Car Cookery

I eat cars in summer when the wind has changed, and my disquiet is rife. They taste of cinnamon and aluminium foil in your teeth. The seats are a bit chewy, but the wheels are melt in your mouth gorgeous, blackcurrant with a hint of liquorice. A marriage made in hell.

That was Tuesday, I was exhausted and went for a lie down in the spare room. Way out of sight and out of mind. Its like I never existed, except at weekends when the television is on.

First, I take off the doors and cook them in a medium oven, at 210, gas mark my words, until golden brown. I usually serve this as a sharing dish, in the centre of a festive table, on a bed of chopped seat covers and car fresheners in the shape of a tree. Next, I strip out the wiring and small pipes to cook in salted water. About three minutes is enough, until tender but retaining a little bite, Al Pacino I believe is the term. The sauce to go with is a mixture of the virgin oil, crushed from the filters, and a dash of water from the windscreen washers, seasoned with grit from the footwell. The windows can easily be transform into delightful tuilles to add a bit of texture, either baked on a flat tray or fashioned into twisty shapes when still hot, mind your fingers!

In the dark, on a three-lane conduit, how do you know which way you are going? The lights levitate and suppress. Gaining, are they attached to cars at all? The methane emissions alone could create a swamp. Only the roof of the car showing above the mats of thickening algae. The aerial a pinnacle of civilisation. The surrounding trees hanging with mutated lichens.

Let the sheriff pull the car out backwards with his local car towing friend. Dragging out all the bicycle wheels and shopping trolleys as a bonus, also draped in ribbons of underwater crazy. Luckily, this time, there is no body in the trunk, no evidence of horror movie action, just torn and empty sweet packets and some crushed drink cans. The algae swirl back into the dark void from which the car was dragged, creating patterns like the inside covers of expensive books with frail pages. I lift them down onto the central reading table and carefully leaf through the delicate water colours of tropical meat-eating plants that the rifle carrying botanists have ripped from their eco system and are now extinct. I take all the watercolours out of the book, mount them in frames and sell them on the interweb, the circle of destruction is now complete.

I’ve always had a problem presenting my roast chassis. The taste, no problem, like ribs, but with more on the bone and bundles of umami. But presentation, always a bit rustic I’m afraid. Fine dining it is not, but hey ho, the family always digs in.

The left-over bits, steering wheel, carburettor, spare wheel, dashboard, media player etc, can be broken up and reduced into a delicious sauce. I always try to hold back some sump oil to thicken and this way nothing is wasted. We have consumed the vehicle bumper to bumper so to say.

What happens if your car tries to drive away whilst in the kitchen? You may ask.

The road is long with many a winding turn, so keep your eye front and centre. Cyclopean if you will.