Do you want a taste of fine dining like daddy buys you back home, but on a budget of 50p? Well, here at The Lampoon we’ve got you covered! We’ve searched far and wide, through deep jungles and crowded Tescos, to bring you this ancient recipe, adapted from a scrap of sacred parchment. Let’s get cooking!
For the first key component, I prefer only the finest dark notes of a full-bodied and double-roasted slice of toast. Often this effect can be achieved through your standard counter-top toaster. However, for the connoisseur, it should be roasted on a spatula held above a pocket lighter. Imagine you’re planning to jack up a gallon crumbs directly into your taste glands.
Then, you’ll need to open the tin: for the best results, do it like Jamie Oliver. First, make an insertion down the spine of the can, before cracking it in two like the neck of your first victim. This is done to separate the moist and subdued notes of the precious beans from the tasteless aluminium rind.
Now, like all the most delectable varieties of canned beans, the first two inches of the contents shall be just watery juice and nothing else. Some say this is due to companies wanting to save money, which is of course nonsense. In actuality, it is to make sure the beans arrive firm and perky. Ideally, they’ll stay as fresh as the day they were picked off the buds of the bean vines, down in the Heinz region of France.
This liquid, often referred as bean nectar, can be poured away down the sink or saved and added to instant coffee to make something which tastes better than instant coffee.
You can then add the beans to the toast hot or cold. Alternatively, serve them in a tumbler with two cubes of ice and a slice of lemon. Some may add a continental accoutrement by sprinkling a thin veil of cheese atop the dish. I prefer to snort a line of grated Parmesan before sitting down for my meal.
And there you have it: a meal to keep a rah going when he’s down to his last few thousand pounds.