It is, of course, every housewife's dream and sole duty to have cupboards stocked with fresh, exciting ingredients with which to fashion cordon blue and homemade cheese straws, for which there is a recipe below.
I am no exception to this rule, realising that myself, Hubby and Giggy have an extensive series of detailed requirements that Waitrose is only too pleased to satisfy in exchange for a not inconsiderable sum of money.
Delicious, light Mediterranean cuisine is envisaged during sunny afternoons with a select few guests. Rachel Allen, Jamie Oliver, James Duigin's "Clean and Lean Warrior" are all researched extensively for the week ahead.
When crafting the next Waitrose shopping order (and I like to see it as an art requiring some skill), one should take into consideration the following:
1 - Recent rate of recent consumption
2 - Upcoming social engagements (therefore not at home)
3 - Upcoming holidays
4 - Upcoming holidays that might be subject to a CBA attack
5 - Upcoming totes amaze dinner parties
6 - Upcoming random, student-style drinking binges
Factoring this all together and netting off current stock, voila! One arrives at the next order and it's not long until fresh booze garnished with some Mediterranean crap is winging its way to us in a van called "Onion", driven by a friendly chap who thinks we're running a speakeasy.
Yet despite this careful orchestration of cupboard contents that, quite frankly, would make the New York Ballet look a bit disorganised, something is not quite right.
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It's 11pm:
"Baby - go the shop. Please.", says hubby.
"What? What can you possibly need?", I ask, dumbfounded. Ocado has been thrice daily for the past four weeks.
"Monster munch, jellied snakes, Mikado jappy poo sticks, double deckers", he says, with an urgency and seriousness in his voice. We simply cannot live without these things within the next five minutes.
But these are all things that Waitrose sell. I wouldn't mind if he was hankering for a roasted songbird. At this point, there is some lengthy, heated horse-trading around who is going to go to the shop to buy these special things that have slipped through the administrative net. Who walked Giggy last, who loaded the dishwasher, who has a job and who doesn't (I try to avoid this point at all costs), are all taken into account.
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| Jellied snakes - once you start ... |
As I walk to the shop, something inside me feels that the stock control system has failed me and someone other than myself should be held to account.
+++++++
Sighing as I casually slip a few out-of-date lemon soles and a whole sea bass into the bin along with some empty pizza boxes, I wonder whether we do, in fact, have two shopping lists. One is the shopping list we aspire to and the other is the one that we really require.
I test this theory when I am next placing a Waitrose order. "Do you want me to get some monster munch?", I ask. "No", he says. "Double deckers?" "No". "Jellied snakes?". "No". He's clearly in denial.
As I heaved half a side of organic venison into the wheelie bin, I realised I must consign these items to the food equivalent of drugs and porn. If we do need 31 bags of jellied snakes a month (except for April, June and November when we only need 30), i'll be damned if Onion van is going to flaunt them through the square in front of the neighbours en masse.
Some things are best done under the cover of darkness.
And finally ...
Dave Vanderpump's Cheese Straw Recipe
100g of cheese (you can use different kinds but every real housewife should use cornish quartz, obviously)
50g of self-raising flour (or you can use plain)
25g butter
You stick everything in the food processor and whizz it until it forms a ball. I guess by hand you can crumb everything together. I'm too lazy ever to consider doing it by hand.
Then wrap it in clingfilm and stick it in fridge for half an hour or so.
Then roll out thin under the cling film - about 5mm - cut it into long thin strips - transfer to a baking tray and cook in a hot oven about 210 or 220 degrees for 5 - 9 minutes. Keep an eye because they "catch" very easily (go from not quite cooked to burnt). Should be light brown. Not dark brown - then they'll be bitter.
Serve with a wet or dry martini.
Go to it, housewives. Make me proud.
