Part 1: Um… How does this thing work?
Remember when Calvin Harris put a pineapple on his head and ran on stage while Jedward performed an Under Pressure/Ice Ice Baby mashup on X-Factor?
2009 was weird.
You know what else is weird? Pineapples. They don’t look like a fruit at all. They look like a person with a bad haircut (which I guess was Calvin Harris’s whole thing) or a tiny tree or maybe like they’re hiding a grenade. Certainly not a fruit.
I have no idea what to do with this thing. It looks spiky and dangerous. Typing “How to eat a pineapple” into YouTube feels kind of embarrassing… but luckily Mike from Live Life 365 is here to help.
Sidebar: Maybe when all this is over I should move to Maui and make instructional videos about fruit too. That would be nice.
Anyway, I’m pretty convinced that pineapples are rock solid because they clearly have scales and they look really scary. Also the knives at the Best Brunch Ever flat are extremely blunt. Things aren’t looking good.
But when I slice into the top of the pineapple, by some CRAZY MIRACLE, it actually works.
Apparently pineapples from Sainsbury’s come with instructions, and these told me to cut it into quarters, lengthways. But I don’t really understand how to do that, because the core is clearly in the way. But in the end I manage to hack enough to get a handful of bitesize cubes.
Not as many as I thought though, because there’s so much skin and core and spiky leaves. Considering how big pineapples are, you get very little fruit that’s actually edible.
When I bite into the first chunk, I’m feeling optimistic. I like fruit now! I even like pineapple juice! This is going to be FINE.
But then I taste it.
The flavour is completely overwhelming. It’s so intense, and sour, and it catches me completely off guard. Why is it so strong?
I try another piece, in case the first was an anomaly, and it’s slightly better the second time – but not by much. Maybe it wasn’t ripe enough?
Bad form, pineapple. Bad form.
Part 2: Sausage surprise!
Lovely readers, Hattie has been promising me an amazing sausage and pineapple dish, using a recipe of her mother’s, for WEEKS.
But then we did vegetarian July, so we had to put it on hold. I offered to pick up the ingredients, and she responded “I’m worried it would put you off eating it…”
So after that EXTREMELY worrying statement (what’s in this thing? Crushed beetles? Something’s liver? Cat?) I suddenly felt much less optimistic. But it turned out she was only talking about vinegar and Worcester sauce.
Which, to be fair, are both completely gross.
But before I hand you over to Hattie for the instructional portion of the blogpost (probably with far less rambling than my “instructions” usually involve) – I’m happy to report that the final result was LOVELY. The pineapple was great when it was mixed in with the sauce, and who doesn’t love a good sausage?
… Don’t answer that.
Step 1: Chop an onion. Hattie’s top tip for onion chopping without tears: wear contact lenses. Unless you’re Amy, because apparently that’s much worse.
Step 2: Brown onion and sausages together in a deep pan or casserole dish. So far, so good. Nothing gross.
Step 3: In a bowl, mix together a large squirt of ketchup with a splash of Worcester Sauce, and a spoonful of chutney (we used Branston’s caramelised onion chutney). Amy always thinks that it’s because she approximates measurements that her recipes always turn out terribly, but this is how women in Hattie’s family have been cooking for centuries. It’s all about confidence. And instinct.
Step 4: Add this mix to your browned meat and onions (the sauce, that is, not the confidence and instinct, though that too.)
Step 5: Add a tin of pineapple, with the juice. If your pineapple is in rings, you’re gonna want to cut it into chunks. The juice is the important bit.
Step 7: In a bowl stir a teaspoon of cornflour up with a good splash of vinegar. It’s the grossest thing you’ve ever smelt. Why does anyone even voluntarily eat vinegar? Why have you bought a whole bottle of vinegar, which you hate more than any other foodstuff, just to cook this one stupid recipe that Amy probably won’t even like? What even is vinegar made of, apart from baby tears and sin? Add to the pan.
Step 8: Let it come to the boil again. The sauce will thicken, as if by magic. Apologise to the vinegar.
Step 9: Serve with rice. Wonder how all of these terrible ingredients can make something so palatable. Even Amy has cleared her plate. Huh.