I like to think I’m a fairly good cook. I also like to think I’m fairly good at smoking weed (I mean, it’s not space travel – really). I eat a lot of food. I smoke a lot of weed. If you do things long enough, you tend to get fairly good at them. With the obvious exception of Nickleback. But when I combine smoking weed with cooking food – holy shit. I go from a dude who works in the storeroom at Aldi to Heston Blumenthal.
There’s been countless occasions where my girlfriend has come home and seen me with three frypans and the BBQ going, rolled her eyes, sat down on our couch and opened up the Menulog app. Four hours later, we’re eating some of the tastiest lamb korma known to man from a really polite guy named Raj who delivers from just up the road. Turns out I curdled something. Whatever.
I think the thing about stoned cooking is you just want to add things. You know how all the best chefs in the world say simplicity – particularly in terms of cooking – holds an air of beauty? Yeah, well when I’m blazed and making some fried rice, if there’s half the pantry and a good portion of the leftover lamb korma Raj brought us the night before, I’ve made it “too simple”.
My girlfriend always sits me down and says that I am a good cook, but I just need to stop getting so carried away. But she can’t relate to me. In fact, very few stoner chefs can. Most of them are bare basic kinda guys. You know that mate you see at the local who always invites you back for cones then puts cheese on the OUTSIDE of the toasted sandwich as well as the inside, because he’s convinced the pan will fry the cheese like a piece of fucking steak? Yeah, well I’m the guy who hates that kind of guy. In fact, I do hate that guy. That meal is so damn hard to eat after six pints. Cheese on out OUTSIDE? Really?
Anyway, I’m off to make a salt-crusted fish risotto.
Photo by Maxwell Arnold.