing will bring me down. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. I started leaving my wallet at home so that I couldn’t buy stuff, but instead I’d just use the contactless on my phone. I uninstalled that but so I just switched to saving up odd bits of change. I would make up excuses to go to the supermarket for something and sit in my car stuffing my face, and load up on other stuff that I’d hide in my car so I always had a stash. A very destructive habit.

When the TV programme finally aired, I was pleased but also embarrassed and ashamed. I had people coming up to me congratulating me for what I’d achieved, but it was clear that I didn’t keep it up. We were back shopping for clothes at the garden centre and moping around. We did Elite a few more times but we didn’t stick to it. Once or twice we missed the 20lb target. We just couldn’t get back into it, no matter what we tried.

Alright Paul we get the bloody point about the bloody gammo, Christ. More from Rusty Bloodvessel next week. For now, we turn to the instant pot spaghetti bolognese which will delight and surprise you. Don’t have an Instant Pot? Then who the hell do you think you are? Don’t worry, we’ve done a normal method too. Oh, and Paul typed the recipe up, so if there’s errors, we can blame him.

Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese

Of course if you don’t cover your Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese in half a Ped-Egg’s worth of cheese then why bother

Overhead shot of Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese, ruining my camera with steam

Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese

Nevermind the Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese, you should have seen the word that appeared before OFF on the machine

Print

Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 4 servings

650 calories I hear you cry for Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese and of course you're right that seems like a lot but does it really? For a massive bowl of pasta and wine and meat and the ease of cooking it all in one dish? Plus, to be fair, this probably serves six - we're just greedy fat pigs. If you have leftovers, you can turn that into another meal, see below the recipe for that!

All calories are approximate and worked out via the NHS calculator. So shut yer gob.

Ingredients

  • 400g lean beef mince
  • 400g spaghetti
  • 40g diced chorizo
  • 1 onion, diced
  • 4 cloves of garlic, minced
  • 2 tins of chopped tomatoes
  • 500ml passata
  • 125ml red wine
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 1/2 tsp pepper
  • 1 tsp oregano

Instructions

  • set the instant pot to saute and add a splash of oil
  • add the onion and cook for a few minutes until softened
  • add the garlic, stir and then add the mince and chorizo cook until browned
  • add the chopped tomatoes, passata, red wine, salt, pepper and oregano to the pan and give a good stir
  • break the spaghetti in half and add to the pan along with 850ml water - make sure the spaghetti is covered as much as possible (push it down with a wooden spoon if not)
  • cook under high pressure for ten minutes, then quick release
  • give a good stir and leave to cool for a few minutes - don't worry if it looks a bit watery, it'll soon thicken up

Notes

Recipe

  • huge apologies to the entire nation of Italy for this one, which is probably illegal there. Still good though.
  • add whatever you like into this - bacon, mushrooms, spinach - whatever you have lying about, chuck it in
  • the wine won't get your kids pissed but if you'd still rather avoid it just add the same amount in extra water instead

Not got an Instant Pot? You can cook it pretty much as is on a hob, but add the spaghetti straight into the hob rather than doing it on its own - the spaghetti cooks in the sauce and it's just laaaahverley

Books

  • twochubbycubs: Dinner Time is our new book and it's out in May and it's so good I could bubble - genuinely our best work yet - you can pre-order here!
  • of course if you like your meals fast and filling, book two will scratch that itch: order yours here! 
  • perhaps you want to go back to where it all began - our first cookbook which is a joy untold: click here to order
  • our diet planner will keep you on track and there's twenty six recipes in there for good measure: here

Tools

  • we have an Instant Pot Pro because of course we do - you can find it here but other variants of the Instant Pot are cheaper still and they're all marvellous bits of kit

Disclosure: the links above are affiliate links. This means that, at zero cost to you, we will earn an affiliate commission if you click through the link and make a purchase. Which is handy, as Goomba has developed a love of eating things off the work surfaces and we're currently missing a teaspoon

Courses evening meal

Cuisine twochubbycubs

Got leftover Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese? Crack three eggs into it, and bake it in the oven topped with cheese and tomato!

Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese

Leftover Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese can be baked with eggs into a loaf

Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese

Looks like a scabby knee but the leftover Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese tastes good baked like this

Gonna level with you, our SEO bollocks is saying I need to say Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese a few more times to get a green light. I personally think I’ve said Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese enough times but they are saying this Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese needs more Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese references. Pah! I’m too busy thinking about Instant Pot spaghetti bolognese to concern myself with matters like that.

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

Jx

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

January 31, 2022

Posted under

fakeaways, lunch, recipe card, sausages

recipe: sticky picky sausages

Sticky picky sausages are presented for your consideration, and aren’t you glad it’s not Sticky Vicky sausages? Long time readers of our blog will remember our trip to Benidorm many moons ago where we were ever so disappointed not to see the Sticky Vicky tribute act: but no-one wants a link of sausages pulled out of there, now do they? We do these in an airfryer, not in a damp cavern. But first, some chitter chatter.

Our first ever cooking demonstration was a complete success! We were asked by the good people at Instant to nip down to Situ Live and show off what could be cooked in their new Dual Drawer airfryer. Now you must understand, I’ll cheerfully say yes to anything in the heat of the moment and spend the next few weeks regretting my life choices so this wasn’t such a big deal for me, but Paul was absolutely bricking it. Despite being an absolute legend on the radio, TV and literally everything we ever do together, he’s not one for public speaking. But more on that in a moment.

We travelled down on the Friday night, taking advantage of the Seatfrog app to score an upgrade into first class. First class train travels always promises luxury and comfort when in reality, you’re in a slightly more padded chair listening to wankers moo at their wives for several hours. Even so, the chance to stare moonily out of the window as you’re whisked across the country is always welcome, until you realise it’s winter and there’s nothing but darkness outside so you end up glaring at a greasy reflection of your own face like you’re in an 80s power ballad video. Paul was effortless in his good company though, keeping me entertained by putting his earbuds in the moment we sat down and spending the rest of the journey rubbing my leg with his muddy trainers so I look like I’d shat myself by the time we arrived. I will say though, the onboard catering was lovely. I had braised ox cheeks (story of my life) and a chocolate pudding, and they thoughtfully accompanied this with white wine that they’d put in the microwave alongside the beef to make sure it was scalding hot.

Paul didn’t order any of the free food because he’s healthy and virtuous and one MLM quote away from being a Hun, which naturally made me furious. In fact he couldn’t quite make out what I was saying over his earbuds but we agreed I’d definitely called him a Hun.

We stayed at the Premier Inn Kings Cross Hub Zip or whatever it’s called and no complaints there – I’ve put my head down in this hotel a few times over the years and always been satisfied – although there was a baffling moment where the barman told me they didn’t do cocktails and never had. I pointed out the cocktail menu I was holding in my hand and asked whether he thought I’d brought it from home but this bit of levity didn’t land. Weary that if I pressed the issue his brain might have melted and leaked from his ears in a thick soup, I switched us to cider and left it at that.

The event then: we had our own kitchen in a mock house setup in the middle of Westfield Shopping Centre and had planned to cook several rounds of ‘picky’ food that people could try as they walked around, including the sausages you see below. We were to talk about what we were doing and I’d prepared a load of jokes etc but in the end, it was far more conversational and sedate than I had built up in my head. Not going to lie: that was a relief, as it meant we were far more relaxed and ended up having a really, really good time. Thanks to those who came and said hello!

One thing I’ve learned is that I have a nervous tic – as soon as my mic was wired up, my nose thought that was the best time to give up any structural integrity and start everything slooshing out. You have no idea how hard it is to surreptitiously sniff when you’re broadcasting across a shopping centre floor, you truly don’t. It’s why in the video you’ll see me constantly twitching my nose as though I’m Claire from Steps without the talent and range.

Anyway. You can watch us by clicking on the link below – sorry for the audio quality at the start, but that’s just my accent.

Instant Pot UK (@instantpotuk) • Instagram photos and videos

We spent the rest of the weekend wandering around London (according to my watch, and the fact my feet look like corned beef, we walked over 30km yesterday alone) and agreeing that the fake-Sloaney accent is a terrible thing. Fronds are for flowers, not for socialising. Highlights, kept brief, include Paul telling me off for accidentally wrecking someone’s date (and then sweetly putting it right) in one of the gay pubs, going to the Tate Modern before realising we aren’t ones for art galleries and nevermoreso then when they’re awash with people trying to outsmug each other, and me treating myself to an oyster. Of course, I was reminded immediately why I have only tried them once: they’re utterly revolting. But would it be a twochubbycubs trip away if I wasn’t swallowing a mouthful of something salty? No.

On the way back to the station I did my usual thing of falling in love with wherever I’ve just been and told Paul that I think we ought to move to London to have adventures. He pointed out that a) we have a dog now and b) I’d be dead within two months maximum from ‘misadventure’ and we agreed we were probably best staying where we are. He’s a poor sport.

But, a brilliant one. To go back to my original point right at the start, he was absolutely petrified about getting up to speak in front of people and doubly so cooking in front of them. I swallowed my own worries to concentrate on geeing him up on the taxi over but didn’t really need to: as soon as we were live, he was just amazing. Forgive me a small indulgence here but I’ve seen him flourish in the last year since losing weight: his confidence is high and he faces every challenge head-on. Having been witness to him retreating into a shell of fat and overeating in 2020, it’s beautiful to see. To that end, he’s done a series of blog posts which are coming soon which explains his whole ‘battle’ and I can tell you know, they’re brilliant. I really feel like I have my fun husband back, and I absolutely love it.

Even if the stupid arse doesn’t take advantage of the free food when we’re out and about. But fret not, we can iron out those wrinkles. With an iron.

The sticky picky sausages, then.

sticky picky sausages

Sticky picky sausages – 290 calories for ten, which is nothing really

sticky picky sausages

Goomba with his eyes on the prize: though he looks fuming, he’s just about the sticky picky sausages life

Print

sticky picky sausages

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 40 sausages

These sticky picky sausages can be done in the oven just as easily as an Airfryer, so don't get your knickers in a twist if you're without one of those. The marinade is really easy but you can adjust to add spice, take it out, make it sweeter, whatever you like. And although we've used sesame seeds, feel free to drop them to save a few calories.

These are perfect to make a big batch of if you've got people over and need picky food. Of course, if you do have people over, make sure that you tell everyone you had no idea it was actually a party and it was all a terrible surprise. It's not so relevant now mixing is legal again, but you know, err on the side of caution. Just because our auricomous, shambling Pinocchio of a Prime Minister can seemingly do what he pleases with absolutely no worry of punishment, doesn't mean you can.

Calorie counts are approximate, as ever. 290 calories for ten.

Ingredients

  • forty precooked cocktail sausages - the ones that look like tiny uncircumcised willies
  • two teaspoons of honey
  • one tablespoon of chilli oil
  • one tablespoon of soy sauce
  • one tablespoon of chilli sauce
  • chilli flakes and sesame seeds

I've mentioned before the crispy chilli in oil that we absolutely adore - we used it here instead of the chilli oil but I haven't included it in the recipe because it can be quite hard to find. However, if you're ready for one of the tastiest foods I've ever had, you can order it here

Instructions

  • tumble all the sausages around in the marinade (leaving the chilli flakes and sesame seeds til the end)
  • airfry until sticky
  • or roast them in the oven
  • scatter the sesame seeds / chilli flakes on top
  • I feel a bit cheeky sticking the recipe on, such as it is, but you wanted it

Notes

Recipe

  • not a fan of spice - swap the chilli oil for sesame oil and the chilli sauce for a wholegrain mustard

Books

  • what's got 100 recipes and lots of knob-jokes? Our second cookbook: order yours here! 
  • what's got 100 more recipes and a not so exciting front page? Our first cookbook: click here to order
  • what's good for standing on when you need something from high up in the cupboard? Our planner: here

Tools

Disclosure: the links above are affiliate links. This means that, at zero cost to you, we will earn an affiliate commission if you click through the link and make a purchase. Which is handy, as we accidentally ordered a pint in London and that's us on our second mortgage.

Courses snacks, picky food

Cuisine twochubbycubs

Want something else to pick at? Try our jerk pork and pineapple skewers! Click the picture, complete with our cheesy live laugh love style slogan on the bottom, to go to the recipe.

pork and pineapple skewers

I’m off. Take care.

Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain.

J

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

January 21, 2022

Posted under

fakeaways, lunch, recipe card, sausages

recipe: bummus with sausage

Bummus with sausage: I mean, honestly. You’re going to have to hear us out on this one: we bloody love houmous here at Chubby Towers Reborn and in the absence of the inclination to go to the shops and buy some, bummus was born. It’s a houmous made with baked beans which, depending on how strong your stomach is, will either delight or disgust you. It’s me taking my shirt off but in spread form, which, to be fair, if I’m taking my shirt off I’m usually in my spread form anyway. There’s logic here though: a houmous is usually made from chickpeas and what are haricot beans if not the gym-jacked sister of the chickpea? We aren’t pretending for a moment that this is a recipe for purists so please don’t shout at us, but listen, if you’re in a pinch for ingredients and you want something tasty, the bummus with sausage is for you. Recipe below.

Of course, you may be thinking that this is twochubbycubs, and we’re known for our smut and crappy puns, so of course we just came up with ‘bummus’ and worked backwards. First of all, how dare you, and second, of course we did. But it works and it’s so very us!

But it did make me remember a message we got over six years ago via the twochubbycubs page from a self-righteous woman in Cambridge (hi Cath!) who took it upon herself to message Paul to tell him she was shocked he had gone to Cambridge University because he was so uncouth and vulgar with his mannerisms and that we would never amount to anything if we carried on in the same vein. You see, her son had gone to Cambridge and he was ever such a good boy, whereas Paul, with his mouth like a sewer and his clothes fished from a river, was clearly degenerate. I pointed out on that blog entry that being a Cambridge student is no barometer to good behaviour and that I had once been asked by a lad who went to Cambridge to pee in his bum, so you know, whatever. I stand by that.

There’s been a few times over the years when we’ve wondered whether we should change the tone of the blog to make it a bit more ‘acceptable’ and it’s a fair thought: we would probably sell a few more books if Pascal and Canesten could sit little Hedgefund and Waitrose No.1 down after family lacrosse and hoot and chortle their way through our pages. But, meh: we’re nine years into this schtick by this point and I don’t think I have it in me to cook a recipe with aubergine and not squeeze eighty-seven dick jokes into it.

It is crazy though when we think back to six years ago and where we were. We had no idea then that this would ever spin out to become such a big thing and even now, it still feels utterly surreal to be writing about having bestselling cookbooks in the Sunday Times and hundreds of thousands of you sitting with one of our books in your kitchen. We’ve seen The Slimming Foodie and Slimming Eats go through the same experience and it is exhilarating to watch good people make a dream come true. Forgive us the treacle but it’s true. It’s been pointed out to me a couple of times that whenever I talk about twochubbycubs and its achievements that I always downplay everything and that is purely because it still feels alien to me. But that’ll pass, and we remain bloody proud of our achievements! And on that note, and I know we’ve been teasing something for aaaages, we have a big announcement coming very soon on the cookbook front. WHAT COULD IT B3? Swish!

Anyway, going back to the original point: Cath and her self-righteous little message to Paul telling him he would never amount to anything. We do hope she’s still reading at this point. I mean, they always are: they’ll say they’re never reading the page again and then you’ll spot them in the active members list waiting for someone to slap them on the back and tell them how right they are so they can feel ever so clever. We’ve waited almost six years to do this, but we wanted to reply properly to you directly so you really felt like your message was acknowledged…


Love you Cath!

Let’s get down to the bummus with sausage then, because it honestly won’t keep for a moment more.

bummus with sausage

It does look a bit goatsee, this bummus with sausage, but it’s tasty AF

We used vegetarian sausages for this bummus with sausage but if you want meat, go for it

Chilli sauce is just the thing to top this bummus with sausage, but feel free to leave it off

Print

bummus with sausage

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 4 bagels

Bummus with sausage: might as well send this directly to Slimming Hurled right now because we are aware it looks totally gopping but you know what, it tastes bloody good and that's the end of it. We have included the bagel and sausages in the calorie count too so for 375 calories, you're getting a full meal! 

Of course, the calorie counting is done via the NHS calorie check and Nutracheck and is meant as an approximate guide. Your experience may very depending on the sausages, beans and bagel you choose.

Ingredients

  • one tin of baked beans, any you like but we use Branston because they're the best and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise
  • a teaspoon of chipotle paste
  • four vegetarian sausages (or use meat if you want)
  • four bagels

Instructions

  • toast your bagels and fry off your sausages
  • tip half of the beans into your blender
  • tip the other half into a sieve and wash the sauce off
  • add those in with the others and the chipotle and blend until smoothish
  • assemble your bagel

Notes

Recipe

  • you can mix this up by adding other bits and pieces - garlic and ginger would go well, or even keeping it plain
  • chilli isn't a bad shout either

Books

  • there's over 100 attractively photographed recipes in book two - you must try it: order yours here! 
  • book one has a recipe for four different houmouses and they're great: click here to order
  • we've got a planner too: here

Tools

Disclosure: the links above are affiliate links. This means that, at zero cost to you, we will earn an affiliate commission if you click through the link and make a purchase. Which is handy, as Goomba smokes only the finest cigars.

Courses breakfast

Cuisine breakfast I say

If you do try this, show us!

You know, I’m something of a food scientist myself!

J

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

January 12, 2022

Posted under

beef mince, fakeaways, lunch, recipe card

recipe: smoky beef wraps

The first thing we need to get out of the way with these smoky beef wraps is whether or not it should be smoky or smokey. To me and my permanently-befuddled mind they both look correct – and listen, I pulled my own smoky beef wrap out of a house fire in the form of Paul once (citation needed) so I have experience but the Internet assures me that smoky is the correct form. Unless someone fancies getting Susie Dent on the blower, we’ll continue with smoky and if I am wrong, well, write me a letter. Christ though, if this was a smoky bologna lasagna recipe I’d probably need to get taken away on a stretcher breathing into a paper bag.

Before we get to the recipe there’s the small matter of my usual chatter. I thought I’d give you an update on Goomba, the dog who clearly I don’t love very much because I always forget to update his Instagram. He’s never going to get that Huel x Spaniel collab at this rate, but really, in my defence, setting up an Instagram for a dog was nothing more than a folly on my side. I can barely bring myself to update this blog more than twice a year, documenting every moment of his life was certainly never going to happen. Anyway, he’s past the cute puppy stage so we’ll be trading him in for cigarettes and scratchcards soon enough.

Now before you do actually send us a letter, that’s very much a joke. Six months on and I, for all my puff and bluster, simply could not imagine him not being around. I deferred on getting a dog for many, many years – partly on the grounds of making sure we were financially able to support him, but also, it’s such a big responsibility. I’m someone who doesn’t wear his wedding ring just in case I get a scorch mark pulling it off my finger too quickly if I ever get a better offer. Taking on a dog is a true commitment. Our cats aren’t as tying (though no less loved), given they only seem to come to us when they want feeding or to scratch our faces open for having the temerity to buy the cheap cat-food. Both of our cats are outdoor cats and it isn’t uncommon not to see them for a day or two whilst they go off on their own adventures. It wouldn’t sting quite as much if only Sola didn’t flick the gas on as she exited out the cat-flap.

But, and it almost goes without saying but this is me so I’ll spin it out for 500 words more, I’m beyond glad we took the plunge. We have in Goomba what I consider to be my dream dog (after Beethoven, Hooch from Turner and Hooch and Chance from Homeward Bound) (never Shadow though, always thought he was a sanctimonious old fart) – he’s perfectly trained, always enthusiastic and for the most part, keeps his dog-farts to what I would consider a reasonable level. On the subject of fog-slicers we have learned one key thing since taking the dog on: they absolutely mystify him. If either Paul or myself let a knicker-rattler go in his presence he will sit bolt upright, turn his head in that inquisitive manner Springers are known for and then frown until he believes the danger has passed. Equally, if he’s fast asleep and he accidentally clouds the issue, he will wake with a start and stare at his arsehole in absolute terror, as though he can’t quite believe what has happened. It is genuinely hilarious and luckily, given he lives in a house so full of farts we dare not light a match lest we blow the roof off, he’s always amused.

There’s also the small matter of leaving a room and him treating your return like he hasn’t seen you in months. It does wonders for your confidence that every time you go for a crap and come back he bounds around with his tongue lolling around as though he can’t quite believe you managed such an expedition on your own. His response to Paul returning from work is incredible to see – he hears the tinny whirr of the Smart car at the end of the street and goes to the window to await the sight of Paul clattering over the lawn with the shopping. Then he’s off out the back door like his arse is on fire to greet him at the gate. A day isn’t complete until he’s jumped up and torn a new hole in whatever Sports Direct special coat Paul is wearing that day. Thankfully he has cut back on the weeing when jumping up which is a relief to me, although Goomba did register his delight at going for a drive with Paul the other day by climbing over and taking a long, luxurious sit-down piss all over Paul’s lap. I like to think Goomba is with me in thinking Paul’s aftershave (Cerutti 1881, applied in the same fashion a clown throws a bucket of confetti) is an abomination, but I can’t rule out classic puppy exuberance.

And finally, we have managed to get him past his phobia of water, which is a relief because it was rather embarrassing having him out-camp us by mincing around any puddle like an especially fey horse. We take him to the beach most weekends so he can run around and fill his ears with enough sand to recreate the beach experience at home and Paul absent-mindedly skimmed a stone into the sea. Goomba, previously so water-phobic that I found a leaflet for pet catheterisation in his crate, went steaming in to collect it only to run straight into a not insignificant wave. He promptly disappeared but in the time it took me to loudly scream (I had to, I didn’t have my glasses on to do my traditional Madge from Neighbours ‘HARRRRRROLLLLD‘ joke) he reappeared and swam back. I mean I make it sound like he crossed the Channel, it must have only been about ten metres, but the sheer panic coursing through me in those seconds made me realise how much I did love him so. Put it this way, had the situation escalated, I would have had no compunction about sailing out to rescue him on a face-down Paul. It’s OK, Paul’s naturally buoyant on account of all the hot air. Anyway, once I’d been bought a calm-yerself-down-you-hysterical-slag ice-cream and another for travelling, all was well, and Goomba couldn’t stay out of the water.

You might be thinking, James, surely if the dog is wet it’ll make your fabulous car smell of wet dog? Well now, don’t be silly: we take two cars because there’s no chance he’s going to make my car smell and pittle on the passenger seat. Plus, there’s Goomba to consider too.

Right, from dripping dog to smoky beef – an effortless segue I’m sure you’ll agree. Let’s do these smoky beef wraps without a moment more of paws. PAWS! Do you get it? Because PAUSE as in delay but also PAWS because Goomba is a dog and has paws! That’s it, get the Sunday Times back on the phone, there’s another bestseller incoming!

smoky beef wraps

If you’re wondering, you don’t need to wrap your smoky beef wraps in those blankets they give people who have just finished a marathon, but it helps

smoky beef wraps

This isn’t the first time I’ve had smoky beef wraps this close to my face, either

Print

smoky beef wraps

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 4 wraps

If you struggle making wraps, please do take a look on Youtube. I'm as cack-handed as they come but once you know the technique, it's a doddle. As with all of our recipes, you can leave bits out of this or add in - the pineapple isn't necessary, but it does add a lovely contrast of flavours. Unless you're like me and slightly allergic.

As usual, we have worked out the calories via the NHS calorie check and your result may be different - different wraps and mince etc will result in a changed amount. Do make sure to work it out yourself or treat it as a rough guide.

Ingredients

  • 400g of lean beef mince
  • four whatever wraps you use
  • two tablespoons of soy sauce
  • one red onion, half finely chopped, other half sliced into thin moons
  • one little gem lettuce
  • 1 tsp of smoked paprika
  • 1 tsp of chilli flakes
  • 500g of sweet potato fries (we use McCain's Signature ones because we're so fancy it hurts)
  • 1/2 tsp of cayenne pepper
  • four tablespoons of red wine vinegar
  • chill sauce for a drizzle inside if you want

Instructions

  • pop your sweet potato fries into the oven and cook until crispy
  • pop the finely sliced onion into the vinegar - it'll take the tang away
  • pop off Sis
  • gently fry off the chopped onion and once softened, add the mince and cook until brown all the way through
  • whilst that's doing that, finely chop your lettuce and pineapple and keep aside
  • once the meat is browned, add the soy sauce, paprika, chilli flakes and pepper, give it a good mix and cook for a minute or two more until a bit sticky
  • once everything is ready, assemble - you want a pile of sweet potatoes, mince, chopped lettuce and pineapple drizzled with some chilli sauce
  • wrap up, eat them, enjoy

Notes

Recipe

  • although we have used sweet potato fries (plain) in the recipe, eagle-eyed folks will spot that we have used our spicy, salty sweet potato fries in the photo - the next recipe reacharound will redo these, but for now, you can find the recipe for those here

Books

  • our Fast & Filling cookbook has delicious recipes coming out of its bum in all honesty, and the reviews are second to none: order yours here! 
  • but we mustn't forget about book one - the book that started it all and every page a delight: click here to order
  • our planner must also be considered, if you're looking for some extra recipes and somewhere to log your successes: here

Disclosure: the links above are affiliate links. This means that, at zero cost to you, we will earn an affiliate commission if you click through the link and make a purchase. Which is handy, as we could always use an extension on Chubby Towers.

Courses wraps

Cuisine spicy, smoky

That’s a wrap! But also, speaking of wraps, may I suggest our chicken tikka wraps for a lovely alternative? Well I’m gonna, you’re not the boss of me. Take a look here.

OUT, am I‽

J

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

April 4, 2021

Posted under

fakeaways, seafood

recipe: the filet-o-fish but done so well

Fauxlet-o-fish though, am I right? Hello? Because it’s not actually the McDonalds filet-o-fish (and surely fillet, no?) because that would be trademark infringement and the last thing I want is an angry clown turning up in a tiny car to shout at me for indiscretions. Because yes, you guessed it, I’ve already got that in the form of my husband. I’ll be here all night, try the veal!

Though, Christ, don’t, because I don’t want snippy letters telling me off for promoting veal. Learned that lesson when I posted a recipe for rabbit and had to hurtle to my car under a coat every time I left the house in case someone threw a can of red emulsion at me. I mean it wouldn’t have been the worst thing, I never need an excuse to buy another fur coat, but you try getting splashes of Dulux Garnet out of block paving. It’s a nightmare.

James Anderson would like to make it clear that he supports neither the fur or the veal industry and asks that you respect his privacy and wishes at this difficult time.

You ok though, aside from my shite opening prattle giving you pause? I do hope so. It’s a glorious day today: Easter weekend which means we’re all fat from too many Easter eggs and we can’t go to the big Tesco to get Gaviscon because Jesus came back. The sun is shining which means Sola can sit on the window-sill and lick her nethers in full view of the neighbours, which I hope is an extension of my own passive-aggressive behaviour towards most of them. Don’t blame her: I’d do it if I could, but I reckon she’d scratch me if I tried.

James Anderson would further like to apologise for the above joke and acknowledges that he still has a long way to go when it comes to decent behaviour and polite discourse.

I’m fairly convinced she’s trying to commit suicide anyway. Paul, in a fit of whimsy and style that betrays the fact he grew up spending half of his waking days hiding behind the sofa from variously the local Provi agent, the rougher of his circus-worker family or indeed, his mother’s attempts at cooking, went onto eBay and bought us a salt pig. You have to understand that this is a big thing for him: Paul’s entire contribution to us rebuilding Chubby Towers has been to tut at me for buying nice things and to gasp like a drowning man when another parcel turns up. But he’s the cook (not a typo, but really it is) in our relationship and whores must have their trinkets so on he goes.

I see no need for it. It’s pretty enough, but what benefit does it serve other than to clutter up the kitchen? However, I married him so I’m stuck for now. Sola loves it though – the last few mornings I’ve wandered into the kitchen to find sea salt flakes all over the counter and her looking sheepish in the corner. Takes after her dad. And what can I do? I can’t put it away up high because Paul’s already standing on an upturned shoebox to reach the cooker. I’m just thankful she has a fresh water fountain to hand, though let’s not pretend this isn’t her next cruel trick to try and bankrupt me at the vets. More fool her: I’ll put her down. That’s right, put her down on the floor because a cat mustn’t be on the worktops.

James Anderson would like to stress that he has no intention of having his cat put to sleep and indeed, would like to remind readers that he rescued her from a car-park in Blyth. She’s already known what it is to suffer and he shan’t be adding to it.

I do enjoy Easter though, even if Paul has forsaken me by not buying me an Easter egg this year. For a man who can’t go to the bottom of the garden without returning, full Augustus Gloop style, with a slab of chocolate you could club a seal with, he’s let me down. Normally we give each other a Hotel Chocolat Ostrich Egg because we’re decadent bitches and giving each other expensive fripperies is the only joy we have in life, but not this year. I haven’t had so much as a Creme egg. Which makes sense because they’re utterly vile now that Cadbury have replaced the chocolate with ‘chocolate cocoa mix’ and it tastes as far away from chocolate as I do from skinny. He’s got until the end of the day to redeem himself otherwise he’ll get a cold shoulder to go with his lamb one.

One thing I miss about not being able to work in the office with colleagues is my easter egg hunt that I’ve done a few times. Way back when I hid a few caramel eggs around colleagues desks and it really brought us together. Next year I was given a budget to hide 200 eggs around the open plan office and I had the very best time sneaking in at 4am and secreting eggs wherever I could (not Sticky Vicky style, mind, back then I was well-behaved and would have struggled getting so much as a Mini-Egg past my knockhole). Naturally I didn’t keep track of how many I’d hidden but everyone seemed to find one and it was all very jolly. A few turned up after a couple of weeks and my own personal favourite came when one of our real estate lawyers went to a client meeting six months later, opened one of those giant tubes they keep building plans in and had three Creme Eggs tumble out across the boardroom desk. Alan Sugar would have been proud. Well no, he would have called them a blaaahdy liability from the comfort of his built-up chair, but still.

Anyway, enough dawdling. Let us turn to the recipe for the filet-o-fish. I actually only had a filet-o-fish from McDonalds for the first time a few weeks ago. I’ve always avoided them as I’m not a fan of fish, but thought I’d give it a whirl in the spirit of trying new things and, if I’m honest, sheer spite at Paul because he wanted a burger but kept fiddling with the settings in my new car and so didn’t deserve one. They’re really good! I mean, they’re not a taste explosion by any means, but given they’re usually freshly cooked when you order them, they’re tasty enough. The delay in trying a filet-o-fish should be of no surprise to regular readers anyway: I’ve mentioned before that I didn’t have McDonalds until I was 15. I actually lost my bumginity before my McDonalds one. Both featured a Grimace and a ballpit, but I won’t tell you which I preferred.

A note on the photos by the way: we’re moving towards showing the calories per recipe going forward. We will still work out the syns in the recipe, but we’re a bit more about calories these days in line with our books. I know! A mourning nation weeps and wails…

The filet-o-fish – it’s so much better than the McDonalds one. Really is!

We like a brioche bun for the filet-o-fish, but you can swap it out for sadness if you prefer.

Look at that man. You’d smash that filet-o-fish all over, wouldn’t you? Hussy!

Print

filet-o-fish - but Slimming World friendly, thank you very much

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 2 servings

Let's do the filet-o-fish then. The McDonalds original uses a white bun, pollock fish shaped into a square, a slice of cheese from 1977 and some tartare sauce. We've kept close to the original, but forgive us for using a brioche bun: we just don't have time for using whatever postage sized stamp breadbun SW are allowing this week. If you want to lower the syns, use a different breadbun. 

The filet-o-fish from McDonalds comes in at 14.5 syns and let's be honest, you can normally shave with them they're that dry. This, even with the fancy bun and shop-bought (and slightly tinkered with) tartare sauce, is exactly the same syns. Knock 8 syns off if you use a normal breadbun. Heathen.

 

Ingredients

  • two egg
  • 1 tbsp flour
  • 4 white fish fillets (we used cod)
  • 4 brioche buns (around 8 syns each, if you use the ASDA ones, but swap out for your HEB if you want)
  • a thick slice of cheese from your HEA allowance
  • 100g panko (25g each - 4.5 syns)
  • 4 tbsp tartare sauce (2 syns each)

Instructions

  • preheat the oven to 180°c and line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper
  • vigorously whisk together the egg and flour in a bowl and set aside
  • sprinkle the panko out onto a plate or shallow dish
  • carefully dredge the fish through the batter and let any excess run off
  • gently push each of the fish fillets into the panko and sprinkle any over the top, until well covered, then place on the baking tray
  • bake in the oven for 12 minutes, then place one (half) slice onto the top of each, and bake for another 3 minutes
  • slice the buns and spread with tartare sauce, and add the fish

Notes

Recipe

  • as discussed, swap out the breadbun for a healthier one if your life is devoid of joy
  • you can make your own tartare sauce but it's an absolute clit-on, and syn wise, to get a decent sauce you'll actually end up using more
  • we've styled this on the McDonalds Filet-o-Fish that uses half a slice of cheese per burger, but if you want the whole slice then treat yourself
  • to make this ever so slightly healthier you can omit the flour from the batter, but it really does give a better result and is only a quarter of a tbsp each, so we say keep it in

Books

  • we couldn't be prouder of our second book: it's technicolour, the recipes are banging and the reviews are amazing: order yours here! 
  • if you're struggling for funds, the first book is a bit cheaper and still utterly glorious: click here to order
  • we've also got a planner: here

Tools

  • you don't need anything fancy for this recipe, so what to put here
  • how about the blooper you see in the background: order that right here
  • like our colourful Le Creuset plates - of course you do, we're style icons up there with Les Dennis and Janice Battersby - you can order those right here too - though, they're out of stock at the time of writing

Courses fish

Cuisine fish like I said

Nutrition Facts

Amount Per Serving

Calories 525

% Daily Value

* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2,000 calorie diet. Your daily values may be higher or lower depending on your calorie needs.

You want more fish recipes? Yeah well listen lady, this is neither the time nor the plaice. But here’s a classic lunch idea. Just click it and be transported back to a time when Paul and I could go on holidays without wondering if he would cough his lung out.

filet-o-fish

Ignore old Aunt Rhody hidden in the picture there. We don’t talk about her anymore.

Love you all, you know.

J

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

April 21, 2019

Posted under

barbecue, budget, fakeaways, greek, kebab shop, lamb, lamb mince, low syn, recipe card

lamb and mint burgers, plus time for DILF!

You have come for the lamb and mint burgers – I nearly did too. But in order to get to the lamb and mint burgers, you’ll either need to scroll through a tale of DILFery OR jump straight to the picture of two men nearly kissing. Either way, I’m going to make you work for it.

They say never meet your heroes, and nor should you reuse your opening joke from a similar blog entry two posts ago, but sometimes you have to take a risk that the man you’re meeting off the Internet isn’t going to brutally attack, sodomise and chop you into bits. Much to my chagrin: I could do with the easy weight loss a leg amputation would bring. Following hot on the heels of my recent jaunt to meet Paul II, the chap behind our roast potatoes recipe, we rolled the dice again and agreed to meet another mate for the first time. His name is Andy, and if you’re a member of our Facebook group, you’ll have seen his arse more times than you’ll have seen our recipes. He was up to see Suede and had decided to make a weekend of it and thus, plans were afoot. We were going to meet Saturday Night, but then I realised Sunday was far more appropriate.

We had arranged to meet in Newcastle’s cigar lounge for a few drinks and a catch-up, but then Paul came along (as did Andy’s wife) and thus we had to find a new venue to accommodate everyone. I shan’t call it cockblocking, even though that’s clearly what it is. We settled on Newcastle’s premier ‘why yes, I am vegan’ hotspot (although technically it’s Gateshead) ‘By the River’, which is a charming collection of shipping containers full of pop-up boutique eateries and fancy places to drink. It’s wank, aye, but good wank: the type of wank which doesn’t take forever and rewards you by just leaving your pubes looking like an iced-bun. By The River, if you want to use that in your advertising, my fees are entirely reasonable. Gateshead has a rough reputation – some of which is deserved (there’s more than a few places where if you’ve got a full set of teeth in your head you’ll be beating the street’s total) and some of which isn’t, but By The River at least feels safe.

We were late but they were later still and on entirely the wrong side of the river so, whilst they minced over the swing bridge resplendent in their winter wear (She’s In Fashion), I went in and ordered a couple of beers.

“We only serve our beers in 2/3rds, no pints” said the charming lady behind the bar, and who then stuck her hand out for £11 – for not even two pints. When I asked whether I was renting the pub for the evening and whether I only needed to pay 2/3rds of the bill, she gave me a look that turned my beer flat and jostled her hand at me again. I love to make friends. I took my sunkissed tangerine press beer and Paul’s grapefruit and hops liquor nonsense (surprised it didn’t come with a tampon floater) outside just in time to meet Andy, Sarah and their children. A baby (she’s a roight good babby she am!) and a young lad. I’ll say this now – what an absolute treasure their children are. Absolutely Beautiful Ones. You have to understand that I’m coming at this as someone who dislikes children immensely and would think nothing of dropkicking the little buggers into the Tyne if they so much as slightly inconvenience me in any way. It’s testament to Sarah and Andy’s excellent parenting that the lad, So Young, was able to sit and be cheerful through ten hours of our nonsense, and was content to nurse his Jaegerbomb and twenty deck of Lamberts whilst the adults chatted.

We sat by the river for about half an hour chatting like old friends before we realised that the baby’s lips had turned blue and she had icicles hanging off her nappy and thought it would be wise to head indoors but, met with a sea of shaped beards, brittle wrists and occupied seats, we were forced to decamp to the Wetherspoons over the bridge. I’m not a fan of Wetherspoons for political reasons and because the owner looks like Professor Weetos mid-CBT, but nevertheless, it’s cheap and cheerful and at least the baby would have a chance to thaw. Finding a table for six proved difficult, not least because Captain Potato Paint was sat at a table for six and refused to move. He wasn’t sat with anyone and yet refused to swap over, taking a fair bit of joy in watching us crowd around a tiny table. Prick. With any luck, he’ll have pitched himself into the Tyne on his way home.

Eventually a table came clear and, with a final shitty look at the melt who wouldn’t move, we took our seats and started drinking. Here’s a cute thing: we posted our table number into our facebook group and mentioned if people wanted to send us a drink or two, they could. They sent a bloody table’s worth of booze – gins, whisky, pints, shots, pitchers of lurid cocktails and, of course, some smoothies and a lemonade for the little one (Paul). That was amazing, and if you sent us a drink, thank you – but it gets even better. People, knowing what fatties we were, sent food. So much food. We had 12 trays of halloumi fries, seven bowls of mushy peas, a token salad and so many biscuits. Whilst We Are The Pigs and Can’t Get Enough, even we can’t manage that much. At one point both the ‘Chef’ and the bar manager came over to ask whether we actually wanted the drinks and food that people had sent and tried to guilt-trip us because we’d caused a run on the bar. Fancy, a pub having to serve drinks and food! They both had a right strop on – presumably the Chef’s microwave had reached critical mass and was threatening to become the next Chernobyl, but even so – people paid for the food, you give it to them! I blame BREXIT.

A good few hours passed in delightful company and let me tell you, conversation never felt strained, save for when we were trying to work out the nuances of Sarah’s Sam Allardyce accent. The baby was getting restless at around 10pm (I’ve never seen a baby call for her own Uber before) and the decision was made to return back to their Premier Inn with us two in tow. What followed was a smashing game of car Tetris which saw the delightful Ahmed (5*) trying to fit a baby, pram, two fat blokes, a small child and his Switch, one rugby-build bloke and one wife with a better beard than all of us into a Vauxhall Zafira. To his credit, once we’d strapped Sarah onto the roof like the granny from The Beverley Hillbillies, popped the baby in the glove box with a rusk and I’d persuaded Andy to sit on my face and wriggle, we were away.

The Premier Inn was a wonderful establishment with kind staff, a bottomless bar (well until I turned up) and cheery receptionists who were just so eager to please. The rest of the evening was spent messing about, talking Trash and laughing until about half one, when we definitely chose of our own volition to leave the bar. We were waved off warmly by the staff and even had a long conversation outside with the kind, good-natured receptionist and just charming security chap. Paul and I jumped in an Uber home and although the driver seemed not to mind detouring into Gosforth Racecourse so we could all go for a piss, he hid his disgust well behind a cloud of our piss-steam. A good night indeed!

Tell you what though, what a pleasure it was meeting such a lovely group of people. I’m not one for overwrought writing but sometimes you just know when you’ve made good friends – so well done Sarah and Andy, you’ve melted our hearts. They’ve made the catastrophic error of inviting us to their wedding later in the year – sounds like a gas save for the fact I love being the centre of attention and if Sarah thinks I’m not turning up in a size 36 white wedding dress with mascara smeared on my face and Astroglide smeared up my arse then she’s got another thing coming. Probably Andy, to be fair. Up my bum, hopefully. We haven’t been to a wedding since the last time when we got drunk and I tried to fuck to the strains of Gina G. How am I gonna beat that?

And finally, before the recipe, a moment of congratulations for me, if you don’t mind. I’ve managed to type 1400 words or so and never really made clear what an absolute fucking DILF this man is:

There’s just something about his looks that appeals to me, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. We’ll Stay Together again!

Right, speaking of tasty meat, shall we do this lamb and mint burgers recipe? Let’s get your dripping from your mouth instead of your blurter.

lamb and mint burgers



lamb and mint burgers

Print

lamb and mint burgers

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 4 burgers

This recipe really is just so easy - just two ingredients, so any old simpleton can do it. Whack in a bun with whatever the hell you like and you've got yourself a top BBQ favourite!

If you don't fancy lamb, swap it out for a pork and apple burger!

Ingredients

  • 500g 10% fat lamb mince (5 syns)
  • 1 tbsp mint sauce (1 syn)

Instructions

  • in a bowl mix together the lamb mince and the mint sauce
  • divide into four, roll into balls and squash into burger shapes
  • cook on the barbecue (or hot pan, or under the grill) until done - they'll only need about 5 minutes each side
  • eat!

We served ours in a HEB bun with some natural yoghurt and a tiny bit of mint sauce added, with lettuce and onion. But you don't need to follow us slavishly, you know.

Notes

  • You can get 10% fat lamb mince from Tesco, or any decent butcher. You can use the normal stuff too if you like, just remember to syn it
  • Your burgers don't need to be neat and tidy, all we do is roll into a ball and smash down and they come out perfectly everytime, but if you're anal/fancy/trying to pull you could do with one of these burger presses
  • Don't worry if the mix feels sloppy, it'll firm up a bit as you keep mixing
  • Don't be tempted either to crack an egg into it or add breadcrumbs like many recipes tell you to do - it just isn't necessary at all!
  • We cooked ours on the barbecue but these will do just as well under a hot grill or in a hot frying pan, just make sure the internal temperature is above 72°c if you don't want the shits 
  • Stick whatever you like in your burger - we had a wholemeal bun (HeA), lettuce, onion and a bit of yoghurt and mint sauce
  • After a decent barbecue recommendation? Of course! This is what we have and it's cracking

 

Having a barbie? We’ve got tons of proper good recipes to tickle that fancy of yours (ooer)! Just click any of the links below!

Ta la!

J

Standard

Posted by

Posted on

September 19, 2018

Posted under

indian, vegetarian

syn free halloumi and vegetable biryani

Halloumi and vegetable biryani! If that doesn’t moisten your gusset, then you’re dead inside!

Now I’m not sure if this could be classed as a biryani, or even if I’m typing that right, so don’t shoot me – shoot Amelia, who provided this gorgeous recipe via our competition! Over to Amelia. Which, by the way, is possibly my favourite girl’s name ever. If she ends up jumping off a building in 1920’s New York I’ll be fizzing.

Our competition continues and today we have a guest writer and a guest recipe! Golden tickets for both, please. Before we get to the recipe, today’s story comes from Samantha. I’ll hand you over…whoosh…

My name is Sam and I am 46 years old. When I grew up I wanted to be a fighter pilot. Instead I became a teacher. Now I care for my dad with dementia. Most people see dementia as just forgetting things. It’s not – it’s heartbreaking and hilarious, sadly not in equal measure. For example, not many folk know that people with dementia can have no filter. None. So anyone who is different, be they too fat, too different, or have too many tattoos is a beacon of interest to people like my dad will comment – loudly!

I have nearly been smacked in the mouth in Maccies too many times to mention. He will also talk to his burger in a loving way. This also gathers people’s attention. Now, they might also have no inhibitions (the person with dementia, not the burger I hasten to add). Now we’re all smut loving filth mongers in the Cubs’ circle. But imagine it’s a kindly looking septuagenarian who’s being smutty, loudly…and probably in Maccies. Not as much fun then.

So, if ever you’re in Maccies (other fast food restaurants are available) and you see a tired looking 40 something trying to wrangle a seemingly lovely old man away from potential triggers, it’s probably me. Or any one of the millions like me who have had to learn the true face of dementia. Cut us a bit of slack. They don’t mean to be rude so when we apologise in a hushed aside. Just know, they can’t help it.

To lighten the mood, here’s an example of the more amusing side of dealing with dementia.

I took him to get his shopping – standard. On the way he suddenly started craning around in the seat to see something that we had passed. I didn’t pay much attention – usually it’s as he’s seen an attractive woman / a larger person / a person of colour / anything ‘different’ to him basically and if he starts, he doesn’t stop!
So I ignored him for about half a mile. He was still desperately trying to see behind him so I gave in and asked what he was looking at.

Me: What is it dad?
Dad: (still facing the rear windscreen) It’s a massive jet!
Me: Ok.
Dad: Wait! It’s 2! No 3…4!
Me:
Dad: NO wait! It’s 6, 7 – no there’s 9! There are 9 massive jets!
Me: (bearing in mind we live in the very far west of Cornwall – not many massive jets seen round these parts) Really dad? Which way are they going?
Dad: Hang on there’s two more, they’re going that way (pointing behind us)
Me: 11 massive jets.
Dad: Yes! you can still see them, pull over!
Me: :/
Dad: You have to pull over!
Me: (nowhere to pull over)
Dad: I think it’s Putin
Me:  Could it be? Is he right? 11 massive jets flying over west Cornwall. Oh god, husband and daughter at work, other daughter at home with grandson, youngest is at school, what do I do? Actually started feeling a bit twitchy. Dad still craning to watch all this going on.
Finally pulled over, it was chem trails. Not war after all. Didn’t even get to ASDA.

Well it made me laugh, anyway. Samantha – I’ll call her Sam, she’ll love that, we’re like best friends now I know her email address and rough location. I do wonder how she feels about all the blog entries where I slagged off Cornwall, though. Like this lovely trip to Lands End.

And now food! Look at this and tell me you don’t want it in your mouth.

halloumi and vegetable biryani

halloumi and vegetable biryani

halloumi and vegetable biryani

Print

syn free halloumi and vegetable biryani

Prep

Cook

Total

Yield 4 servings

Looking for a vegetarian meal that doesn't leave you crying into your weak, child-like wrists? Don't worry, Amelia has you covered. And it's syn free!

Ingredients

  • butternut squash - cut into slices
  • 1 courgette - cut into chunks
  • 1 onion - cut into chunks
  • curry powder - mixed with water to make a paste
  • a little spray oil
  • peas
  • flaked almonds - toasted (20g is a HEB)
  • coriander - chopped
  • pomegranate seeds
  • halloumi - cut into slices. This can be your HEA (35g) for the day - I use a lighter version and we eat the whole thing - oops!

Instructions

  • put slices of butternut in a roasting tin and spray with garlic oil or just normal oil and add a few garlic cloves and season with black pepper
  • roast in oven for about 45 mins
  • spray your wok with oil and add the courgette, once it’s got a bit to colour add the onion and get a bit of colour on that too
  • add the curry powder and give it a good mix and cook through, then add the rice and mix again
  • in a separate pan spray with oil and cook the halloumi
  • with a few minutes to go add the peas to the rice mixture and give it a good mix
  • serve with the butternut and halloumi on top and scatter with the coriander, pomegranate and almonds

Notes

  • if you don’t wasn’t to use your healthy eating A or don’t like halloumi you could use chicken instead doesn’t have to be a veggie dish
  • want more veggie recipes with a bit of taste and spice? I can't recommend this book enough!

Courses evening meal

Cuisine vegetarian

Yes! Want more vegetarian recipes? Of course you do:

Indeed.

J