Ahhh, it would be like the time she was sent by a charity to Tanzania to learn about poverty...
...and learned that no one is poorer than Jack Monroe. Thanks Oxfam!
Jack Monroe #121 Fahrenheit 106
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...and learned that no one is poorer than Jack Monroe. Thanks Oxfam!
I would love Jack to upload a video of her singing the (soon to be) Christmas Classic. "Boris Johnson is a bleep' by Kunt and the Gang. Kunt is aiming for the Cristmas number one spot.
I am fantasing about downloading a version to liven up the "Guess this Tune' round at the terminally sad office zoom quiz.
Full disclosure, the vocalist (singer would not be accurate) s a friend of a friend, because I am classy. Trianglulate me Jack.
I am fantasing about downloading a version to liven up the "Guess this Tune' round at the terminally sad office zoom quiz.
Full disclosure, the vocalist (singer would not be accurate) s a friend of a friend, because I am classy. Trianglulate me Jack.
Mr D's gigged with him a lot.
Oooh FANCY genuinely star struck. Downloaded 3 versions yesterday.
@Pixieboots - thank you for taking one for the team. I assumed that using stale mince pies meant also crushing the (stale) pastry into the bread but I think the way you did it was horrific enough. And this is from someone with Lancashire heritage who loves a spiced fruit/cheese combo.
"Hi, it's Jack Monroe here, writer, campaigner, cook, activist, You Tube slop singer and all-round godsend. When I was asked to take part in a travel programme, I only agreed on the condition that I could be painfully forensic in my choice of destination. It's been a year of conquering fears, leaving the house only for essential trips to Edinburgh on the sleeper and being extremely neurotic about not catching COVID. So much so that I caught it and despite a temperature of nearly a billion degrees I hauled myself out from underneath my weighted blanket to discover what life is like for some of the people who work, picking fruit for the renowned brand Mel Donte (who I honestly thought was a singer who'd once duetted with Patsy Cline (incidentally I've loved her for decades). Anyway, it turns out I was wrong and they actually can peaches and tit (these actually form part of one of my most celebrated and popular dishes, my peach and chickpea slurry - which the late Fanny Cradock once pulled this face at:I went back for another look and found this beautyView attachment 356391
Needless to say, I had the last laugh when she died before I was born.
I was given some very strict instructions - to only pack the bare minimum and to head to a secret location. I hauled my one million kilo backpack of yellow stickered liver all the way to meet my driver, who blindfolded me and bundled me into the back of his Austin Maxi. Passport burning in my hand (or was it the long covid?) I wondered where I was headed. I awoke what felt like days later - hot, sweaty, fevered - in dire need of water and a hot shower. We had been travelling for so long, and had come so far - it seemed like an extremely and severely long time. My companion and guide for the trip arrived to greet me as I stepped out -sweating, heaving my backpack onto the dusty tarmac.
"Very pleased to meet you" she said, introducing herself as Barbara and curtseying to the ground. She was obviously highly aware of how regarded I was at The Groucho club, but I summoned her up from the floor and in a polite hot fury burning with a thousand suns asked if she was "aware of my work".
I was taken to set down my liver backpack and partake of refreshments and was assured I'd be allowed to meet the fruit pickers soon, which was what I, Jack Monroe, Patron Saint of Slop and Godsend was here to do - bring cheer to the masses. Like Vera Lynn with eggy farts.
A short time later I was escorted out to meet the common people, the workers - where my heart lies, as a povvo cosplay urchin with cor lumme lawks good humour and a scampering twinkle of tit.
It was so light, so bright, and the white light hurt my eyes - but the fresh smell of peaches tinged the air, I closed my eyes to drink in the experience and be at one with nature. I felt if I reached out I'd be able to pluck one of the ripe fruits, bite into it and savour the moment. Then I remembered that it would actually taste of something and have texture and vitamins in it and panicked that I hadn't brought my nutribullet with me.
Barbara, still unaware of my work, stepped forward to bring me out of my musings and introduce me to the gathering throng of fruit pickers who were clamouring for my attention. Some of them stared at me, others looked non plussed. At least one of them was picking their nose. I stood on a wooden pallet to make my maiden speech in front of the gathered throng:
"I know I have the body of a weak and feeble urchin, but I have the heart and stomach of an anchovy...and a tin can anchovy too"
Some wept openly such was the moving sentiment of my words - which I'd bashed out in half an hour on my Nokia. Others looked unmoved, but I would soon with them round with my narc charm by screaming "YOU LEFT" at them.
I was then invited to walk round...and off I scampered.
I was wide eyed with curiosity, watching the feverish milling of the workers, the povvos, as they went about their work. Something was troubling me though...and I couldn't put my finger on what. I had to ask someone. I, Jack Monroe, stepped forward and moved to talk to one of the hard working imps who I was, not so long ago, speaking passionately and emotively too.
"I'm fascinated. I'm a world renowned expert on food of all types - but I've never come across this before....how do you get the fruit to grow like that...in the cans....?"
I am sad to report that the urchin just gave me a withering look and carried on sealing the Mel Donte receptacles up.
My first day had been a roaring success. I'd communed with poor people, given them many pearls of wisdom - but was sadly no closer to finding out how fruit actually grew in a tin. I repaired to my hotel room for a shower, a siesta plus a piss and a sandwich.
My grateful thanks to all at Mel Donte for this wonderful, life affirming experience which I'll now dine out on for the next twenty years"
I want this show so bad I'm not even joking. Just close your eyes and imagine it...
Jack trying to say the locals have a more luxurious life than she had when she was POOR no matter where she is or what the living conditions are like.
The horrified faces co hosts would make trying to teach her to make a traditional dish from their country, only to watch her ruin it with anchoïade and other maverick additions.
Jack assuming she'll be recognised out in public then realising outside the UK pretty much no one knows who she is.
Her presenting her spicy centrist takes as if they're the prelude to radical change.
It would be glorious come on channel 4, please!!!
That seems to be a recurring theme with Jack's recipes. A nasty taste left in your mouth that clings and lingers for hours.
You have done the cabal proud, gone above and beyond. Thank you.
And she forgot to mention to Squiggle that it must be bunged back in the fridge.
U ok hun?View attachment 356426
Okay lads, I'm going in.
Consulting the recipe, I have laid out my bread slices and chosen not to butter them a) to avoid sloppiness (!!) and b) because what do you think I am, the trillionaire daughter of a baron? No butter for me, thankspaceyou.
View attachment 356432
This is the yield from two stale leftover mince pies. In a rare miracle for a JM recipe, sloppy is not the right word, but I have my instructions and must maraud onwards.
View attachment 356437
I'm using some extra mature cheddar because it's what I have in and because all cheese is the same anyway.
View attachment 356440
I don't own a toastie maker and my grill is currently out of service, so I'm doing this the American grilled cheese way (maverick, y'all).
Jack's instructions don't mention buttering the outside (butter? on a toastie?), just oiling the toastie maker if that's what you're using, so I've just thrown a bit of sunflower oil into the pan.
View attachment 356445
It actually looks pretty nice! Maybe it won't be so bad?
... Fraus, it's appalling. The mince pie taste hits you first, which is momentarily quite appealing, but then the shock of the cheese rolls through you like that saliva-y wetness in the mouth you get just before you vomit.
It's somehow both too dry for a toastie and distressingly squishy with hot fruit. I managed two bites before I threw it away and then immediately took out the bin because I didn't want to look at it and be reminded.
I have since eaten a normal toastie (buttery and delicious), but a ghostly mouthfeel is lingering.
I dedicate this abomination to you all.
It looks like we may have friends in common!
Yes, they sent her to Tanzania. If you read the article in the Mirror about Irene and her plight, Jack had some serious brass neck to suggest looking at the similarities.
Likely Jack keeps schtum about this now because of the white saviour complex being under a critical eye.
A travel show would be ideal for Jack as she works 18 hours a day seven days a week and never takes a holiday *
Holiday = not tweeting, no
slopslinging, not distributing melamine cutlery, not mental health breaks to the Lakes, not being paid.
Holiday = not tweeting, no
slopslinging, not distributing melamine cutlery, not mental health breaks to the Lakes, not being paid.
Too early to tell.
'Needless to say, I had the last laugh when she died before I was born'
A highlight
Although actually just realised I dropped a bollock there, she was 7 when Fanny Fuckface died! I could do a back track (RIP Fanny it’s what she would have wanted etc) but I honestly can’t be arsed'Needless to say, I had the last laugh when she died before I was born'
A highlight
Of course they did. She wasn't....please tell me they didn't do this?
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