Last week I developed a craving for chips. I was dreaming of crispy skins and soft fluffy insides packed into freshly baked bread. On Wednesday, a bag of the devil’s food came with the Tesco order. But no! I didn’t order any sunflower oil. All I had was fancy olive oil.
Then on Friday, I flew to the supermarket clutching my shopping list. The list is always in a certain order. I can’t do a trolley so there’s a basket perched on the front of the scooter. Heavy items come first so they don’t crush the fresh fruit etc etc. Sunflower oil was there, in glorious black and white.
The plan was to have pasty chips and beans today but last night I began to brood over the thought of chips. I put the oil into the multi cooker, cut the shapes, prepared a home made wholemeal and spelt roll (barm cake, batch or bap) and plunged into those tantalising little soldiers at the initial 130 degrees for the first phase. HP is too sweet these days.
But the chip basket slipped and tumbled to the floor. Oh the mess! Oh the pain of splashed oil bespattering my feet. I had one potato left. I grasped the evil tubby rascal and sliced it mercilessly. The chips were cooked, the mess was cleared and I devoured my prize with joy and avarice.
Yes, I could have bought oven chips but I wanted the real thing. I wanted the grease, I wanted the calories, I wanted the glint of upset oil shimmering across the wood of the kitchen floor. Most of all, I wanted the textures and tastes of bread and chip heaven. It’s just pasty and beans tonight.
Thank you for reading.