Health food bloggers need to say “bliss” less and “piss” more.

 

I like cooking tasty, healthy food. This is because I want people to say “she could be a bikini model, but she’s using her brain instead” behind my back, but I also hate celery. If I’m going to put something in my mouth, there has to be something in it for me (*winks). And that something should be some kind of vague nutrition. But swallowing is much more likely if what I’m putting into my mouth tastes good.

 

I’m not against protein balls or cauliflower rice or even kale chips. I love them all. I just wish the health food culture wasn’t so … wanky. I know there’s a market for inspiration, but I just want to get through an almond-based recipe without having to endure words like “nourish”, “bliss”, “wholesome” or “clean”. What I really want is a good Aussie accent explaining to me how to activate my almonds “without burning the arse out of it”. I don’t have a problem with photos of artfully-stacked slices packaged in rustic twine and baking paper, I just want people to stop trying to enlighten followers with their recipes. Because it’s food guys. It gets eaten, sprayed with bile and ends up in rough clumps in the toilet. Calm down. Stop trying to change my life.

 

And because Alf Stewart is yet to host a clean eating cooking show, I’m going to attempt to fill the gap. So I’m sharing a recipe with you to kick off the #cuntstryingtobehealthy movement. I don’t have a name for this stuff, but for the sake of labelling, I’ll call it Pretentious Slice.

I know this recipe wouldn’t qualify as “clean”. It has two kinds of sugar and butter. But it uses oats instead of flower, has fruit and is packed with fibre (I think). And because flour is satan and I care about your colon, I reckon it’s better for you than a doughnut. If it’s more nutritious than a doughnut, it’s healthy.

Alright. Here we go.

 

The first thing you’re going to want is a decent food processor. No healthy eater is complete without one. Because a blender just isn’t going to get your cashew aioli to the right consistency (another recipe for another time). Most of us closet health food eaters have some form of informercial equivalent; mine is a Ninja. It’s great for margaritas.

 

So step one is getting a cup of All Bran and one and a half cups of oats into whatever you usually make your bliss balls in.

 

Then you’re going to want this stuff called Fibre Booster. I don’t know exactly what’s in it, but it looks like some kind of fertiliser and that’s what you want if you’re trying to shit your way skinny. It has a purple label, if that helps. I put in one scoop with the quarter cup measurement and then like half of that … so like one sixth of a cup? I don’t know man, only you know your colon and what kind of scraping it needs. Listen to your heart.

 

Pulse that shit in a food processor until it’s as close to a flour as your imagination will let to believe. Because no matter how fabulous your nutribullet is, nothing is going to make fibre as fine as that delightfully bleached, pulverised white flour. You’re going to have to make sacrifices if you want to have a sculpted bod. Don’t kid yourself. It’s going to be grainy. It’s like when people say things like “cauliflower chicken nuggets” and pretend they taste the same as McNuggs. There’s no way white, bulbous broccoli is going to taste exactly the same as chicken offcuts dipped in batter and fried in week-old oil. And that’s ok. But stop lying to yourself.

 

Ok, now because you’re added a fuckoad of what I can only assume is powdered bark to the mix, you’re going to need sugar. Get one third of a cup of raw sugar (yes, raw because you didn’t’ think we could get through a recipe of pretentious slice without the word “raw”, did you?) probably about one heaped third of a cup of brown sugar.

 

Then chuck in about a teaspoon each of nutmeg, mixed spice and cinnamon, and about two teaspoons of ground ginger, or even more. This is a mix a throw in with almost any sweet thing I make, and it never fails to impress my family. They look at me like I’m a bloody genius and it’s all thanks to knowing where the Masterfoods stand is in the supermarket. I actually don’t measure it, I generally just shake the bottles until my internal rage is reduced from a boil to a simmer. Depending on the day or whether or not you’re being paid 17 per cent less than your male counter parts, this could vary significantly. Best to use the measurements for your first go…

 

Also, you’re going to want to add about two or free teaspoons of baking soda about now. Don’t worry about this stuff rising too much, because it’s kind of like cooking with sand – there’s only so much you can make it rise. Also, add about a teaspoon of salt here. The salt is the real star of this slice. It’s like a salted ginger slice, which makes me sound like one of those trendy foodie people. Don’t limit your tastebuds to the fads that trickle down to the McCafe display case from Masterchef. I’m breaking barriers here. Join me!

 

Now blend all this together. There’s no time limit here, just as long as it takes to irritate any person within a 15 metre radius of you and your food processor.

 

Now you add the wet stuff. I’m going with a bit of coconut oil – gees I don’t know like a third of a cup – a drizzle of olive oil and one or two heap tablepoons of butter. You could probably do it all with coconut oil, but you’d be a fuckwit. Butter is life. Butter is everything. Butter is divinity.

 

Then blend.

 

Have a look at the mess you’ve made in the processor. If it’s still powdery, add more of your favourite oily ingredient. You want it to get to the point of resembling a dough, if that dough was made with a wooden table put through a mulcher.

 

Once you’re pleased with this grainy goo, squish it into a lined baking tray. You can roll it out, but you’re going to need to put a layer of baking paper on top and beneath the dough, because that stuff is clingier than your Year Eight boyfriend. If I’m being precise, I’ll roll it out between the baking paper and peel the top layer off and throw the bottom layer into the baking tin, which saves mucking around with transferring it. Too easy campeasy.

 

But because this is Pretentious Slice we’re making, I recommend going for the rustic look, which will garner more likes on Insty. Sprinkle some rolled oats into the lined baking tin, throw in the mixture and knead it roughly. Then press it as evenly as you can into the tin. Put the tin in a moderate over for about 10 or 15 minutes, or until the mixture changes colour and starts to rise slightly.

 

Take it out and dump a whole bag of frozen berries on top. I prefer straight up strawberries but I’m not the boss of you so you can chuck on what you like. I’m not going to know about it. But I will say that the fruit works best if it was frozen first, because it breaks down better. Because the cells have already been frozen, they completely die in the arse once they’re heated, which makes for a nice gooey texture that you usually have to get slowly simmering the fresh fruit like a sucker. And you’re not a sucker.

 

Drizzle on some honey for sweetness and to keep the vegans away, then throw it back into the oven for another 10 or 15 minutes.

 

Remove from the oven then wait to cool before eating so you don’t burn your little tongue on the gooey innards of the fruit. But considering you’re going to be taking photos of the slice from various angles, on different wooden boards and with multiple combinations of fresh flowers, half-drunk cups of tea and linen towels, that shit will probably be ice cold before you even think of enjoying it/ruining it for photos forever by putting it in your mouth.

 

This slice is best enjoyed with a cup of tea while deliberating over which hashtags to use.