Meaty bites in red sauce
A couple I shared a house with near Sydney Uni for a year would fill various QOTW on a weekly basis (housemates from hell, psychos I’ve know, unwanted sexual advances, etc.)
She was the worst imaginable cook – the best thing she made was the phone call to Pizza Hut. He was a nasty drunk.
Her mince with pasta (not spag bol - that would suggest more ingredients) was legendary – 500g of frozen hamburger-grade mince dropped into a pot set on super high, one tin of tomatoes and - if you were lucky - one small onion. (No garlic, capsicum, mushrooms, celery, spices or everything else that contribute a modicum of flavour.)
After five minutes, the frozen block was attacked vigorously with a wooden spoon to break it into smaller chunks and the pasta was tossed into the single pot.
Result: dry and soggy pasta floating in watery red sauce of burnt and raw meat chunks with - if you were lucky - small onion pieces.
In addition to this culinary genius was the dog - a poor, sweet-natured thing that had the upper half and desires of a cattle dog and the legs of a sausage dog. It dearly wanted to run and herd sheep but flip arse over tit as it tried to negotiate corners.
I took pity on the dog and once asked the butcher for some bones to supplement its diet of dried biscuits and pate-like dog food. The butcher had something he called “meaty bites” – cubes of off-cut fat with streaks of meat.
I bought a bag of this perfect doggy treat and placed in the fridge.
One night I came home and she had prepared the “meaty bites” in her faux spag bol style.
It was a grayish-red glue.
“Have you eaten?” she asked me as hubby tucked into a bowl.
“Errr … yes. I had some FOOD earlier,” I emphasized as I excused myself into my bedroom.
As I left the room, hubby had finished his bowl: “This is lovely, darling. Can I have some more?”
I barely made it into my room before doubling over in schadenfreudic laughter.
(Taztigger, Wed 23 May 2007, 6:14, Reply)