Welcome back to the show. Continuing my series of people dishes, not to be confused with my People Dishes I did in season four, which had me locked up for several years for “Sweeny-like behaviour”, whatever that means, I’ll be focusing this week on Deathclaw Puncher.
Now to really get the essence of what makes up DP, you’ll need to go to some shadier shops than you would for your Pitts and your Jordans. So avoid your reputable supermarkets and try dumpster diving behind that deli that’s been shut down for health violations multiple times. Today, we’ll be working on Deathclaw Quiche. Not to be served at parties unless your guests consist of people you hated in high school and feral cats you also hated in high school. If done al dente, the dish should be immediately comparable to what makes up Deathclaw as a person, in the case of this recipe, well, it’s like that oft-repeated Riddle of the Sphinx. You know the one.
“What’s creepier than a dozen episodes of Welcome to Night Vale put into a blender with crabs, Bert’s mum and snake venom?”
Waking up next to Deathclaw Puncher. I didn’t even let her in the house.
Now of course we can’t put intangible objects, human remains or literal poison into our dishes, at least according to the contract for the reboot of this show, so we’ll have to do our best with what we have.*
*Consuming may still result in death, but so could anything you do. What are you, chicken? Because if you are, we are allowed to cook you so put that in your will.
Ingredients
Mouldy cheese
Sour milk that’s been left in the sun for three and a half days and has those chunks in it that usually puts you off eating your cereal
Miscellaneous meat scraps you find stuck to the bottom of your bin. They must have fallen behind the garbage bag. Weird how that happens no matter how tight it’s strapped to the bin
I’d usually say the secret ingredient is love but this is Deathclaw Puncher we’re talking about so the secret ingredient is sand. Because I hate her more than Anakin hates sand. Preferably dry so it works as a nice crisp crust.
Rust scraped from the under-carriage of your old Corolla
Eggs
Recipe
Grease the bottom and sides of your tray with urine. If you can’t go, just ask a guest or pay a homeless person with a slice you prepared earlier.
Knead the sand into the tray. It should stick as well, if not better than breadcrumbs.
Fry the eggs and eat them. There’s no need for you to taste the essence of Deathclaw Puncher. Nobody wants that.
Fish the eggshells out of the bin, say “10 second rule” to yourself and toss them in a mixing bowl. Trim your fingernails over the bowl. Add the milk, meat and rust and I’m pretty sure quiches are supposed to have cream in them but I forgot to mention that earlier so just start playing White Room in the background. I’m sure there are other Cream songs, I just can’t think of any off the top of my head.
Whisk if you have one. I don’t so I just punched the inside of the bowl until my knuckles bled. Wasn’t even the right bowl.
Pour ingredients into the pan and coat it with cheese before putting it in the oven. Oh, pre-heat your oven by the way. I almost forgot.
When you smell smoke, remove the meal and presto! You have your very own Deathclaw Quiche. Well done. Sorry, that was patronising. Fuck you. Better?
Serves 6.
My producer has a big night at his paying job tomorrow but barring any call-ins, a new episode should be up Tuesday so stay tuned and as always…
*holds mic out to audience for them to say the catchphrase, unaware that the new format is typed away from people because of the incident that happened in the last incarnation of The Irony Chef. Also, I’m a stenographer, not a producer. And I’m not a stenographer, I’m a shelf-stacker but he has my kids. Please send help.*
A Hate Week service announcement followed me home the other day. I paid it never mind. Go away.