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As democracy takes a kidney punch from the right wing media and the economy starts to do the worm across the dancefloor of modern life, I think we all might want to take a couple of minutes respite to bathe our eyes with some delight. Namely, let’s take a peek in each other’s lunchboxes and try to reunite around a mutual love of salt, sugar, fat, and vitamins.

Here are some of the best ingredients, ideas, and ingestible treats uploaded to Instagram this week.

A woman of my acquaintance once dreamt that she was a fried egg—the entire anxious, sweaty night of her unconscious was spent trying to make sure she didn’t break her yolk and spill all over her new sofa. I’ll leave that one to the armchair therapists in the room to try and figure out.

I love Spaghetti alla chitarra as much as the next egg but while is no-doubt delicious it looks an awful lot like something just pulled out of your shower plug hole after shaving your winter pelt.

It could be an aerial shot of a dried and salt-clad river delta, of course. It could be one of those large Habitat prints hanging above the executive toy table in the office of an estate agent CEO. It could be the inside of a concrete mixer. But, thankfully for us, it’s just a flourless chocolate cake in the making.

I have precisely zero idea what a Sparkling Ruby Cabernet is but, if this were just a large glass rock salt served up with a spoon I would give it a tongue-drying shot.

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I recently met a man, a former bare knuckle fighter in fact, who drinks precisely once a year. During his weekly summer holiday this man will drink a single Archers and Lemonade before dinner. That’s it. Imagine thumping seven shades of shit out of grown men your entire adult life to then just drink one Archers and Lemonade per year. I love him.

She is going to get syrup all over that massive chambray shirt she’s so artfully rumpled under her breakfast plate if she’s not careful.

You could sprinkle it with gold, mould it into a bust of Pharrell, lay it across a beach at sunset or toss it over rose petals; meat mince is always going to look like seven shades of brown soil to me. Sorry. Nice buns though *wink emoji*

I like how she’s pretending a “non-greasy exterior” is something we’re in any way interested in. I mean, dude, it’s a wire mesh lampshade full of chicken. Still, full clucking admiration for sourcing your own well-treated chickens. We could all make a bit more of an effort with our ethical grease units.

I like to think that Pickled Green Peaches At The Raw Duck Canteen is the long-awaited follow up to Fried Green Tomatoes At The Whistlestop Cafe. And I really hope everyone involved is wearing the same terrible lip liner and culottes as in the original.

Oh cool, so aliens are living amongst us. Great. Good to know.

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