Shshshshshshsh. Please tread softly. It is the morning after.
Yesterday was not the best Christmas feast ever, but we gave it a good go.
The pouilly fumé was faded and forgettable.
The 10 year old mouton cadet discovered in the cellar, which had been accidentally overlooked and found with such anticipatory joy, was a shadow of its former self. There was no flesh on the bones. I bravely continued drinking in the hope that these wines might improve during the brief time that they were in the glass.
You will never in a million Christmases guess my favourite part of the meal (although they were my only cooking contribution so I am prejudiced and partial).
Thinly sliced crispy stir fried sprouts with garlic and cumin and Chinese five spice. They should have had ground coriander with them as well, but I had run out and they were still great. The only thing that they had in common with the usual molten sprout of christmas day is that you couldn't count them.
My sweet H laboured valiantly in the kitchen trying to accommodate a carnivore who won’t eat vegetables, a would-be vegetarian if she had any will power, people who like chocolate a lot and people who don’t like chocolate at all…
Drummer boy breezed through quickly between social engagements, pausing only to consume his steak and give an after Christmas-dinner drum lesson, thereby annoying the neighbours and luring the student here so that he could get a lift to the next social engagement. I remember when I had that same rapacious hunger for life - just. I have faded like the mouton cadet, but there is more flesh on my bones, not less.
Darling D and I looked forward to an eye candy moment with David Tennant and then the evening saw us transformed into beached-whales and involved much too much chocolate for some.
(Darling D informs me that she has taught her french friends a new word which has become "à la mode". To slob, I slob, you slob, he slobs etc. Sometimes I feel really proud of my culture...)
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz normal service will be resumed soon
1 day ago