Gameoftwo is delighted to bring you this special report, having been invited to spend a memorable afternoon with the Tory Young Boys’ superstar striker, Georgio Osbo, at his humble £10m townhouse.
In the culinary event of the year, Georgio generously opened up his presentation kitchen, one of three at his eleven bedroom city crash pad, and invited journalists to help him cook up some low cost savoury delights and chow on his tasty austerity hors d’œuvres.
“Austerity is not just a word that I say with my mouth, it is the foundation of my entire life.” ejaculated Osbo as he led us on a mazy walk from his informal reception hall through to the east wing of his humble abode.
“Take this wallpaper for instance. It is from Osborne and Little’s economy range, where a whole room can be covered for less than fifty thousand pounds!” although he later went on to clarify that fitting would, of course, be extra.
“And these corniche trimmings are from Osborne and Little’s supersaver product line, with only four carat gold infused thread rather than the usual twenty-four carat, hand spun filament. There are some real savings for the wise buyer in today’s soft goods market.”
After a few embarrassing wrong turns we eventually arrived at Osbo’s presentation kitchen, and he lost no time in showing us his humorous side by joking that this was the first time that he’d ever been in this particular room.
Osbo’s choice of dish was to be his signature entrée, a legend within the Mayfair fine dining underworld, the peerless and much imitated, mix de viands a la Osbo.
“The essence of my mix de viands is pure austerity.” promulgated Osbo. “Tinned meats, roughly cut sausages, and thin slices of beef. Look after the pennies and the pounds look after themselves. I stocked up on tinned reindeer meat from Nick Harvey’s in their January sale, and Iberian sausages are an absolute bargain at the moment given their economy is even more fucked than ours is.
“Top it off with waferised Wagyu beef, purchased by my manservant at Nick Harvey’s, thirty minutes before closing time when they knock the price down to only £99 per kilo!
“And of course, no mix de viands a la Osbo would be complete without a generous smearing of Rottingenden’s world famous pate de foie gras de riant. A unique and mouth watering pate, made with the ‘methode traditionelle’ where the geese are strapped into a velvet covered feeding harness with chains of pure silver, and then force fed while being lovingly tickled with antique ostrich feathers.
“With some judicious household purchasing, this dish should cost you no more than £125 per plate, perhaps even less if you are catering for fifty or more people.
“Of course, such a dish as the mix de viands a la Osbo would be completely ruined without the right presentation, and it is here that one can really distinguish oneself by following the Osbo doctrine of presentology and aesthetic assemblisation.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I humbly give you…. mix de viands a la Osbo!” and with a well practiced flourish he revealed the finished product to gasps of delight from the gathered news hounds.
This was no ordinary plate of meat, this was an epicurean masterpiece of bestial husbandry. I will try to describe the stunning sight that caressed our astounded eyes, but forgive me if I have to invent some new words to fully communicate the luxuriant rightness of this extraordinary wonder.
It rested on an antique porcelain platter of such delicate properties that to touch it was to break it, with a dazzling black enamel made entirely of volcanic glass that had been hand collected from the depths of the Kauai undersea channel. Obtaining the glass to make just this one plate had claimed the lives of three divers, whose souls, by local superstition, are said to be imprisoned for eternity in the smooth black plateware.
Around the edge of the dish was a bed of miniature rocket, with each individual leaf having been hand graded for size, thickness and length of stem. A preparation of vibrant flavourings had been injected into each stem, giving a range of taste sensations from the earthy warmness of a sizzling pheasant being roasted on a roaring fire, to the astringent bitterness of an angostura cocktail being consumed in a wood panelled gentlemen only dining room in a Pall Mall club.
Resting amongst the salad were marble sized globes of miniature tomatoes, each having been hand peeled with razor sharp scalpels by a crack team of gifted Nepalese peelologists, who by law can only work at an altitude of seven thousand metres above sea level. Each coloured skin had been delicately removed and then replaced upon a tomato of a different colour, having been stitched back together using an aniseed flavoured edible thread only one micron in width.
But there could be no doubt that the star of this triumphant platter was the meat, and the meat alone. The slices of Wagyu beef had been cut so thin, that in many countries they would be considered a lethal weapon that was capable of inflicting terrible injury. They had been sliced by a highly trained special ops chef who was forced to wear a high technology suit developed by NASA to survive the zero degree vacuum of the hyperbaric slicing chamber.
Accompanying the Wagyu were the Iberian delights, with each sausage having been individually opened up and delicately cut and arranged to resemble a burning red rose petal. The delicate petals were interlaced and then fused together by searing them over a fire made from a five hundred year old rose bush that had, until recently, been nurtured by ten generations of the same family outside a crofters cottage on a remote Scottish island.
The reindeer meat had been cut into perfect cubes by an industrial laser to ensure that each had exactly the same dimensions, which also sealed in the moist goodness of Christmas. We were not fooled by the apparently random dispersal of cubes over the dish, and it was later confirmed that each cube had been specifically put in place by a robotic arm to ensure that the layout mirrored that of the cosmic alignment of the stars on Christmas day over Lapland.
Nestling at the centre of the Iberian rose was a single scoop of Rottingenden’s pate de foie gras de riant, its pale colour being accentuated by the black volcanic glass to truly hint at the majesty of a goose in full flight over a glassy smooth lake Windermere in the early stages of what promised to be a glorious British summer.
The dish was finished with a classic Osbo touch. A robin redbreast sculpture made from a piece of fine linen that was rumoured to have once belonged to Mother Theresa. The priceless cloth had been folded into shape by Master Shinji Jakandi and his young son Shino, the current world champion father and son speed origami team, and holders of the world record for napkin manipulisation-grande-vitesse. The robin, a common but hardy British bird, had been chosen by Osbo after consulting a number of focus groups, and served to underline his roots as a common man of this great nation.
It was with a heavy heart that we departed Osbo towers at the end of a gastronomic afternoon that will live long in the memory. We will shortly get back to more footbally type things, so if you can be bothered then stay tuned.