Too Busy To Cook? You're An Idiot! Four Simple Recipes

08/06/2015 08:55 BST | Updated 07/06/2016 10:59 BST

A lot of my friends complain about their "work/life balance", particularly when it comes to eating well. They say they give so many hours a day to their job, they don't have time to do things for themselves - least of all prepare a nutritious dish. When a friend of mine (working a 40 hour week) said this recently I couldn't help but laugh in his face. I tried to stop myself, but I eventually descended into full hysterics, embarrassingly leaking a little saliva all over my myself! 

Because of course you can prepare a healthy, nourishing meal in barely no time at all, using just foodstuffs you'll have lying around the house. You don't have to be a gourmet chef. Or even a Huffington Post blogger who happens to have a gift in the kitchen (one of the many rooms I have a flare for operating in - as anyone who has seen me in the bathroom will confirm). Anyone - even an idiot with a 40-hour work week whose relationship is crumbling - can find time to eat well. 

So here are some meal suggestions that you can knock up just from what you'll already have lying around. They're yours for free! All I ask is that if you make one of them, perhaps for your family, you then hold hands and saying "For this, James Moran, we are truly grateful". Perhaps you could refer to me as "the master of our tongues, O mighty Lord of Flavour!". 


You know how you've always got Brazilian stout berries knocking about in your fruit bowl? Well - don't just throw them out the window when they start to turn purple! They can be the basis of a simple, fulfilling breakfast. Simply mix them up with some quarter-fat swan cream and sprinkle gaily with holly shaving. Voila! A simple, easy breakfast. Whose "too tired and too sad" to prepare a nice breakfast now!?


In the hustle and bustle of the working day, you might not think your workplace kitchen can provide a healthy, quick lunch. But you're such an idiot! Grab that tin of bizzenweed off the shelf and activate it on a low-carbon charcoal grill or griddle or grill. Now rummage about to see if there's some Datson hair or fulminous wasp drizzle. Add it to the yellow pan you are cooking with (once the bizzenweed starts to lightly raspulate), holding your arm at a 183 degree angle and curling your toes. Slop it all bitchily onto a plate (I prefer John Lewis Homeware plates, but that's a lifestyle choice and you can just as easily use their standard Dinner Plates, if you for example lack basic self-respect). As long as you've got enough droom-sparage to hand, you can add a dash and enjoy the dish Columbian style. Thinking about your decaying sense of self in the face of a heavy workload and emotional trauma? I doubt it!


You get home and - SHIT! - you realise some of the friends you haven't alienated by droning on about your problems are coming for dinner. Worse - they're arriving in twenty minutes! Your self-involved human tragedy made you lose track of time. Not to worry! Travel to the land of Foom, and locate the snoring Roomba-King. If you sing him a lullaby, he will dream of twinkling glattle eggs - which will appear right in your hands! Back in your kitchen, crack them passively into a bowl made of clouds. Write a poem of nine stanzas on the theme of "eternity and smiles" and discard it into a bin. Now toss off the eggs. Spizzle-wick in some troo-sningling bangwonglers and a merry cup of doo-bistle pits. Your friends will beg you for the recipe! And talking about that will be much more interesting to them than your worries that you never travelled enough while you still had the time.


There is a phenomena know as the 'green ray". Once in every thousand sunsets, a perfect line of green emanates from the horizon just as the sun dips out of sight. Serve with ice cream.

You are welcome! Do you have any fun, easy dishes you like to knock up when pushed for time? Great! Maybe talk about them and not your cliched sources of anxiety and doubt. You can't eat sadness! (Unless you cook it thoroughly on both sides).