I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not the type to make a big ol’ hoo-hah about pretty.
Flavour? Yes. All the time. And even if it’s a big sloppy pile of brown in a not-very-chic bowl.
Actually, make that especially if it’s a big sloppy pile of brown in a not-very-chic bowl. Most of my favourite foods can be described just so.
But then! A revelation!
You’d never guess, I’m sure, but I used to be rather the dab hand at throwing a dinner party.
Starters, entrees, mains, desserts. Matching beverages. Food served piping hot, straight to the table and me, ever the hostess-with-the-mostest, alternating between swanning around with a tea-towel thrown over my shoulder and quietly freaking out in a corner about whether I’d overcooked the chicken.
Or worse, undercooked the chicken.
I had arrived home with pig in my bag and the family was delighted. It’s not often they are able to partake in my adventures out so this was a particular treat. “We will eat it tomorrow” declared the mother. “You won’t be home Thursday, and we’re all out Friday. Saturday people are coming here and Sunday will be too late.” I nodded, not paying much attention. “How will you cook it?” asked the sister. “I’m not sure” said I, and trotted off to bed.
There are perks to being friends with an honest-to-goodness trained-to-the-hilt chef-in-waiting. More so when said friend is working in a bistro and has a firm handle on the most important meal of all – steak. Chef Lex (as he is fondly known) & I have been friends since before he was any good at cooking. And so, when I got the message saying “Dinner. 7pm. Just come.” I was in, no questions asked. Part for the promise of catchups, and part for the promise of meals-unknown. …continue reading how to: steak
