O
utline magazine - a publication founded around its love of all things musical - is probably the wrong place for such an admission, but I am really not a festival person. I see excited Tweets from people setting off to Glastonbury and all I can think is ‘thank
fuck that’s not me’. Yes, you might have got within 200 yards of Dolly Parton, but frankly I’d rather be within 10 yards of my kettle and a sprung mattress.
I haven’t always been this curmudgeonly. Fresh from my A- levels in 2002, I ventured to Leeds. All started well - I happily drank copious amounts of warm beer; I balanced upon my boyfriend’s shoulders miming along to songs I didn’t really know the words to; and I resisted the urge to wash my hair (or much else) for four days. Textbook. It all took a turn for the worse, however, on the final night, when there was a full-scale riot. As I went to bed, there was the usual merry-making, with cans of Lynx being tossed onto disposable BBQs, and I was lulled to sleep by a continuous, soporific chorus of ‘BOLL- OCKS!’. A couple of hours later I awoke to the sound of a whole block of chemical toilets exploding. Helicopters were flying overhead, the nearest security tower was being torn down by a group of middle-aged men in their pants, and half of the campsite appeared to be on fire. I called my Mummy and slept in the car until it was socially acceptable to go home.
Next I tried Truck festival. A much more civilised affair, with its main stage on the back of a lorry and a sweet stall run by the local Women’s Institute. Perhaps I was a festival person after all! I began to enjoy myself…long enough, that is, to develop severe gastroenteritis. Now, there are many terrible things happening in the world, but having the entire contents of your digestive system exit from both ends of your body, in a portaloo, in the middle of the night, has to rank pretty highly.
44 /August 2014/
outlineonline.co.uk
My final attempt was Dour in Belgium. I figured that everything is more civilised on the continent, and festivals should be no exception. WRONG. As we arrived it appeared there was a severe lack of camping space and people had taken to erecting their tents literally on top of one another. Ten it rained. Very hard. Not unheard of at a festival, but it was followed by a heatwave. If there’s one thing worse than being covered in mud, it’s being covered in mud and baked at 40 degrees. I didn’t have as bad a time as my friend though, who fell over in the stream of piss which was flowing downhill from the men’s urinals.
Whilst some of the more bijou festivals have upped their game in recent years, one of the things I found most off- putting in my experience was the food. Cardboard noodles, floppy crepes, soggy paninis, all with jaw-dropping price tags. Perhaps the answer would have been to go self-catering.
Now, I am under no illusions here - I appreciate that when packing, culinary supplies are usually sacrificed in favour of clean pants, vodka and novelty hats - but if you DID have a desire to cook something other than pasta with a baked bean sauce, then this Shakshuka may serve you well, as it requires a minimal level of equipment/perishable ingredients.
Or you could just eat it at home… Morgan Pickard
SHAKSHUK
INGREDIENTS Serves two Glug of oil 1 onion, sliced 2 red peppers, sliced 2 cloves garlic, sliced 1 sprig rosemary (or 1tsp dried) 1tsp dried chilli flakes 2 tsp ground cumin 2 tsp smoked paprika 1 tin chopped tomatoes 1 vegetable stock cube 4 eggs If cooking at home, a handful of chopped parsley and a sprinkling of feta cheese, to serve
METHOD Fry the peppers and onion in the oil until softened, then add the garlic, rosemary and spices for a minute. Add the tin of tomatoes, then fill the tomato can with water and add, along with the stock cube, crumbled. Cook for around 20 mins until the sauce has thickened, then taste. Make four wells in the sauce and crack in your eggs, so that they are slowly cooked by the sauce (the white should be set but the yolk still runny). Eat straight from the pan, with a spork and a hunk of crusty bread.
Morgan writes her own, hilarious
blog on the internet. You can visit it and do a laugh wee wee at
sodnigella.blogspot.co.uk
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