Malad
April 16, 2005
Over many liquid refreshments last night, a friend of mine was recalling a tale of some mutual friends who visited the States some time ago. It seems that our North American friends truly are fans of immortalising regular, healthy food into shiny, golden greaseballs of any sort.
So much so, in fact, that our friends began to crave salad for the first time in their lives. You can imagine their surprise upon ordering a large order of salad, to be theatrically presented with a bowl containing a handful of pitiful vegetables, drowning amongst a big honkin’ pile of meat.
By this stage, we’d been on the piss for a while and were beginning to crave something to eat - which was when it hit me. How fucking cool would it be to come home after a night on the sauce, grab a salad carefully constructed only from different varieties of meat from your freezer and bung it in the microwave?
That’s right: a malad. Juicy piles of red meat, white meat, mystery meat - with perhaps some cheese as a thoughtful, artistic garnish. Two different kinds of oil. A butterlicious dipping sauce on the side. Then, just when you think you’ve buried your way deep into malad orgasmic joy and finished off the whole thing, you realise it’s been comfortably nestled in a bed of double-battered bread.
Just make sure there’s a “carb option” (ie replace battered bread with battered lettuce) and I guarantee you’ll see malads in supermarkets everywhere, in a matter of weeks.
