Bas Cuisine

The problem with being probably the best chef in the world is finding anyone to acknowledge that blindingly obvious fact.

I broke my alco-fast this afternoon, and went and took a glass of ale with Oakley, and very agreeable it was too. I was so overcome with wellbeing on the way home that I slipped under the descending shutter door of the local supermarche and beat the 4 o'clock Sunday curfew, and rapidly heaved five quid's worth of steak mince and a plastic sack of spuds into the basket.



I hit the cooker immediately on my return home, having located it (brilliance can be dulled by over-familiarity) and made the wonderful repast pictured here. I apologize for the culinary Tourettes, I often write rude words in my creations, but the cheddar glaze hid the profanity from a hungry family, and it was dispatched with undue speed, with the critics saving their spleen for the post-supper critique that confirmed that Dunn Towers was not being awarded a third Michelin star by the inmates. Bastards.