Originally published by The Clifton Courier, April 25, 2018

 

I realise this post does not fit into my strict Wednesday or Sunday schedule, but considering I got motion sick from my computer and passed out at 5.30pm today, the irregular posting seems appropriate.

I’d like to point out that I’ve just returned from a month in Europe, not as an apology or an explanation for the lack of activity on this here blog, but merely to brag. I’ve been to the Trevi fountain. I’m cultured now.

And on that note, I’d like to offer you the first dish that featured in my autobiographical cook book gimmick I prepared for the paper in my absence: a soup-mix-based cob loaf. The epitome of culture.

Rip off a side and dunk right into it:

Boxing Day Cob

Now, just because it’s called “Boxing Day Cob”, doesn’t mean you can’t eat it year round.

The name is less about the date and more to do with the social conditions of the occasion. Most people will have Boxing Day off, meaning you’re probably going to a gatho of some kind. And the beauty of Boxing Day events is that they’re significantly less formal than their Christmassy counterpart.

You can wear thongs. You’re probably a little hungover. And you’re wanting to make the most out of one last day where it’s socially acceptable to eat like the disgusting slobs we all have raging inside us.

And while I’m in no way disrespecting the hallowed cob, its low-key properties makes it an absolute banger at casual parties.

Another thing about Boxing Day: the leftovers.

Chances are there are still a few roast taties and bits of lamb sitting in a Tupperware container in the fridge, just wanting to be made into a sandwich.  Not that I have anything against leftover sangas – I’m a strong advocate for the roast potato sandwich – but this is one way to use up the uneaten goods while appearing to be some kind of culinary wizard.

This particular recipe came into being last Christmas. Dad told our Boxing Day host that “the girls will bring three cobloaves” when we rocked up. Now, that’s a bit of pressure.

Of course, the classic cob mix was brought out, but I felt the need to bring some variety to the table. With a bit of imagination and a sprinkle of fatherly fate, the Boxing Day Cob was born.

Step 1: Using a serrated knife, cut the top off a cob loaf. Pull out the innards like you’re disembowelling your worst enemy, putting these bready guts on a tray with baking paper. You could coat this in cooking spray or brush it with garlic butter if you really wanted to impress people. But because I tend to win people over with my sparkling personality, I don’t need garlic butter.

Step 2: Whack the tray in a moderate oven, placing the hollowed-out loaf and the top in as well. Keep an eye on these throughout the cooking process, removing them when they’re golden brown.

Step 3:Slice and dice a large brown onion. My hospitality teacher, Barb, once said the secret to cutting onions without crying was to cut off the root of the onion last. I don’t know if that’s a failsafe method, but it seems to work for me. And I’m not someone known for holding in my tears: I once cried in The Goofy Movie.

Step 4:Slice and dice five rashers of bacon, choosing to trim or not to trim the fat rind based on how disgusted you are with yourself after Christmas dinner.

Step 5: Chuck these in a medium-sized saucepan with about 20g of butter and a good glug of olive oil.

Step 6: Sauté over a medium heat, stirring the pot to the beat of the Shrek the Halls promotional Christmas CD your family’s still playing 15 years after getting it from Big W.

Step 7:Add one tub of cream cheese and one tub of sour cream – they’re roughly 250g but you don’t need to be super precise.

Step 8:Melt this down to a thick, off-white sludge, stirring occasionally until well-combined.

Step 9:Stir in a whole packet of the powdered soup mix you asked your father to buy from Foodworks while it was still open. You thought you said onion, but he came back with tomato.

Step 10:Roll with it.

Step 11:With your ego inflated by the bold choice of adding tomato powder to cob loaf mix, let inspiration guide you to the container of leftovers in the fridge.

Step 12:Tip in some leftover roasted veggies, pretending you’re freestylin’ on Masterchef.

Step 13: Add a handful of store-bought “pizza mix” pre-grated cheese, because you were “far too busy” to grate it yourself.

Step 14:Be honest with yourself and add another two large handfuls of cheese.

Step 15: Once that’s melted, pour this slop into the hollowed out bread roll and plonk it on the table in front of your guests still on the oven tray. Don’t bother transferring it to a fancy serving platter, because no one can be bothered to wash up at this point and, if it really is being served up on Boxing Day, chances are your guests are close enough relatives to have seen the real you. Too much damage has been done for a bit of fancy serving gear to repair. It is what it is. Accept it.