That’s what I’m always told anyway. By Mr F.
I do tend to agree. As long as the outcome is the same, then we’re all happy.
What? We’re talking about rissoles right? Well I am. And if you’re not, then could you please quietly step out of the gutter? Haha.
Apparently I have size issues. With my rissoles. What begins as a good, hearty meat pattie, ends as a small pip-squeak of a rissole.
Or ‘riss’ as Mr F has taken to calling them. Because there is no ‘ole’. They’re too small for that.
Here, look at this little beauty, only just bigger than a cherry tomato.
I tell you what though, my riss’s may be small, but they do get hoovered down. By the whole family. It’s better for digestion. Being so little. Isn’t it? It must be.
Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, the outcome is the same.
As my cooking test has clearly demonstrated, size doesn’t count. It’s the effort that goes into it and satisfying the need, which can make or break you