>>24006855It’s late arvo, kitchen still warm, and there’s half a kilo of mince on the bench waiting for direction. No ceremony. No plating tweezers. Just dinner.
You grab an old bread roll, tear it up and soak it in a splash of milk. Let it soften while you chop a brown onion and crush a couple of garlic cloves. Nothing delicate about it. Just good, steady prep.
Squeeze the bread out properly, like wringing a sponge. Then into a bowl it all goes: mince, onion, garlic, one egg, the squeezed bread, salt, pepper and a proper teaspoon of dried marjoram. That’s the quiet hero. Without it, you’ve just got meat. With it, you’ve got character.
Hands in. Mix it until it comes together. Not too long. If it’s wet, add breadcrumbs. If it’s dry, a splash of milk. You’re not building a rocket.
Shape flat patties, about a centimetre and a half thick. Press them slightly so they’ll get a good crust. Heat oil in a pan over medium. Not blazing, not timid. Lay them in and leave them alone. Four to five minutes. Let them brown properly.
Flip once. Same again. The smell turns rich and savoury, garlic mellowing, onion sweetening, marjoram drifting through.
When they’re done, golden and firm but still juicy, rest them briefly. Serve with mash and pickles, or slap one on fresh bread with mustard and a cold beer on the side.
No fuss. No nonsense. Just proper, honest food that gets the job done.
