Note to self: whilst a few sprigs of rosemary put in with roast potatoes and parsnips works very well, putting double the amount into a chicken casserole makes it smell and taste like pot pourri.
This then induced a Jacob's Ladder-style series of nested flashbacks to previous cooking disasters, including:
1. Boiled turkey mince.
2. The first time, when I lived in Penryn, that my and then-flatmate attempted to using her oven for something other than boiling pasta, so we roasted a chicken, which worked very well, although we then put the carcass back in the oven and forget all about it. So three weeks later, when the rising stench finally reminded us what we'd done, the savaged remains were by then so fuzzy with brightly-coloured moulds, it looked like H.R. Giger had designed a Muppet.
3. Making 'twists' at cubs camp. 'Twists' are flour and milk turned into paste, wound around sticks, burnt on a campfire and thrown away. They have no reason to exist, other than for ritual purposes, like communion wafers, or Alan Yentob.
UPDATE: Kaiki's comment just reminded me that for my last christmas at the bookshop in Canterbury, I made all my closest work chums a gift bag each of coconut squares, some white and some pink.
ASSEMBLED RESPONSE OF ENTIRE BOOKSHOP STAFF, EACH OF WHOM HAD AT LEAST ONE ARTS DEGREE, AND HAD KNOWN ME FOR OVER FOUR YEARS: 'I didn't know you were gay'.
Because that's what gay people do with their time, they make coconut squares, like Alexander the Great.