Ah, le French Bread Pizza
Like all of the best people in the world, when I decide I like a lunch, I go all in. Conkers deep for at least three weeks, eating it over and over again until my taste buds tap out and can’t take it anymore. Here’s a list of the greatest “looping lunches” I’ve ever known…
French bread pizza – these enjoyed a massive resurgence in my kitchen in around 2013/14 (just after the Olympics). It’s a simple process: get a French stick, cut the fucker in half, then pile on some cheese and pizza sauce from the Costcutter downstairs. A few minutes under a grill, and it’s time to expertly burn the roof of your mouth off with the first bite. Mmm, don’t mind if I do.
Poached eggs on toast – form a misty whirlpool of boiling vinegar-water, crack some eggs in and leave for four long minutes while you consider deep philosophical conundrums like “hang on, the internet isn’t an actual place” and “okay, but more to the point, what are boobs made of?” Then, when the dinger dings, bust open the outer membrane of your egg to reveal the yellow bit and get liberal with the pepper pot.
Cheese toastie with hot sauce – nothing, and I’m including really good crack cocaine here (the really expensive stuff), is as wildly addictive as a cheese toastie. It’s so oozy. Then you add some burning red sriracha hot sauce to it, and it’s as if John the Baptist just waddled into your mouth wearing flip-flops and a backwards baseball cap to talk about his friend Jesus of Nazareth.
Prawn Cocktail on a 25p bread roll – when Edison discovered whatever nugget needed to form electricity he must have felt really good about himself, just like I did when I realised the shop down the road does a dynamite bread roll for 25p. Bit crispy on the outside (the crust), light and soft in the middle (the bread). Get some Prawn Cocktail sandwich spread from Marks and Sparks, then introduce the whole concoction to your face.
Ham sandwich – ask any Italian to explain the traditional basis of good cookery and they will tell you, in no uncertain terms, that they don’t fucking know. Literally not a clue. Why? Because Nonna, bless her cotton stockings, keeps everything a secret for centuries at a time to maintain ownership of the kitchen. But let me bust something clean open for you – it’s all about simplicity, three ingredients singing in harmony. Such as, for example: Sunblest, Sainsburys Ham, and Lurpak spreadable.
Beans on toast with cheese and tabasco – beans on toast is a wartime staple that can be consumed as is, you have Churchill’s blessing on that. But just as a car with a flame painted onto the bonnet is always going to be better than one without, so bees and tees, once pimped with cheese and tabasco, can never really look back. If you’re Spanish you can even add small chunks of chorizo (pronounced “chor-izo”) to the dish.
Roast chicken sandwich, brown bread, salad cream – when roast chicken was invented in the early 1920s, it was teamed with classic peasant staples like turnips or carrots. But actually the breast meat is best consumed between two slices of brown bread, with “lashings” (or “dollops”) of salad cream. Someone, not mentioning any names, once had one of these every single day for about seven years.
Sainsburys Taste the Difference Salt Beef, Philadelphia, Bagel, Gherkins – like all successful experiments, this is entirely dependant on the specifics. It has to be Sainsburys Taste the Diff Salt Beef, the bagel must be sesame seed (and served toasted as the base of an open sandwich, no lid), and the gherkins, without exception, must be Mrs Elswood’s Sweet Cucumber Sandwich Slices. Anything else is a complete abomination and you should be punched in the solar plexus and sent to jail for 3-7 years.
Jacket Potato with Cheese and Coleslaw – pop a potato in the oven. Watch it cook low and slow for four hours, then heap on some cheese, spoon on some supermarket coleslaw, and get yourself a bus ticket to Spud Town Mississippi. Population: 4,237. Seriously, turns out it’s an actual place.
Tuna Mayo, white bread – the easiest process in the world, just crank open a tin of tuna by piercing the edges bit-by-bit using a rusty hunting knife, steam off the lid of a jar of mayonnaise, and tempt it from its vehicle making the kinds of beckoning sounds you might use to attract a cat or a kitten. Eventually, when everyone’s playing ball, smoosh them together until they form a loose foam, add to squishy white bread, and ingest through your open mouth. Allow the food to travel towards your stomach, then through your lower, upper and middle intestines, then, three days later, out of your lovely plump butt. The circle of life complete.