Tales of catastophe, sex and squalor from the Alpine Underbelly...

Belle de Neige

Wednesday, 5 November 2014

The Chalet Bitch Cookbook

Ever invented a culinary short-cut the cleverness and depravity of which left you with the distinct suspicion that you may, in fact, be an evil genius?

Like the time we were seized with mid-service horror, because we had forgotten to prepare anything remotely resembling a vegetarian main-course for our VIP guest's superwife... (She may have looked like a praying mantis but apparently all she would eat was pickled dodo droppings.)

We had to come up with a solution. And fast.

As many a chalet bitch among you is, I'm sure, aware, chalet cuisine is a highly skilled art form. By art form, I don't mean in the way Nobu's cuisine is - a subtle and intelligent union of flavours and textures to delight and surprise the senses.

No, I'm talking about genius in the sense of crashing face first into the side of your chalet after four hours of powder and a pint of vodka when you're nothing more than a sweaty, smelly zombie, with legs like lead and the brain capacity of a leech.

...Then staggering inside still in your thermals and staring into the echoey chasm of a fridge which contains only mildew butter and hope, and emerging from the kitchen an hour later with a delicious, nutritious meal for eight.

That, my friends, is a treasure trove of possibilities...

 This is a honed skill. The reserve of only the highly resourceful, the unscrupulous and the lucky.

...Which is why, we, of course, managed to find the the perfect solution to our little problem in the form of a jar of Doritos salsa dip.

Discarded by a 2-month-previous set of guests, and languishing stickily at the back of the fridge, we stared at it in wonder.

Of course, she didn't realise what she was eating, but it turns out there's nothing you can't do with a three inch stack of niftily sliced tomatoes and microwaved courgettes that a good, artistic drizzle of Doritos salsa dip won't improve to the point of Michelin star gastronomy. The 'dish' produced enraptured admiration from the eater and demands to be given the 'secret' recipe which went on for several days. The poor, cretinous, duped fool.

So, in the interests of arming future generations of chalet bitches with the tools they need to achieve culinary excellence whilst still fitting in maximum hours balls deep in pow....and armed with a library of my own culinary fuck ups and strokes of last minute genius, I have decided to compile another book.

 Working Title: "The Chalet Bitch Cookbook"

If you fancy 15 minutes of fame, serve me up some of the most frightening concoctions you've splattered under the noses of your unfortunate guests, and you might just make the shortlist...

Happy cooking, chalet bitches!