Chocolate cream pie

Every Thanksgiving, I think I'm going to make my brother pumpkin pie. Not fake British pumpkin pie, butternut squash or sweet potatoes masquerading as their tastier relative, but proper childhood pumpkin pie, made with canned pumpkins and enough sugar to make your teeth fall out. Every year, though, I end up reaching for the sweet potatoes.

This year, though, I let the internet come to my rescue. Amazon sold three cans of pumpkin for £9, delivery by the 24th. Cutting it a little fine, but too good an offer to turn down. I ordered, and promptly proceeded to tell everyone that we were going to have the Best Thanksgiving Ever.

Thursday morning came, no delivery. We had to leave by 11 to get to my folks on time, so I checked my account, figuring that by refreshing a page I could make the box come faster. Amazon solemnly informed me that I had placed no such order. The Girlfriend's account said the same thing. The pumpkin was out of stock, and had been moved to my saved items.

The next hour was spent becoming a member of pretty much every supermarket in the UK, only to learn that they too were out of stock. Occado had organic pumpkin, but wouldn't deliver until December. The UK was facing a pumpkin famine.

Lesson learned for next year, then. But for now, we were dessert-less. A terrible prospect, close to a death sentence in my household. Hence, chocolate cream pie.

The first recipe I found was this one from Betty Crocker, which involves meting chocolate with half a bag of marshmallows. It was delicious, but unfortunately not great for my veggy step-father. So I improvised:

Ingredients:
Half a packet of digestives.
Half a block of butter.
2 1/2 bars of dark chocolate
1/4 cup milk
2 egg yolks
1 cup double cream
Extra cream for the topping.

To make the cheesecake base, bash the digestives until they're in crumbs. A blender is probably very useful at this point, but if, like me, you have to do the washing up, you might prefer the method of putting the biscuits in a bag and bashing them with a rolling pin. It's also great for pent-up rage.

Melt the butter in the microwave, and add it slowly to the digestives, stirring, until the mixture can be molded into a ball without crumbling. You may need more or less butter depending on your cholesterol levels and the phases of the moon.

Line a pie dish. I lined a metal dish with cling film and it worked fantastically, but when I tried the same trick with a ceramic dish the cling film stuck. Parchment paper might work better. Or you could just use little ramekins for individual pies.

Fill the dish with the biscuit mixture, going up to the top of the pie dish. Try to keep this as thin as possible, or else people will just eat the filling, which is always a bit of a low blow.

Put the pie dish in the fridge to cool.

Heat the milk and chocolate in a saucepan, stirring constantly, until the chocolate is melted and the mixture is all smooth and lovely. Let this cool (I put it in the fridge for 5 minutes) and then stir in the egg yolks. Trying to stop the eggs scrambling is one of those skills that everyone seems to have a knack for- personally I try to make sure that the chocolate is warm rather than hot and stir quickly.

Once the eggs are stirred in, return the pan to the fridge to cool for about 20 minutes.

Whisk up the cream so that it's stiff, and then fold in the chocolate mixture until it's all blended in and there's no marbling, then pour the whole thing into the pie base. Return the pie dish to the fridge until it's set (this took about 2 hours for me).

When the pie is set, you can top it with more whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

Serve 4 over 2 nights, or one girlfriend over the course of an afternoon.

Really —ing Good Spaghetti Bolognese

Have you ever read The Truth?

Terry Pratchett once said that it's a universal truth that "if a gang has two members [...] one will do the thinking and the other will 'talk like dis'". Which explains his own Mr Tulip and Mr Pin. They are terrible, terrible people. They are Those Two Bad Guys. And it's a great running gag that Mr Tulip, the terrifying giant, swears like a motherf—er, something like this:

"It's not a —ing harpsichord, it's a —ing virginal," growled Mr. Tulip. "One —ing string to a note instead of two! So called because it was an instrument for —ing young ladies!"

Only he doesn't. We find out later that he is, in fact, saying exactly what Pratchett writes, and it's a brilliant Brick Joke moment. Mr Tulip, rather than swearing, simply makes a glottal stop followed by 'ing', and it conveys as much hatred and obscenity as any one syllable possibly could.

I'm telling you this for a reason, I swear.

Last night we had friends over, in order to play the world's most vexing boardgame, Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective. It was an unexpected occurrence, and as such, got an unexpected dinner to accompany it, which took the form of 'We Have Mince In The Fridge And Everyone Likes My Spag Bol'.

This recipe is an amalgam of all the bologneses I have cooked, eaten, read about and seen over the years, compiled out of the products of theft, like a magpie's nest.

It is amazing.

I genuinely cannot stress enough how —ing amazing this bolognese is.

Really—ing Good Spaghetti Bolognese

• butter and olive oil
• 2 carrot
• 2 large onions
• 3 cloves garlic
• 2 sticks celery
• 1 bay leaf
• 3 rashers smoked bacon
• handful chopped mushrooms
• 750g beef mince
• glass of red wine
• 1 beef stock cube
• 1 tin chopped tomatoes
• 1 tsp tomato paste
• dribble of Lea & Perrins
• pinch of dried basil
• salt & pepper to taste
• as much spaghetti as necessary
• cheddar or parmesan, to serve

Finely chop your onions, garlic, celery and celery, and fry these in a generous amount of butter and olive oil until softened to make a mirepoix base. Tuck in a bay leaf as you cook.

Dice your bacon in a rough, largeish sort of manner, and add it to the pan, letting it cook through. I have some friends who swear by using chorizo instead, which would give a nice paprika taste. Chuck in your mushrooms.

Brown your mince. Do not - and this is really very important - break it up until it has browned on the bottom. Leave it. Put down the spatula. Then break it up, and leave it again. And so on, and so forth. Once it's nicely cooked, deglaze the pan with half the glass of wine. 

Make and pour in the beef stock, bring to the boil and let it reduce. Be patient. You are making a —ing masterpiece here. Drink the rest of the glass of wine. Once reduced down, add your chopped tomatoes and tomato paste and simmer on a very low heat for a very long time. At minimum, one hour, ideally two.

Bet you're glad you opened that bottle of wine now, eh?

Once you're happy with your consistency, boil and salt the water for your pasta. Season your sauce with the basil, worcestershire sauce, and salt and pepper, and anything else that strikes your fancy. It's quite nice to tuck a few basil leaves in here, but make sure that really is at the end.

Cook up your pasta, drain and toss with olive oil. Serve with a large heaping of cheese, and whatever is left of the —ing wine.

Serves 4.