Ever since Joanna Fuertes-Knight first appeared on VICE talking about deep fat frying and renal failure, we’ve known she was destined for stardom. And while her column has never been anything less than hilarious, and her recipes unfailingly delicious, she really deserved to dance free on our screens rather than be confined to the static prison of text and photographs. Which is why we decided to give her her own show.
Our new Facebook picture is pretty good.
Babies are lazy bastards. When they’re not pretending they can’t walk so they can spend all day being pushed around asleep in a stroller, they’re listlessly having their asses wiped because they can’t be bothered to go to the toilet. They’re so lazy, in fact, that they can’t even be bothered to chew, let alone lift their own cutlery. But I’m on to you frauds and your tiny jars of all-in-one meal slush, and I’m coming to take your food away.
I’m an impoverished student of the 99 percent, so I know from experience that baby food is not just for babies. When the shit really hits the fan, we’ll all be forced to stuff this mush into our emaciated maws, as the fatcats lord it over us with their superior banquets of mystery meat gruel and rainwater-that’s-been-allowed-to-collect-in-the-outdoor-ashtray daiquiris.
The idea of ribs is exceptionally gross, because, when you stop and think about it, you’re basically gnawing on the remains of a pig’s back fat. So why not just not think about it at all? Why not just throw a load of baby food on top and pretend you’re six months old again?
1 x cup of mango baby food (I used a mango and banana melba dessert)
1 x can of fizzy mango drink
½ x cup of brown sugar
½ x cup of ketchup
4 x tbspns white wine vinegar
1 x clove of crushed garlic
¼ x tsp cayenne pepper
1 x pack spare ribs
The avocado: light of my life, jewel of my diet and chock full of potassium to keep my prostate glowing. But, for some reason, it’s a fruit that regularly tops those “foods that kids hate” polls that things like The Telegraphlike to run. One theory is that children are all difficult dickwipes and parents would rather just shovel undercooked Alphabites into their offspring to keep them subdued. The other is that people don’t know what to do with avocados outside of making industrial amounts of guacamole. So, courageous pioneer that I am, I thought of a way to make this admittedly quite weird fruit more sexy (basically; add sugar, whipped cream, more sugar and buttery pastry).
Choux pastry is one of those cookery witchcraft tricks which smuggington smug-faced chefs in their smug kitchens always say is “simple” when you’ve got the hang of it. Yeah, maybe it’s easy to make after ten years of experience mate, but I almost had an embolism making these. However, the sense of achievement when you’ve finally got these babies to puff up in the oven rather than turn into greasy logs that look like a dog with tapeworm curled out, is endlessly satisfying.
As I’ve explained before, I come from a family where the general culinary consensus on how to deal with anything with a face is to kill it, cook it, drown it in animal by-products… then eat it. Once I was freed from my mother’s apron strings, it took me a while to understand people who didn’t enjoy meat. I didn’t understand that asking whether they valued animal life on a scale of cuteness or size wasn’t the right way to approach vegans.
So, in an effort to be more open-minded, I’m extending an ethically farmed olive branch to all my meat-hating homies. The only thing killed in making these scrumptious gyoza fried dumplings is my patience for militant veganism and possibly a couple thousand field mice from harvesting all that flour.
I feel like I haven’t talked to you guys enough about shitting. Sorry. Still, there’s no better time to bring it up than January, is there? I bet your body is feeling sorry for itself after you put all that meat, fizzy wine, ecstasy, gak, and mincemeat in it.
You want help?
Of course you do. But the answer isn’t making half-hearted resolutions, or night terrors, or crying in the shower fully-clothed; it’s shitting. And you know what? There really is no better way to cleanse your system of any marbles you swallowed as a child—and of course all the badness from 2011—than with vegetables and hospital-strength medication.