Archive for category Two Men Have a Conversation About

Two Men Have a Conversation About Adding Milk to Scrambled Eggs

The other day I made scrambled eggs for me and the children. I have always added milk to my egg mixture but never been totally confident this is correct. So I thought I would Google the question ‘should you put milk in scrambled eggs’. I wish I hadn’t. It’s possibly the most contradictory set of links ever. So now there’s only one way to settle the debate. By eavesdropping on two chefs, Richard and Phillip.

*wavy lines and xylophone music*

Scene – the kitchens of a four star hotel in London. It’s breakfast time.

Richard The Breakfast Chef: ON ORDER, 1 bacon sandwich, 1 full English and 2 Scrambled Eggs with Smoked Salmon.

Phillip the Sous:  YES CHEF!

(sounds of cooking)

Richard The Breakfast Chef: Phillip, the milk please!

Phillip the Sous: Milk? Have we got a cat all of a sudden? The waitresses do the cereal, teas and coffees. Er, Chef.

Richard The Breakfast Chef: It’s for the scrambled eggs you moron.

Phillip the Sous: Scrambled eggs? What the fuck would you put milk in scrambled eggs for? Do you know the Victorians used to sack their cooks for putting milk in scrambled eggs?

Richard The Breakfast Chef: Perverts.

Phillip the Sous: I said SACK THEIR COOKS. Anyway. It’s wrong.

Richard The Breakfast Chef: No it’s not, it makes the eggs creamier and slightly lighter in colour when you present them. Also my mum told me to put milk in when I was 7.

Phillip the Sous (incredulously) : YOUR MUM? Well would you mind telling Mummy Dearest that milk doesn’t go in scrambled eggs because it makes them too solid. WHICH IS THE WRONG TEXTURE. What else did she teach you to cook? “Today’s special: Lamb with Rice Krispies, Semolina Vol-Au-Vonts and Garlic Chewing Gum”. As taught to chef by his mother when he was eight?

Richard The Breakfast Chef: And who taught you to cook? Ronald Fucking McDonald? Got some hash browns there have we Phil? Can I have a McShit burger well done please? If you hadn’t noticed it’s your job to FLIP THE FUCKING BACON Philly Boy. And you’ve forgotten. It’s burned. Like everything you’ve cooked ever since your training in a red and yellow apron.

Phillip the Sous: Right that’s it! Come on then you milk adding weirdo!

(Richard and Phillip grab a kitchen knife and chase each other round the kitchen to the dismay of Arthur the Commis who has been quietly de-rinding bacon).

***

Well I’m glad that’s cleared up then……

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Two Men Have A Conversation About Christmas Shopping

Scene: Richard and Phillip are in a car driving to Sainsbury’s to do the Christmas food shop

Richard: Isn’t it odd that our wives have entrusted the Christmas shop to is, a couple of clueless old duffers? Very rum.

Phillip: Oh I suspect it’s just some sort of hackneyed comic device the writer is using to describe the ridiculousness of this tortuous annual ritual.

Richard: Well never mind that. Look at the bloody queue for Sainsbury’s car park!

Phillip: Jesus. It’s like the M25 on a Friday evening.

Richard: There’s only one thing for it…..

Phillip: Sit in the traffic and wait our turn?

Richard: No, no you idiot! Queue jump by driving on the wrong side of the road of course.

Phillip: Oh yes go on then (noise of engine starting). Oh look, that man appears to be shaking some salt on his chips only he’s forgotten to pick up the salt shaker. And what’s that one saying? ‘Cracking Blunt’? Well ‘You’re Beautiful’ was OK I suppose but I wouldn’t call him cracking.

One hour and 25 minutes later

Phillip: Quick! There’s a space!

Richard: Well spotted! (parks)

Phillip: It does look a bit like a Disabled bay though.

Richard: It doesn’t count at Christmas. During Christmas shopping you can officially park anywhere. It’s like a free pass.

Phillip: Richard?

Richard: Yes?

Phillip: Don’t you drive a BMW?

Richard: I do

Phillip: Surely it’s Christmas for you all year then!

(quick break to appreciate the obviousness of the last gag)

Scene: Inside the store

Richard: What’s the first thing on the list?

Phillip: Maris Pipers

Richard: What are they then?

Phillip: You daft old bastard! Everyone knows they’re red apples. Like these!

Richard: Good oh. What’s next?

Phillip: Semolina

Richard: SEMOLINA? Like that horrific cardboard desert we had at school. I bet they’ve got loads of that. (Spies assistant). Excuse me young man, have you got any semolina?

Assistant: I’m afraid we sold out yesterday. Nigella dredges her spuds in it on her Christmas programme. The second it aired we ran out.

Richard: DREDGES HER SPUDS? Is that a euphemism? And what, pray do perfectly adequate spud makers dredge them in the rest of the year?

Assistant: I’m not sure sir but I’m guessing nothing.

Phillip: Never mind, next item. Witch Hazel.

Richard: Fucking Witch Hazel? WHY?

Phillip: I suspect we don’t have any in and the shops are closing you know.

Richard: Excuse me again young man, when do you close?

Assistant: 4pm Christmas Eve

Richard: And open again?

Assistant: 10 am Boxing Day sir. With a sale.

Richard: You mean to say we’ve been asked to buy Witch Hazel because Sainsbury’s doors are closing for ONE WHOLE FUCKING DAY!

Phillip: Well you can’t be too careful.

Scene – the booze isle

Richard: This is more like it. No list needed here. We’ll need some advocaat and some Blue Bols.

Phillip: Are you sure they’ll get used?

Richard: Absolutely. Who doesn’t like advocaat at Christmas

Phillip (quietly): Me and the rest of the world…..

Richard: Don’t forget the Pale Ale and the Cranberry Vodka…..

Scene: At the checkouts

Richard: Well that was good. Only two hours queuing for a till. I’m sure it was three last year.

Assistant: That’ll be £334.56 please!

Richard: THREE HUNDRED QUID! At least Dick Turpin wore a mask……

Richard and Phillip leave and walk straight in to an Audi reversing out of the trolley park.

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Two Men Have a Conversation About….. a Goat

Scene: Two hikers, Richard and Phillip, are on top of a hill, having a rest and looking down.

Richard: I say Phillip, what’s that little white thing down there?

Phillip: Where? What white thing? All I can see is a couple of pink things bobbing up and down and moaning.

Richard: No, no, that’s those two Swedish ramblers shagging – I think she’s doing the reverse cowgirl. No I meant the OTHER side of the hill

Phillip: (disappointed) Oh I see. (Takes another sneaky peek then looks on the other side of the hill).Oh THAT. That’s a goat.

Richard: A STOAT? You stupid old fucker. Stoats are a bit more like a weasel. You’re nearly as blind as I am deaf. No that thing looks more like a cross between the devil and a small sheep. In fact quite like a goat.

Phillip: THAT’S WHAT I SAID YOU DEAF OLD BASTARD.

(At this point I would like kudos from the reader for avoiding the stoatily different gag. Ooops)

Richard: Haha. Only KIDDING. Goat jokes. You can’t bleat them.

*Awkward silence*

Phillip: What’s it eating?

Richard: Looks like grass. Although of course you do know that goats will eat anything don’t you?

Phillip: No I’m sorry, I don’t think they do. I think that’s the sort of clichéd, hackneyed myth that parents tell their children to stop them putting their arms in goat’s mouths at Petting Farms.

Richard: No it isn’t. It’s a well known fact.

Phillip: OK then. Have you ever seen a goat eating a Boing 747 Jumbo Jet?

Richard: Well, no, not actually seen. But I bet it would.

Phillip: Ok then, how about eating a thermonuclear warhead?

Richard: No.

Phillip: Original Source Lime Shower Gel? Tampons? A stock pot? Balls from a soft play ball pit? Have they ever eaten ANOTHER GOAT Richard? Are they little fucking cannibals? Oh look, there’s the famous head shrinking cannibal goat tribe of rural West Sussex! How about the antimacassar from the first class carriage of the 6.53 to Newhaven Harbour? Pig bollocks? Red Bull cans?

Richard: No. But then again up till now I’d never seen the reverse cowgirl used in an open field before but those Swedes look like experts.

Phillip: Stop watching the free sex show you fucking pervert. Concentrate on the oddity that is a goat, in a field, eating grass.

Richard: It’s not eating grass any more. In fact it appears to be dumping it out again.

Phillip: THAT’S DISGUSTING. Have you ever smelled goat shit? Soon the whole valley will be reeking of poo.

Richard: Imagine what it would smell like after it had eaten a 747, a thermonuclear warhead and some pig bollocks.

Phillip: WHICH IT WOULD NEVER EAT!

*another awkward silence*

Richard: Oh well, that’s all the tea and bourbons gone. I suppose we’d better head back to the station.

(Behind them the goat starts eating the antimacassar from the first class carriage of the 6.53 to Newhaven Town while the Swedes move on to doggy style).

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