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Posts Tagged ‘Vegetables’

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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Imagine you are a Roman Legionnaire fighting the Barbarian hordes (Gauls, Picts, Vandals or Visigoth – take your pick).

Imagine the Legionnaire to your right, let’s call him Sextus Quintus Marinadus, is felled by a Barbarian’s mighty twin headed axe.

“What vegetable should replace Sextus Quintus Marinadus in the shield wall?

GFB has the answer! Our opinion poll (below) shows what vegetable people would want alongside them in battle. As to be expected root and tubas triumph over brassicas and squashes.

Fascinating.

“Dic Nihil Tandem Est” as old Sextus Quintus Marinadus may have said.

We asked Professor of Cobblerology at the University of Erewash, Professor Aubrey Lunge for his thoughts on the shock findings, ” I could have sworn more people would have said runner beans. Where’s the bar?”

 

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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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Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

Aunty,

Recently my man has been diagnosed with permanent vegetable disorder. His nose is a carrot, arms are leeks, ears are cauliflowers and his head is turning into a giant lettuce.

I love him dearly but when I see him now all I think about is making a nourishing vegetable broth.

Can you help?

Sally, Stockton on Tees

Aunty Bill Replies;

Sally,

Sorry to hear of your caused in watching your man slowly turn into a human casserole.

However with the onset of the cold weather, now is the time to prune those parts no longer of any use to him. He seems to have most of the ingredients to make a nice stew with the simple addition of a pound of stewing steak and a tin of butter beans and some lentils.

I recommend using a slow cooker to bring out the full flavour of your mans “produce” (leave out the lettuce though). Russell Hobbs do a 6.5 litre brushed aluminium effort for £26 (with vario-thermostatic control) which would be ideal for your needs and provide a healthy and sustaining meal which will last you for several days.

Don’t worry about pruning the limbs as this type of vegetable disorder is that the limbs grow back after a short while therefore providing a constant supply of food! Ensure you keep his lettuce well watered as this is the source of the nutrients that keep the rest of his root vegetables healthy.

I’m sending you a copy of my leaflet “20 Slow Cooker recipes for those living with permanent vegetable disorder (or with someone in the household who does)” – bit of a mouthful but sure tastes good!

Yum Yum!

Aunty Bill

You can read more Aunty Bill here!

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Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

Regular readers of Gfb may well recall this following heart rending story from Wilma to our transsexual agony aunt, Aunty Bill.

Aunty Bill

Several days ago I met a lovely man at the Bingo. He sat with me as I played and was thrilled when I shouted “House” in my first game!

I won two hundred pounds as well!

He told me he loved me and asked me if I could lend him the £200 so he could buy some sand. I loved him and did so. He promised me that he would pay me back the next day and also give me some sand as a keep sake.

I haven’t heard from him. Do you think I have lost him? Do you want some sand?

Wilma, Portland

Aunty replies;

Dear Wilma,

It looks like you’ve been a victim of  the notorious”Bingo Bob”. Bob preys on women like yourself who frequent Bingo Halls to fuel his lust for sand. Sharp, Coarse or Fine, it’s all the same to him. He has an insatiable lust for the stuff.

When he’s got enough sand together (a hippo sized bag should suffice for his twisted needs) he creeps, yes creeps, under the cover of darkness to the beach and spends the rest of the night building phallic symbols (rather poor efforts I must admit, he sent me some pictures).

Then he buries himself adjacent to his efforts to wait for sunrise and the looks of horror and disgust on the faces of those early morning beach goers as they feast their eyes on his depraved sculptures.

You’ve had a close call Wilma. Try to forget all about it and hand your evidence to the Police.

Regards

Aunty Bill

Aunty Bill UPDATE!

A few days ago we received this letter from Wilma,

Aunty Bill,

Many thanks for your advice about Bingo Bob and his sand fetish.

Phew, that was a lucky call! Our paths haven’t crossed since.  You will be pleased to know I met another lovely man at the Bingo who fell head over heels in love with me after I won the £2,500 grand draw.

He asked me to lend him the winnings so that he could buy a rake, shovel and hoe and plant some cauliflower and broccoli to become self sufficient in vegetables. As Tony quipped to me that night, “That way I won’t be brassic because of Brassicas!” – this is just one example of his great sense of humour.

Heeding your advice I lent him the money because he didn’t want to buy any sand. He said he would be back in the Autumn with an engagement ring and a bumper crop of caulis for us to start a new life together.

I am so lucky to have met him. And it is all because of your advice!

I still have the sand if you want it.

Thanks!

Wilma

Aunty Bill doesn’t have the strength to reply………….

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Dear Aunty,
My wife recently admitted to me that she has developed feelings for the jar of pickled onions in our cupboard. I am gutted and her wind is chronic. What can I do to win her back from this preserved lover?

Tim, Windhoek

Aunty Bill Replies;

Dear Tim

Many Women have at one time in their life experienced similar feelings. You see, she see’s the onions as little eggs that she can nurture and one day turn from little silverskins to those biggun’s that Haywards knock out a Christmas time.
It’s a bit like man’s obsession with fire (well, most of the men in here anyway, all of whom seem to be on an arson rap).
I suggest you try to wean her off her obsession by pointing out the joy found in Beetroot, Eggs and other pickled condiments and that whilst you understand her feelings (who wouldn’t?) why stick to one type of pickled condiment when there are so many others to choose from?

Fear not as this obsession will fade, as gradually everybody you know will avoid you both like the plague due to the chronic wind she will be  producing. Encourage different types of pickles as the more she eats, the more gas will be produced therefore alienating her further from those (few) friends that can still bear to stand within six feet of her without wearing a charcoal mask and an asbestos suit.

I don’t know if you smoke, possess a good head of hair or a moustache but I would suggest abstaining for the duration of this controlled experiment.

Aunty Bill

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Dear Aunty,

Hello AB

I recently found out that my man was having an affair with a frozen chicken which he keeps in the freezer in the shed. He says it is OK as
the chicken is free range and organic and can play the trumpet. Badly though.  Should I be worried?

Cerys, Ceredigion

Aunty Bill Replies;

Dear Cerys

Never easy to play second fiddle to a frozen bird,even one who plays the trumpet, albeit badly.

Have you tried thinking where things went so badly wrong that he has resorted to this behaviour? The fact that the chicken is organic is a blessing as it at least shows he has discerning taste. Worse if he was consorting with a value chicken or breaded goujons. At least his moral compass is still functioning,  albeit in a slightly funny direction.

I Suggest that you all sit down to dinner one Sunday and discuss this issue.  DON’T do a roast chicken as this would be beyond spiteful and could induce trauma in your man’s new beau.
I suggest a nice vegetable lasagna. In the meantime a crash course in the Tibetan Nose flute is called for.
Trumpet? Pah! any damn fool can play the trumpet.  The Tibetan Nose flute is on another level, check out the guys at your local shopping centre with the big throws over them for proof of how skillful an art this is. Both he and she will be blown away.

If all this doesn’t work unplug the freezer and watch your love rival perish a slow and painful death.Next stick the trumpet up your husbands arse and change the locks (on the doors, not his arse).

 Aunty Bill

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Dear Aunty,

Aunty

Can a man develop feelings for curly kale? And if so do you know any country would recognise  marriage between a man and curly kale?

Farmer Barleymow, Yorkshire

Aunty Bill Replies;

Hey Farmer!

As anyone in the farming world knows the link between Kale and male goes back centuries.
Records from the 15th century show marriage ceremonies between the local Lothario and a freshly picked bunch of the local kale. Even to this day remnants of this practice can be found via a casual trawl through the phone book. Famous film director Albert R Brocoli CBE (Hon) and his family were early practitioners.
Brocoli (a strain related to the Kale family) was also nicknamed “Cubby” as his family kept their Kale relatives in a “Cubby hole” in the cellar of their farmhouse. His insistence that Goldfinger was released under the title of Brocolifinger was (thankfully) overturned shortly before its release.
Whilst no European countries recognise a union between man and Kale, you’ll be pleased to know some counties do. In particular Norfolk where an active kale community thrives to this day.

I suggest heading that way where you’ll be welcomed with open arms.  It’s a weird place Norfolk.

Kale – the gift that keeps giving.

Aunty Bill

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fresco_rescue

The Impressionist

“And this is my carrot!” The man placed his hand on his head and wiggled his fingers. So far he had shown me his impression of a potato, turnip and broccoli. They were all remarkably similar, involving him leaning forward slightly and staring at me with a haunted, bug eyed  look.

At least the carrot involved a hand gesture.

“Very good,” I lied.

“Thanks. Do you want to see my Kidney Bean? I  can also do Pinto, Borlotti and Butter Beans. Still working on the Broad Bean though.”

“You should go on Britain’s Got Talent with this act. Simon Cowell will love it.”

“Do you think so? Really?”

“Don’t see why not. They have all sorts on there.”

“That’s right.” I could hear the cogs whirring in his brain.

“I’ll have a word with my brother. He does a brilliant wheat impression. Barley and oat as well. But not rice. He nearly drowned once doing his impression of rice in a paddy field. But we could be a double act! Him cereals me vegetables!”

“Don’t forget about the pulses.”

“Cheers!”

He hadn’t bought a ticket and tried to bribe The Guard with his cauliflower impression, which was remarkably similar to his other vegetable mimicry in that he leaned forward slightly and stared at The Guard with a haunted, bug eyed  look.

“Don’t care if you are a leg of lamb with all the trimmings. No ticket. No journey.” The Guard was correct but harsh. I was hoping the man did an impression of a leg of lamb with all the trimmings. But he didn’t.

He was put off at Stonehouse Station. As the train rumbled passed, he smiled at me and then reprised his carrot. I raised my cup of tea towards him. It was the best impression of a carrot I had ever seen. Come to think of it, it was the only impression of a carrot I had ever seen.

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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

More Fanny (with cookery tips!) can be found here! and here!

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