Saturday, November 14, 2015

Perfect Skin

I stuck with the vegan challenges to the bitter end, even though they pissed me  off. 
It’s funny how the mind works. It was annoying me that the vegan bods were recommending shit recipes, when the reality is I’m perfectly capable of serving up a plate of decent nosh that doesn’t have meat or dairy in it and have done so regularly, for years. Apart from the bacon sarnies, we only ever really had meat on a Sunday, although we were cheese fiends. Wanna make something taste nice? Chuck a load of cheeses on it, any kind will do.
So there was no need for all my angst. If you have tomatoes, garlic and chilli, yer laughing.
Having said that, I still sought assistance, mostly from the web. I’ve read loads of vegan blogs, and lots of ‘em are really good, apart from the ones by well brought up middle class gals with perfect skin. I admit that this might have more to do with my innate class warrior than it does with the content of their blogs.
When I was a much younger man and studied a bit of English political history, I came across The Ranters, who remain my favourite dissenters. Essentially, they would get pissed, lark about and rail against the property owning classes. They were quite a force, which is why they are so well known now.
One of their aims was to disseminate information to the majority of the peasantry who couldn’t read or write, and who were kept in line by the priests and the gentry who controlled the flow of information, summat like that, anyway. I think there had been some breakthrough in printing at the time and the world was full of pissed pamphleteers. 
At the dawn of the internet age, and the arrival of the phenomenon of blogging I had hopes that we would all become Ranters reborn. That the voiceless would have a voice. The elites and the hegemonic media could lie all they wanted, but the truth was out there and it would be told. We were all Lord Fucking Rothermere now!
It doesn’t seem to have happened. We don’t rant (well, we do, but ya know what I mean), we shop, we  gossip, we  selfie, we spotify and the elites continue to take the piss. The daughters of the elites are all bloody vegans, and they are all blogging about it. Which is OK, actually, because I’ve picked up some nice recipes.
I’ve got loads of the buggers bookmarked, and I’ll share them, bit by bit. My favourite vegan blog by far though is Thug Kitchen, which most definitely isn’t written by a Chelsea Girl. I adapted a spud and cabbage bake thing from it, and it was ace, quite incredible really. It was the sort of thing that would usually be baked in a cheesy béchamel sauce, but instead was baked in a mix made from garlic, chickpeas, some other bits and pieces and almond milk. I repeat; infuckingcredibe!
All the blogs are great actually, as they give you ideas to do with things you might already have in your cupboard and have wondered why the hell you bought ‘em, like nutritional yeast flakes. I have now given up all dairy as well as meat, and I am addicted to nutritional yeast flakes. They sound right tasty, don't they?
One of the posh gal blogs had a recipe for pickled carrot and peppers, which I now have, every day. There are a lot of things that I now have every day, by the way. They are simple to prepare and are ace. They bring  a fantastic tang and crunch which really refreshes yer head. A taste  explosion in the brainbox.  They improve any sandwich or wrap. Typically, I can’t find the bloody recipe now, but my own approximation of it is alright. 
Here it is:
Put this lot in a little saucepan and warm through to dissolve the salt and sugar
About 8 fluid oz of water
About 4 fluid oz organic cider vinegar
About 2 teaspoons each sugar and salt
About a tablespoon of coriander seeds
A few strips of lemon peel
Cut a couple of carrots into matchsticks/ batons/ thin little sticks
Slice a red pepper, about same size as the carrots
Slice a red onion nice and thin
Put 'em all into a sealable jar. Pour the liquid in, leave for about 12 hours. Roberta is yer auntie.
Lord knows how long it lasts, not long in this house.

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