This week, we’re very excited to have Stuart Heritage (of Luv & Hat fame) as our guest blogger; especially as he is now a proper foodie with his own food blog and everything. Personally, we think that trumps the small fact that he writes for The Guardian.
So without further ado, I’ll hand you over to the very capable creator of the world’s most distressing gingerbread men…
If one thing characterised the summer of 2012, it was the gingerbread man. To mark the Queen’s jubilee, Sainsbury’s launched Mr & Mrs Jubilee – a pair of upsettingly malformed, boggle-eyed, jizzy-looking gingerbread arseholes. Then, for the Olympics, Sainsbury’s launched Mr & Mrs Sport – the same malformed, boggle-eyed, jizzy-looking gingerbread arseholes as before, but wearing medals. They made me proud to be British.
So, to continue the golden spirit of the summer, I decided to make my own gingerbread men. And because I made them, they’d obviously be much better than anything those supermarket dicks could come up with. Right?
HOW TO MAKE GINGERBREAD MEN
STEP ONE – Combine a load of gingerbread ingredients (like these) in a bowl. Decide that you don’t actually want to make 20 gingerbread men, so half all the quantities. End up putting way too much of some stuff and way too little of other stuff in because maths has never been your strong point. Dump it all onto some clingfilm.
STEP TWO – Roll the dough out until it’s the same thickness as a pound coin. Put in the fridge and plan to leave for two hours. Get bored after ten minutes and remove from the fridge.
STEP THREE – Realise that you don’t actually own a gingerbread man cutter. Attempt to cut the shape of a gingerbread man out of the dough with a knife. Fail hopelessly because you messed up the quantities of the ingredients and the dough’s still warm. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just followed the instructions. But oh no, you think you’re better than that, don’t you?
STEP FOUR – Instead, just kind of hamfistedly fling a load of gingerbread men together limb by limb like some sort of awful surgeon who wasn’t hugged enough as a child or whatever. Do your best to ignore the fact that they look like little shiny poos because you’ll have to eat them soon. Bake at 180 C for ten minutes.
STEP FIVE – Forget that the gingerbread men will spread out in the oven. Stare at your wodge of mangled gingerbread for a couple of minutes, realise that you shouldn’t have taken the piss out of Sainsbury’s as much as you did because gingerbread men are actually quite hard. Briefly toy with the idea of inventing the gingerbread human centipede. Remember that you’re writing this as a guest post and that you should be on your best behaviour. Cut them apart with a knife.
STEP SIX – After spending about 20 minutes working out where the head is, ice sad faces on your pathetic mangled gingerbread stumps, and give them Smarties for buttons. Even though they don’t have hands. Or any discernible limbs to speak of. Maybe they’ve got a helper who does their buttons up or something. Look, shut up.
STEP SEVEN – Repeat for as many gingerbread men as you’ve made.
STEP EIGHT – Apologise to the readers of Kitchen Bitching, who are probably used to a better standard of cook than you, you jumped-up bimbo.