Mince pies are one of those things that I can have one and be done. They're not bad, but really they're not that good. Proper mince and onion in a pie, that's better. I probably spent too long living in Scotland. A place where mince is an entire food group. That's not a complaint, I throw most meat in the food processor and zap it. I have some theory about surface area, but really, I really just like mince. Expensive fillet steak, you say. Meet Mademoiselle Magimix.
There's no shame in a pot noodle. There's an entire instant noodle museum in Yokohama, you can assemble your own custom instant noodle pot (yes, yes, you can do sweet ones, but sweet noodles fuck with your notions of right and wrong, so don't just wander into the sweet noodle scene). I was in there for days before security removed me.
I don't really have any food shame. I can make anything into a sandwich and I frequently do. I'm suffering at the moment, my wife used to be away a lot on business (things are a bit odd, we've never actually spent time together, as a pair of peripathetic business travellers, we're used to exchanging a kiss as we pass in the porch every week or two), and everytime she disappeared I'd just get lots of beer and retreat to the kitchen, aka sandwich experimentation lab. She's not so keen on experimental sandwiches. Can I have that without the bread? Sigh.
