This year, I have made two commitments:
1. Make more effort to see my friends
2. Drink more
I am doing sterling work. I think I mentioned that, a few weeks ago, Lady Olivier and her family came up and we had a smashing weekend which included a visit to Belton House in Lincolnshire. This trip satisfied both the grown-ups’ wish to stare at stately homes and talk incessantly, and the children’s desire to run around shouting, as it had the biggest adventure playground I have ever seen – well worth a visit… and the zip wire is big enough for grown-ups….
Then there was my birthday about which enough has been said. However, I am happy to report that my project continues apace.
Last weekend, my sisters and I paid a long overdue visit to The Marquis of Barnet and his partner, Signor Fandango. We have know The Marquis for more years than I care to remember and the Aged Parent refers to him as “the son she never had and the daughter she hadn’t bargained for”. He is the sort of friend who, no matter how long we’ve been apart, always slips comfortably into the old friendship, and the intervening years just roll back.
My sisters and I always laugh a lot when we get together, but the combination of a lovely meal, an astonishing amount of gin and the company of The Marquis and Fandango caused so much laughter that the tears were streaming down our faces and our stomachs ached as though we’d done ten rounds with Mike Tyson (as opposed to the ten rounds of Bombay Saphire – boom boom).
We weren’t quite so clever the following morning, but the judicious application of egg and bacon sandwiches and a bucket of coffee had us sufficiently restored to drive home. I arrived in Market Harborough about 1.45pm, bought a chamber pot for my new plant, then flopped on the sofa with a further bucket of tea, a chocolate éclair and ‘Goodnight Mr Tom’ on the DVD, through which I sobbed pitifully as usual.
What a perfect weekend, I hear you say. And you’re right, but the fun didn’t stop there – I take my projects seriously you know. Today, after several hours of intensive, high-speed, full-tilt paperwork, I went out with my friend, Mrs Crellin, to the home of Monsieur Tartiflette of Rutland, for lunch. Msr Tartiflette is not only delightful company, he is also a cook of exceptional talent. It has been over a year since we last met up and we were looking forward to it very much.
Msr T lives in an idyllic gatehouse lodge in the depths of Rutland and the only sound you can hear is the a capella chorus of the birds. The sun shone down and we sat in his lovely garden sipping red wine and catching up.
And then came the lunch. OMG (as the young people say). Out came a tomato and onion salad with some sort of balsamic vinegar-based dressing, crisp green lettuce, a dish of cold roasted peppers and crunchy baked baguettes. Mrs Crellin and I could have gone face down in the peppers alone which were sweet and flavoursome.
Next, a proper Quiche Lorraine appeared on the table and I confess that I actually gasped when I put the first forkful in my mouth. The texture was like the finest crème brulee, the pastry was crisp and rich and the bacon sweet and juicy. As if this wasn’t enough, a cold Treacle Tart followed, which was as light as a feather and served with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. What joy.
Now the point of this story is not just about the joy of troughing and quaffing, it is about the joy of making the time to spend with people you really like. Life undoubtedly carries us away, but if we’re not careful, our friends make get carried away as well, sometimes actually carried off, before we get the chance to see them. Friendships are the stuff of life; our friends make us remember who we really are, not just grown-ups who plod on working, cooking, cleaning, driving, laundering, bill-paying, protecting and fretting.
And the valuable cooking tip? Msr Tartiflette says that when making the filling for a quiche, don’t beat it to death with a high-speed mixer, blend it together gently, whisk it only lightly and smile at it fondly. You will achieve untold success.
Wartime Housewife 