Monday 9 April 2012 – Today I’m talking chav, it’s all about pikey lads and chav grub. But fear not I’m not about to tuck my track-suit bottoms into my socks and buy a Staffordshire bull terrier.
I have been known to go commando myself, in fact I don’t think I wore any underwear throughout the 1980’s. It can be liberating not to mention cooler to be sans boxers, but why doesn’t anyone point out to the pikey public, that walking around without pants while wearing fleecy trackie bottoms isn’t a good look. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve seen a youth walking towards me with his tackle silhouetted through the fabric. There’s nothing more off putting when you’re subjected to swinging appendages on the high street.
To demonstrate my point here’s a picture of the tennis player Novac Djokovic, although his bulge is because of his balls; Steady on! his spare tennis balls that is.
I’d now like to move on to Chav food if I may. A few weeks ago when walking through a supermarket with my OH, I pointed to a tinned pie and explained that I’d never had one. Laughingly OH said, “You don’t know what you’re missing.” So I dropped the said food item into my trolley and continued shopping. The tinned baked product has since languished in a kitchen cupboard; overlooked every day.
A couple of nights ago, possibly during a momentary lapse in taste I decided it was time to try the pie in a tin. The cooking instructions were quite simple, remove lid first; (obviously, unless you want it to explode in the oven) then bake for twenty-five minutes. The blurb on the side of the tin makes it look very appealing, phrases like crisp, flaky pastry and juicy, tender steak are really selling it to me. I wait for the required cooking time to elapse, then remove the tin. The pastry top has risen as promised.
Within seconds the inflated crust collapses, so I cut into it in anticipation of the juicy, tender steak, and lo and behold there it is, six cubes, each one being one centimetre squared.The taste experience is one I’ll never forget, the gravy is salty, the meagre meat portions are devoid of any flavour and the underside of the pastry has the consistency of phlegm. The only thing missing from this gourmet experience is a can of cheaply produced energy drink and a dollop of red sauce.