IT IS NOT an exaggeration to suggest that literally every single living being in the world is, at this moment, talking about food or watching a food programme on the television. Food is everywhere and has suddenly become really popular, as have houses. With this in mind I am proud to announce (cue muted fanfare from three members of the local Boys Brigade, playing mouth organs while one of my operatives holds a Glock pistol to their heads) the launch of Eclectic Boogaloo's very own food channel, called simply, 'The Eclectic Boogaloo Food, Beverages, Entertainment And General Lifestyle Stuff Channel'.
To launch the Channel I can unveil - or not - my very own celebrity cook, The Furtive Chef. Mark my words, you are going to be seeing a lot less of this guy in the not too far away future.
Hello. My name is...well, I can't tell you, but I am here to show you how to cook in a way that is relaxed and sensuous, yet undetectable. "Why would anyone need that skill?" I hear you ask. To which in reply I chuckle mirthlessly, shake my head sadly and move on to the recipe.
This week we are going to cook that famous old French dish, Crepes Suzanne. "Aha Furtive Chef," I hear you say. "Mistake numero one. Shouldn't it be Crepes Suzette?" To which I reply: "Yes, you have a point. That was a mistake."
Ingredients: Crepes, Suzette, brandy, matches.
Method: This is an incredibly easy dish to cook if you need to remain unseen or are involved in perhaps a stakeout of some drug masterminds (and by that I don't mean Magnus Magnusson on ketamine, all you "smart alecs" out there). First, order all the ingredients from Waitrose using a cloned credit card (these are relatively easy to pick up from any High Street branch of Argos, or by basic pickpocketing).
Then, once you have agreed a timeslot for delivery of your ingredients, organise the disguise you will need to don when the deliveryman comes to the door. It is worth pointing out at his stage in the recipe that if you have been sprung already, the delivery man may well be a member of Special Branch in disguise. One way to tell is to ask the delivery man a question that only a delivery man from Waitrose would know, such as: "When was Waitrose founded, down to precise year, month, day, hour, minute and second?"
Any hesitation on this and the guy is probably filth - leg it out the back, quicksmart.
Anyway. Disguises. Nothing too fancy, maybe just an eyepatch and a wig. Prosthetic noses are quite good, as are sunglasses and fake beards. I find that the aforementioned combo, along with a black acryclic polo neck, black ski pants and Doctor Marten boots, perhaps finished off with a balaclava (fire resistant if poss), tend to work pretty effectively if you want potential snoops to stop bothering you/not know who you are.
So effective is my disguise, in fact, that I stopped answering to my real name seven years ago and have been given up for dead, even by my own family. Or have I? I could be lying. Or not. It is my full intention that you will never know.
Or is it?
Once your ingredients are in hand, move to the kitchen, where of course you will already have cleared an exit route - via a hatch into the basement works well for me. Sweep all surfaces for bugs.
Fry the crepes up in a pan until golden brown, then whack the heat up as high as it will go and pour in half a bottle of the highest proof brandy you can find. Stand well back.
Make for your escape hatch immediately and drive as fast as you can to the nearest port, making good your escape to mainland Europe while the Special Branch surveillance team that has been trailing you is distracted by the sight of your home being devoured by rapacious, pitiless, dancing flames.
Wishing you many happy hours of secretive culinary joy,
The Furtive Chef.