Currying favour with web critics
The internet is a strange and terrifying place, especially if you venture an opinion that doesn't chime with the rest of the groupthink hivemind.
Think Brexit might not be as bad as everyone on Twitter makes out? Prepare to be called a racist by people you’ve never even heard of.
And if you dare to post a selfie of your new outfit before a big night out, you’d better have a thick skin or the comic genius of Frankie Boyle to crush trolls like a jackhammer.
Things have got so Stasi these days that you can’t even make dinner without some nimrod on the internet having their two cents.
Who’s The Daddy? fancies himself as a bit of a cook. He knows his way around a spice rack and can cook four (count ‘em) curries from scratch.
One of the showstoppers is a recipe from the Kabana restaurant in Manchester, posted on the messageboard of the now defunct and much missed United fanzine, Red Issue, some years ago.
Four big onions, four cloves of garlic, a tablespoon of chopped ginger, chilli powder, garam masala, turmeric, salt, ground coriander, tin of tomatoes, chopped chillis, three cardamoms, a few black peppercorns, a cinnamon stick and whatever meat you fancy. Fry it up and bung it in a slow cooker for a few hours and it tastes divine.
But there’s this thing on the internet called Rate My Evening Meal. And people, such as daughter #1, post pix of their dinner and punters chip in and mark it out of 10.
Here are a few of the choicest quotes…
“I’d like to know what the black stuff around the chicken is before I give it a rating please.” Peppercorns, 6/10.
“Looks a bit too much like dog food but I’m sure it tastes nice. 5/10.”
“The lack of a naan really is disrespectful to Ghandi (sic). 4/10.”
“This actually doesn’t look too horrific, I’m not completely confident on what all the ingredients are but nonetheless it gains a 7/10.”
So next time someone buys, cooks and literally hands you dinner on a plate, be sure to take a picture of it and post it on the internet – especially if you want it tipped in your lap by the poor sap who made it.