Little D's Grub In A Bag

It's the weekend and Little D wants to share a recipe with you. His thoughts about the recipe where far ranging from: 'Can we cook it all in one potato?' to 'Does it come with Lego?', and our favourite, 'When I grow up can I still twiddle twaddle?' It's Sunday morning and Little D has selected his first round of ingredients, some beef, chicken, carrots, potatoes, pasta, baked beans and sausages with ice cream for starters and pudding. We negotiate with Little D, pointing out that you shouldn't really mix pork and chicken. His solution is to add fish. Again, we negotiate with him the fine points of food poisoning, vomiting and crapping over a five bar fence. The crapping over a five bar fence -- we don't use these words but he gets the idea -- makes him delighted and he wants to create a dish that will have us laughing, and crying, on the toilet, for hours, days and possibly weeks. We firmly negotiate with Little D that vomiting and diarrhoea should not be the plus side of a good meal, that learning to cook is a valuable life skill and duty. Duty sounds too much like doody and he falls on the floor laughing. Poo is still funny. Poo will be funny for a few years to come before sarcasm takes hold, and sarcasm is strong in our family. We shit you not. So, back to Little D minus the swearing which we reserve for you and for those special moments when we bury our heads in the hedges and scream at the world. We negotiate hard with Little D and tell him that the potatoes he grew and dug up should be part of the meal. He agrees. We mention beef. He applauds. We mention herbs. He laughs and nods. We have no idea why herbs are funny to him. We talk about oil, he demands butter, we come to an agreement on oil and butter. He asks, 'Can it all be cooked together like Stu' -- we know he doesn't mean stew, it's the way he draws out the U, as in Stu-u-u-u-u-u. This again means there is much hilarity as he rolls around the floor and Carol and I Google little yellow vans. We agree to an easier version of stew, an all in one meal in a tinfoil parcel or as he calls it, 'grub in a bag'.

Little D's Grub In A Bag

So, here's the recipe, you'll have to concentrate for this because dealing with children and deciphering what they say can often mean you have a nosebleed. From here on in, it's all Little D, we are merely typing it (for the record he hasn't seen what has gone before -- he's even asking us what has gone before, we won't show him, he calls us mean, there are tears, then a glass or milk, a biscuit and back to telling you how he made this meal. We'll interject in brackets when the need arises). Take my potatoes (they can be your potatoes too, we have to point this out to stop you coming around our's in the dead of night looking for our potatoes), I took a lot of big ones (we know, we told him less is more). I filled the sink with water and washed off all the muck -- I hate doing that but Mummy told me I had to -- this is me washing the potatoes. I didn't sulk no matter what Daddy says.

Washing potatoes

The water turns dirty but that's okay. It's fine. Keep scrubbing the potatoes. Daddy keeps telling me this. They take forever. Oh Lord, do they take forever. Then you will have these potatoes.

Children's cooking

Get Daddy to cut up the meat from the freezer (for the record this meat was topside, but any sirloin or even a fatty cut of beef will do), get Daddy to cut up the potatoes (you will notice that Little D is good at delegating -- I have just been asked by Little D what that means, told him, he laughed, he called me mean; mean is his favourite word along with the phrase, 'Why you little...' and then he adds some random insult like 'bookend', 'carpet rag', 'toilet brush' and a favourite of mine, 'pineapple lover'. That aside, he's small, knives are big). Put the meat and the potatoes in a large bowl, slop in oil and dried herbs (we're using our own Italian seasoning which is basically rosemary and oregano with pepper, and we don't slop), then mush the meat and potatoes around until they are slimy (coated). My hands are all greasy. Ooh, greasy.

All in one bag meal

Get some tin foil (handily handed to us by Mummy who has had her head in her hands throughout the whole process, in a photo above you can see her in the background with her head in the fridge, trying not to laugh) and dollop out (portion out) the meat and potatoes into the foil. Shiny foil. No vegetables (we point out that potatoes are vegetables, Little D's reply is sage like, 'As long at they're not aubergines').

Dishing up meat and potatoes

Make little parcels of them. Stroke them. Kiss them goodnight. Poke them (this is all optional after making tin foil parcels).

One bag meals

Give to Daddy (Daddy puts them in the oven at 160-180c for 45 minutes, he also adds butter which Little D has forgotten about. Meanwhile, as Little D and Daddy leave the kitchen, Mummy makes a crumble).


Little D was set the task of taking a photo of the finished meal. He forgot. We forgot. It was very tasty. There were way too many potatoes but the upside is that the next day what was left we roasted with peppers and popped a fried egg on top, and it was, in Little D's own words, 'Delightful'. We hope you join us again for Little D's cookery corner.


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