Sounds fancy? Well it isn’t! It’s Potato Pie by any other name. You could call it Potato en Croute. French is a very useful language. Something that sounds ‘run-of-the-mill’ or ‘middle-of-the-road’ can sound much better in French. But there is nothing boring about this recipe.
In fact Il n’y a rien de banal dans ce qu’on propose. And no I cannot speak French, this is a dodgy internet translation so it probably says ‘My dog is dead’ when it fact should say ‘There is nothing run-of-the-mill about it’. I shall be corrected.
The World Cup is nearly over. And I have lost interest. The two teams any self-respecting England supporter should despise (Germany and Argentina) are playing in the final on Sunday. Why are they despised? Too painful to explain. If you don’t know, you don’t need to know.
Nevertheless, I read something quite funny the other day. (If you hate football, and you aren’t English, you might as well skip this bit because you won’t get it or simply won’t care).
Gary Linekar, our very own ‘goal-poacher-extraordinaire‘, once said:
‘Football is a simple game: 22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end, the Germans win.’
And we Brits (technically we English) know this is true. But it’s okay. It’s still fun to watch other teams, and their supporters. Some of them think they are good enough to beat the Germans. Take Brazil. Well they found out didn’t they. Or the French. Now they played Germany just the past week, and they probably thought they had a chance. But they didn’t. German efficiency stretches beyond Vorsprung durch Technik.
But the French need not worry. They can cook. Germany is only famous for big chocolate cakes covered with cherries and pickled cabbage served with sausage. The French come up with all sorts of amazing things. Take mushroom millefeuille.
These are essentially big vols-au-vent, you know those morsels of ‘wind-blown’ lightness served up during ‘80’s dinner parties.
In my quest (did I mention I was on a quest? I didn’t? Well I am) to recreate the kind of food you will desire, maybe even drool after, following some Friday night shenanigans, I happen-chanced across the Holy Grail of fast food creations; the Doner Kebab.
Yes the Doner Kebab; possibly the ultimate in culinary creations. The perfect match of meat and bread. Ideal sustinance for the worse-for-wear. All the salty fattiness you could want after a pub-induced coma, combined with the practicality and portability of the humble pitta bread.
I will not bore you here with the tedious realities of buying and eating Doner Kebabs after hours (suffice to say you are basically taking your life into your own hands). I will instead focus on creating this meaty treat at home.
What with all this warm weather I thought it was time for BBQ-based creation. I’ve done many things on a BBQ (I can’t be horaced to spell out barbecue, oops just did it) all with mildy boring results (generally I find BBQ food to be like normal food only a bit more burnt).
But then I suddenly remembered from somewhere where someone stuck a can of beer up a chicken’s arse (or is it the neck? Never realy got to grips with which end was which with a plucked de-headed chicken) and decided I had to do that.
So I did.
There’ a great scene in The Godfather where one of the Corleone Family’s henchmen, the apparently genial Clemenza, show’s the film’s antihero, Michael, how to make Italian meatballs.