Martin Lampen
Jumbo Prawns
Before 1984, no-one I know had ever eaten a jumbo prawn. In the salmon paste and crab stick world of post-war
In 2003, an Environmental Justice Foundation report highlighted the massive waste and destruction behind prawn fishing. Apparently, prawn fisheries are responsible for one third of the world's discarded catch, despite producing less than two per cent of global seafood.
Steve Trent, Director Of The Environmental Justice Foundation, urged consumers to boycott supermarket prawns unless they come from environmentally and socially sustainable sources.
All well and good Steve, but what the fuck am I supposed to put in my hollowed-out avocado? Huh?
As an animal hater, my all-time favourite sandwich is prawn mayo, heavy on the prawns. For £1.60, I can eat hundreds of the little fuckers.
Sausage in a Basket
Last Tuesday I went to work stark naked. The day after, I was having a dinner party conversation with
The above events were all dreams. Dreams so vivid that they felt like they’d actually happened, even hours after I’d woken up.
There are other events that have stuck in my mind. The trouble is, I can’t quite work out whether I dreamt them or not.
Was there a Top of the Pops presenter in the mid-eighties called Dixie Peach? Was there a lad at school called Eamon Bracegirdle? Did we really eat pub food out of plastic baskets in the seventies and eighties?
Yes we did. During the wildcat, national dishwashers strike and crockery shortage of 1976 we were chowing down on chicken in a basket, scampi in a basket and, strangely, sausage in a basket. All served in a plastic whicker bowl, lined with a burgundy napkin and two leafs of brown lettuce and a slice of lemon.
I’m the only person that remembers sausage in a basket. I swear it was true. It came with half a tomato, which I didn’t eat as I thought it “looked like guts.”
And I had dixie peach for dessert.
The ‘…in a basket’ craze lives on in popular etymology as a way of describing low-rent dinner theatre and the current engagement of a previously-popular artiste on the slide:
With his performance as Fletcher Christian in ‘Mutiny On Ice’, David Essex is clearly playing the Chicken In A Basket circuit.
Stir-Fry
The bookshops are full of it: The Ten Commandments of Stir-fry. Stir-Crazy. The Big Bumper Book of Stir-fry. Stir-fry: now a major new TV series.
Broccoli, beef, cashews, bamboo shoots, garlic, cashews, ginger, peppers, yet more sodding cashews. All served in a black bean sauce that tastes like leaky biro.
Stir-fry. It’s not just a meal. It’s a hobby. Like keeping tropical fish, only with frozen snow peas and a lightly greased wok.
Stir fry. It’s a way of life. Like Buddhism or being into Marillion. Pass the oyster sauce and check the date on those water chestnuts.
I used to work with the most irritating woman in the world. We’ll call her Sally-Anne. She’d constantly drone on about her Ex (he was suing her because she’s nicked his X-Files video box set), the fact that her sister was a practicing White Witch, and she would eat her lunchtime sandwich by holding it in both hands and nibbling on it – taking tiny bites like a hot-flushing church mouse (naturally, her lunch was a Boots meal deal). On a good day it could take her two hours to get through half a tuna and sweetcorn. Even more annoying than the ex talk and the daily impressions of a field mouse in repast, was the constant Stir Fry chatter:
“I think I’ll go home, have a bath and make a stir-fry.” “I had a lovely bok chow chicken while watching Celebrities In A Submarine last night. “ “It’s orange pork with spring onions for me tonight. That was my ex’s favourite.”
I haven’t seen her for a while. Maybe she took voluntary redundancy. Maybe her Ex beat her to death with Season One of Deep Space Nine. Maybe she choked to death on a cashew.
To Share
Another pub grub menu staple: Chicken wings, onion rings, cheesy potato boats, tortilla chips all with a sour cream and barbeque dip. To share.
To share, you greedy fuckers, so don’t even think of eating a whole platter yourself.
By listing the platter menu option with the caveat “to share”, greasy chain pubs, smoky wine bars and steakhouses are obviously covering themselves against accusations of pandering to the glutton. Fair enough, although it’s easily the most patronising promotional instruction this side of ‘Yours to own on DVD.’
© Martin Lampen
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