Good evening, citizens. And... heathens. We face today a humble adversary. The Fish Finger. The orange ingot... of the frozen wastes. Do not sneer. There is comfort in uniformity. Every finger is identical. They are soldiers. And we shall treat them with military ... respect. First. The Cooking. I shall say this only once. Put the microwave... away. ...To microwave a fish finger is a war crime. It turns the armor... into a wet sock. The Grill. Or the Frying Pan. We need dry, violent heat. Turn them often. We are looking for a shell. Hard. Crisp. Unyielding. Tap them with a fork. If they do not sound like a hollow pipe... they are not ready. The Vehicle. The "Butty." White bread. Thick. Soft. Unapologetic. Butter it aggressively. The butter is the mortar. Now. Alignment. Do not throw them on the bread like firewood! Line them up. Vertical formation. Three... or four... abreast. Edge to edge. Coverage is critical. We cannot have a bite of bread... without a bite of fish. That is a logistical failure. The Lubrication. Ketchup? If you must. It is the childish option. But for the civilized man... Tartare Sauce. Or... a thin layer of Salad Cream. Do not drown them. We want to taste the ocean... not the vinegar. Smash them down with the top slice. Crush the structure. Listen for the crunch. Slice it down the middle. Look at the cross-section. White fish. Orange coat. White bread. The Tricolour of the working man. Serve with a mug of tea. Builder's Brew. Eat it whilst it is hot. You have been fed. Carry on.
