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Posts Tagged ‘Food’

Todays request comes from Sean Smithson the hilarious Office Inbetweener – which you can read here!

Sean asked for  an image of Ali v Frazier at a weigh-in relating to one of their Titanic clashes in the 70’s.  Sadly we couldn’t find a suitable one.

Instead we bring to your attention the lesser known fact that during the Thriller in Manila, Frazier to goad Ali strapped a freshly roasted chicken to his head. The bobbin’ carcass infuriated Ali to such an extent that the “Greatest” took revenge in Round 8 with a furious assault of punches that were it not for the chinstrap, would have seen the first orbit of the Earth by a roast chicken.

 

Upon seeing the demolition of Frazier and his poultry, George Foreman had second thoughts about a rematch of the Rumble in The Jungle. The fight which would have been known as the “Barbecue in Timbuktu” instead afforded Foreman the idea of his now famous Low Fat Grill. As Foreman said at the time “There was no way I was going to take a lickin, so decided instead to grill my chicken.”

 

The rest as they say is history.

IS THERE ANYBODY OR ANYTHING YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ATTACHED TO A SAUSAGE?

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Don’t worry ! It is only a sausage! She keeps a stash in her bag by the looks of things as well……..

nigella-hiding-sausage

 

rolled-up-10Lb-Sausage-in-handbagSomeone else who likes to snort bangers!

sirkeith 

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My Dearest food lovers. I remain in prison in Nice, awaiting sentence for truffle smuggling. My appeal has fallen on deaf ears it would appear although it would my truffle remains highly prized by La Randy Prison Gouveneur! Which naturally leads to a question about sprouts.

Joyeux Noel to you all.
Le Fanny Rougecrack
Dear Fanny,

Sprouts Fanny, sprouts? Why oh why?

On what’s supposed to be the happiest day of the year, why do we have to sit with a steaming mash of stinking green sludge on the dinner table? We never eat them any other time of the year. By the smells emanating from our dog during The Queen’s Speech, he’s the only one in the family who eats them.

Can you let me know how to jazz them up a bit.

Mary, Bromsgrove.
Dearest Mary,

Ever since I was force fed them as a little boy, I’ve had nightmares about the horrid little things. But all is not lost my dear. For I have created a recipe that will have the whole family crying out for seconds!

Using a food processor, finely slice your sprouts and set aside.

Add a little olive oil to a hot pan and add some smoked diced bacon.

Fry until the bacon is crispy and remove from the pan.

Tip away any excess fat.

Add chopped shallots, half a glass of dry white wine to the sprouts and chuck in the frying pan.

Simmer for a few minutes then add a half pint of chicken stock.

Simmer for a further 6 minutes.

Stir in a tablespoon of creme fraiche, add the bacon and serve.

Delicious!

Les Miserables Fanny (Hugh Jackman! What a dish!)

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Sargent_Stench_Mctavish

Hello,

We Ex-Special Forces have a saying. “If at first you don’t succeed – garrote.”

I am able to adapt to my surroundings through disguise, evasion techniques and a profound knowledge of knitting.

My latest book “Scratchy Eczema, Tangy Onion” is a no holds barred account of my work in Chechnya working for the secret Jazz Hands Jolson Death Squad.

Here is an extract from Chapter 5 “Way Up On The Swanny – I Ripped His Ears Off”.

…………………..I take my hat off to my #2 “Fungus” Thompson. There aren’t many who would have figured that only surefire way of yomping through the Russian Taiga unmolested, was disguised as a Jolson tribute act. Time after time, taciturn lock jawed Ruskies and their misshapen wives would throw off the shackles of perennial Slavic Cyrillic laden doom and apply Jazz Hands! when they saw the JHJDS sashay through the woods.

The journey was tough. With food supplies gone I was forced to fellate a large brown bear just to have a nibble on his berries. Yummy they were too. I made off with the berries (the bear was in a state of erotic high dudgeon) and made a tasty broth from them. To add flavour  I used the chicken stock cubes and herb garland (Tarragon, Rosemary and Bay Leaf) I carry in my Ammo Belt.  Boy, did the lads lap it up!

Finally after days of searching we reached the den of the Evil Lad who had stolen Uranium from the Plinkyplonkastok Nuclear Reactor and was planning to sell it to evil Islamic fundamentalistsalistsalists.

Stench_Sofa

Evil Lad was lounging on his sofa watching a box set of The Wonder Years (whatever happened to Winnie?) cackling evilly to himself as the show spun its flavoursome and wholesome view of 1960’s America. He was eating cake. Sponge cake.

Whilst Gurkha Tenpin Bowling reccied the compound and our misanthropic Sioux Brave, Itchy Scalp performed a rain dance – I inched my way towards Evil Lad.  My undercover eagle eyed training kicked in and I learned one thing.

He was a messy eater. Crumbs everywhere.

I had to think. Fast. On my feet (whilst lying down). My blend-in terrain training kicked in.

I disguised myself as a Victoria Sponge and lay on the table next to Evil Lad’s cake. The plan nearly backfired when, glimpsing the schmaltzy ending of the Wonder Years, a tear fell from my eye into the sponge’s cream filling causing it to split.

jolson 2

Scary

I reconstituted myself, shouted “Mammy!” with a breath so putrid and foul, due to brown bear discharge, the flesh was stripped from his face.

Halitosis – the silent killer. More deadly than sarcasm.

Job done. I pocketed the Wonder Years box set and we set off through the Taiga to make our Chopper rendezvous. We left the Uranium in left luggage at the local train station.

The Station Manager was a Gene Kelly fan. So we killed him.

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SHE’S BACK!

My Dearest foodlovers. I write today from my prison cell in Nice, awaiting sentence for truffle smuggling. One had tried to explain to the arresting Gendarme that what one had found down one’s drawers might resemble a Perigord black truffle but was, alas, a rather invasive little growth that had become detached from one’s person. Anyway, after several “meetings” in the prison laundrette Le Prison Gouveneur has very kindly allowed me to answer some of your Christmas queries.

Joyeux Noel to you all and the Free Fanny campaign goes from strength to strength!

Le Fanny Rougecrack

Dear Fanny.

It’s that time of year again when as a family we have to endure a whole day with my wife’s 96 year old Mother. She does nothing but moan. I don’t why we bother sometimes.  Goodwill to all blah..de..blah but quite frankly I’m sick of her. How can I avoid her all day without making it too obvious that I can’t stand her.

Happy Christmas,

Dave from Dundee

Fanny Replies

Dear Dave,

Give her a glass of sherry, stick a paper hat on her head and sit her in the corner. Check vital signs every twenty minutes or so.

Regardez Fanny

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Fish and Chickens

I like the folderol of blue embroidery

On the white tablecloth’s cool brilliance

Today’s breakfast coffee spills join

Yesterday’s

Drips and crumbs of our meals together

Are lifted and shook out

Before the cloth is put away on its shelf

Ready to be smoothed out table set

For our next meal together

Or we’ll maybe wash it

And use the one with the fish and the chickens

They instead marking out

The songs of our days.

 

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Hello Folks,

Gingerfightback leaves no stone unturned in our incessant quest for the truth. Fearless reporting, bribery and fabrication are in our armoury.

We have employed the services of Brian Sewer, plummy mouthed onanist, to investigate how Ginger art was often retouched, in what was known as the degingerficationanism, of some of the world’s greatest pieces.

 

Brian found this version of the Mona Lisa in Arles in Southern France.  It has been dated back as far as 1967 and the canvass is an authentic Cornflakes cereal packet. This is how Lenny Da Vinci Code really wanted his painting to end up.

As Brain said, “Note the brushwork, the enigmatic smile on her lips and above all the signature that rearranged, would spell Da Vinci.  It has to be authentic. I rest my case. Where’s the bar?”

What do YOU think art connoisseurs? FAKE or REAL?

 

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Hello,

As much as I appreciate my lovely wife Shirley’s attempts to prolong my life via roughage, there are times  when a man needs a fry up. And if he still has the energy, a spot of self abuse afterwards. But never during.

So I nipped into the Corner Cafe and ordered three eggs, three sausages, four rashers, beans, tomatoes, fried slice, fried potatoes, chips, black pudding, white pudding, kidneys. liver, chicken burger, beans, mushrooms, burger, fish fingers, toast. And broccoli. Oh and a mug of tea.

In the Cafe was an old friend, Pete “The Bastard” who was ramming a raw black pudding up a poor fella’s nostril.

This bloke had laughed at Pete “The Bastard’s” wig. I always stifle a giggle when I see it. It is made of corduroy and is laminated. But Pete “The Bastard” thinks it makes him look like Bob Marley. He’s not a man to argue with.

“Awright Bob?” he said as the last piece of black pudding filled the poor victim’s nasal cavity.

“Alright The Bastard?”

That was our conversation.

I needed the facilities and enjoyed the smell of frying bacon as I performed me business. I also read about the growing food shortage in the world and how mass starvation was years away.

I remembered my mum telling me to think about the starving children in Africa.

I cancelled the toast. I like to do my bit.

Laters.

Bob

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Scientists from the Bubble telescope have discovered a massive Black Pudding Hole in the Andromeda Galaxy. Here is the first amazing image.

universe1_edited-1 copy

That’ll Make One Hell Of a Fry Up!

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new oilyOily

My mate reckons you can catch herpes from egg salad – is this true?

Thick Dave, London

Oily Replies;

Dave

He meant hairpin. Herpes you will get from the bus seats if you sniff them too much. Thats what happened to my friend Diesel. Very painful and the community service just added to his woes

Anyway Dave, must go. My friend might be barred from the buses but cinema seats open up a whole new world of opportunity. Apparently.

Oily

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