Bakelite Sandwich

Over the last couple of weeks we’ve been using WeightWatchers at home, just to lose a couple of the extra pounds the lard fairy sneaks under my pillow when I sleep.

Most of the recipes are pretty decent, although they resemble cardboard origami more than cooking, but this slouching beast deserves its own category in lists of hazardous materials.  I should have known something was wrong when it called for 705 ml of soured cream. Have you ever seen 705 ml of soured cream in one place?  Worse, when combined with chicken, enough beans to cause global warming, and a pound of chillies it looked like the stomach lining of Ridley Scott’s Alien or the opening scenes from The Thing.

After forty minutes in the oven the soured cream had separated into lumpy globs of curd in between layers of tortilla that had turned into a sort of organic Bakelite. I just hope it doesn’t gain sentience at the bottom of whatever Cambridgeshire landfill that has to deal with its pulsing evilness.

I still have flashbacks when I smell cumin.

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