Hello. My name is Martin Shuttlecock, and tonight I'll be telling you how to make a traditional chicken shish kebab, in the Turkish, Chinese, Indian, Mexican pikey style.
Whilst being slightly inebriated, and wearing a pork pie hat.
Always start by sinking a couple or even three cans of the finest Belgian lager.
This will help you to focus, and allow you to suppress any inhibitions you may harbour about wearing a pork pie hat.
Have a fag. (A cigarette, for our American friends. Not some bloke in drag who does everything in a gay way.)
Then go up the shops. Do not forget to snarl at any lurking hoody types and threaten to give them "a fucking slap" if they lip off at you. Don't be alarmed. They expect it. Tell them that their pit bull's got worms or something. That fucks 'em up.
Once "in store" as Tesco phrase it, buy some chicken breasts, mushrooms, onions, single cream, pitta breads, and sixteen cans of lager. (You should have the other ingredients in the cupboard. At home. If not, give the wife a stern bollocking.)
Drink the first four cans of lager, while you're trying to work out what it was you intended to do in the first place.
Lurch into the kitchen, bashing your elbow on the door jamb as you pass through, and swear a bit. This is acceptable, providing you don't have company.
'Fuck!' 'Shit!' and 'Bollocks!' are perfectly acceptable when the pain hits, but 'Cunt!' is a bit strong, even if you're alone.
Next: Get a chopping board, a sharp knife and the chicken breasts you'd forgotten you'd bought up the shops earlier. Then wave the knife at any overly inquisitive neighbours you might have, and threaten to stab them. That ought to drive them back indoors.
Cut the chicken up into chunks, and lob the chunks in a bowl.
Slop the chicken liberally with olive oil, then toss loads of spices on top, the powdered ones you get in jars will do. The wife'll never know. She'll be so amazed you cooked for her, she won't give a toss how it tastes.
Chilli powder, curry powder, Mexican seasoning, Chinese five spice, coriander, turmeric and garlic salt all make it more interesting.
Mix it all up with the chicken. Nobody gives a shit anyway.
Once you've done this, take a break. Have a couple more beers. Watch a bit of telly. Don't worry about it - nobody will ever know.
Next, chop up some onions and splatter a couple of garlic cloves with the flat edge of the knife. Having done this, find a wok. Everybody has one, and the fucking thing should be there somewhere...in one of the cupboards, along with all the other shit your wife bought off eBay - like pasta rollers and mandolins and shit.
Drizzle some olive oil in the wok and put it on a high gas flame to the point where you get worried you might set the house ablaze.
Caramelise (Chef speak for burn) the onions in the wok. Then add the garlic and the marinated (crucified) chicken, and stir it like a mad demented Thai street vendor.
Light another gas ring and lob a pitta bread on it. It will burn, but who gives a shit? Once it turns black, it's done.
Keep stirring the chicken.
Lob some mushrooms in. Who gives a fuck anyway?
Whilst stirring like the clappers with one hand, slit the pitta bread to make an envelope.
Add the cream. If it doesn't turn into something which vaguely resembles the saliva of a rabid dog, you've done it wrong.
Allow the cream to warm naturally and infuse with the mushrooms, onions, and chicken pieces. Spoon the contents of the wok into the pitta bread envelopes, and add chopped salad.
Serve up to wife.
When she's understandably quite agitated by the culinary disaster you've just served up, tell her she's an ungrateful, self opinionated bitch who thinks she knows it all and throw your carefully prepared feast in the bin.
Sit and sulk for approximately forty minutes, on sulk mark five, crack another can, and send the bitch up the kebab shop.
Where Ali Bullo makes it all look so easy.
Works for me.