Qualifications

Many years ago, I went to university and did media studies. Then we began on semiotics, at which point I decided to quit.

Following this, I became a chef.

My career as a chef had some amazing highpoints and some horrific lowpoints. Having someone tell me that I made the best gnocchi they'd ever had was hard to beat, though meeting Daryl Somers was pretty uncontrollably awesome. The fact is, I knew about Dancing With The Stars before it started, which, now that I think about it, is kind of like that whole "If you could go back in time and kill Hitler as a baby, would you?" thing. But anyway.

Being called a dumb cunt by one employer is pretty much a low point, I'd say, but I wasn't putting a whole lot of effort in to the job, really. I mean, the fact that I was going straight from doing overnight shifts at a radio station to doing breakfast shifts for him doesn't say a whole lot about my level of job dedication.

There was one particularly bad morning where I hadn't bothered to get some sleep the evening before, or, come to think of it, the night before that. I turned up to work to find that there was a new apprentice.

"Hello," he said.

I said nothing. I was focusing too hard on standing up straight, though I did eventually acknowledge him with a nod in his direction. Unfortunately, by this time, he'd already gone on to doing something other than looking at me. Later that day, at about 12pm, when I'd still not said anything to him, and I was just beginning to get the shakes, he came up to me and asked me how I was.

I turned to him and fixed him with a glassy stare. "I feel like I've been having bongs in the cooler shed," I mumbled. He never came back after that day, but I'm not sure that it was entirely my fault. We had a lot of younger chefs not come back.

This probably wasn't helped by the fact that the employer - who would remain nameless, but I'm also a pretty vindictive dumb cunt, Chris from Cafe 606 on St Kilda Rd. in Melbourne - was not only a big, giant knob, but also a spectacularly bad chef who only got the job because his parents opened the fucking place. Also, he was fat.

Following that, I left the industry.

Soto Mie Noodles with Fish Ball

Today's recipe is simply made, using instant noodles. Here's what you'll need:

• 2 Packets of IndoMie Brand Soto Mie Instant Noodles
• 1 Packet of Fish Balls
• 1 Bunch of Shanghai Bok Choi
• 1 Bunch of Coriander
• 1 Bunch of Spring Onions
• Lime Juice

I know fish balls sound bad, but they're just balls of processed fish. Come to think of it, that still doesn't sound very appealing. Nonetheless, they are quite tasty, and are also only AU$2.50 for a pack of 17. I'd figure out what that is in your currency of choice, but I can't really be fucked. It's cheap. We'll leave it at that.

Step One

First, you'll need to slice you fish balls. Each one should be sliced into four or five pieces. At this, or any other point, for that matter, do not cut yourself. Hold things properly.

Cutting things is not difficult, but people seem to have this bizarre want to fuck up their hands.

I used six fish balls. You could use less, or more. I don't care.

Step Two

Place a medium sized saucepan on the stove, and drizzle a little oil in the bottom. You could use Sesame oil, but I didn't have any, so vegetable oil works just as well. Turn the pan onto a medium heat.

After letting it heat for a while, we'll now begin cooking the fish balls, so drop them in, and keep them moving for a bit.

Don't, for God's sake, burn them.

Step Three

We're going to attempt some brief multitasking here by walking away from the pan to chop a good handful or two of coriander, which you have, of course, washed.

Note that I'm not holding the knife like a moron?

Step Four

Throw the coriander in with the fish balls, and give it a good fry. You're aiming to get the fish balls slightly browned.

If need be, add some more oil.

Once they're brown, add a squeeze of lime juice, or, in my case, a squeeze from the container of lime juice.

Following that, fill the pan to 3/4 full with water, put it back on the stove, and bring it to the boil.

Step Five

While you're waiting for that, cut the very ends of the leaves of the bok choi off, then cut the end off. Following this, cut the pieces in half, and then give them a wash.

The water should be at boiling point by this time, so add your noodles, and press them down into the water.

Step Six

While you're waiting for this to cook, which should be about three minutes, chop your spring onion into slices.

At this same time, you could also empty out the flavouring sachets into your bowl. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to eat the oil sachet if you spill some onto your fingers at this point. It's filthy, filthy stuff outside of it's noodley home.

At around two minutes into the cooking of the noodles, add the bok choi.

Step Seven

Finally, your noodles should be ready. You'll want to drain some of that liquid out, which you could do using chopsticks, like me, or a strainer, if that's your thing.

It's not necessary to get rid of all the liquid, but keep in mind that what you do put into your bowl will absorb most of the seasoning.

Step Eight

Finally, tip the contents of your saucepan into your bowl, add the spring onion and a final squeeze of lime juice, and give it a good stir.

Garnish with a leaf of coriander