I have been known, when the planets are aligned, to make the sweetcorn chowder from Nigella Express, which is Nigella’s best book even if I wonder if it would kill her to season things now and then. Anyway, it is a treat to make and a treat to eat – although I warn you in advance to give it time to cool, since sweetcorn, it transpires, has a capacity to retain heat that is almost singular amongst cooking materials.
The chowder itself is mainly a business of blitzing and then stirring on the hob, but as an accompaniment Nigella suggests nachos baked in the oven, and it was while baking these nachos the other day that I discovered that my oven makes the treasure chest noise from Fortnite.
What a mixture this noise conjures within me. Opportunity, certainly, for loot. And truly, there is a mysteriously avaricious note to the shimmering sound that alerts you to the fact that a chest is nearby. But avarice is never simple. I have lost many games of Fornite specifically because I have found one chest in the attic of an old house, and then discovered, once it has been opened, that I can still hear the sound. This must mean that there is another chest nearby, and regardless of how little I may need it, I cannot leave it undiscovered. So I will tear the house apart, wall by wall, floor by floor, until the storm engulfs me or I am shotgunned in the back while attempting to construct a ladder in the shattered remains of a bathroom in order to access a promising hole in the ceiling.
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