Thug Kitchen Totally Crushes It With A Chickpea Salad Done “French-Style.”


When it’s hot as a motherfucker and you can’t be bothered to cook, but you still want something more than a few gulps from your garden hose, then this is the shit for you.

If you’re lazy like me, skip the bread and eat this straight from the bowl. Like a fucking animal. Fuck utensils. Fuck bread. If anyone asks, you could claim it’s not laziness you’re just avoiding gluten and white carbs like all the famous movie stars on their special diets…or whatever. Justify it however you want, life is about taking short cuts. Especially in this god damn heat.

Thug Kitchen French Crushed Chickpea and Artichoke Heart Salad

Fast as Fuck cookbook. page 38


First, I peeled that condom plastic off the cucumber. You know the one I mean. Why is that even there? Cucumbers should be free to ride bareback, just as life intended them to. What exactly are the stores that sell the cucumbers worried about? Catching cucumber chlamydia?

Anyway, once I’d peeled off the rubber and de-skinned the ‘cumber, I chopped that fucker up and moved on to the red pepper. Done, and done. Slice n’ dice, bitches.


Once I’d sorted that shit out I moved on to the kalamata olives. This took longer than I’d anticipated because the little fuckers hadn’t been deseeded, so I was faffing about slicing those shits for way longer than necessary. I may have nearly sliced my finger at one point too. And there may or may not have been some tequila happening in the background, I just can’t say for sure.

This recipe was now turning from ‘Fast as Fuck’ into ‘Drunk and Hazardous as Fuck’ but whatever, I kept going. Once I’d chopped herbs, and squeezed lemons, I was good to go for crushing the chickpeas. Lemon juice stings when you get it in your cut finger by the way. And also by the way, reacting to your stinging finger-cut by jumping backwards whilst swearing is also not so great when you then accidentally bash your head on that sharp corner your kitchen cupboard. Especially when you then pitch forward in agony and stub your fucking toe. Fuck summer and fuck bare feet. And yes, this is the way my tequila riddled life is unfolding.

When I reached chickpea crushing time I was really in the right frame of mind for that shit. Smashing some chickpeas in a bowl with the back of my rolling-pin was just the kinda therapy I needed to get rid of my irritation/disgruntlement/frustration/drunken rage at having injured myself several times in a row.

I was much calmer once I’d mixed everything together and seasoned this biotch to taste.


This combination of flavours was a real hit. Great as a main, or as a side with other random munchies. Filling and substantial, and yet also light and not the kinda thing that fills you in an uncomfortable I’ve-eaten-far-too-much kinda way. This would work well as a quick snack, or even as a bring-a-fork-with-you-straight-to-the-fridge kinda food. It’s cooler there you know, in front of the open refrigerator door. And if you stay there long enough the fridge magnets on the freezer door start talking to you, and sending you little messages.


See what I mean?


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