My diary. Monday 30th June, 2014
I had a plan.
Note; I said had.
Today is my day off. No work, no school duties because it is now school holidays (more on that later) and some quiet time with my MacBook Air, finishing a few of the stories I have in my almost ready pile and starting a few stories to go with the hundreds of food photos that are now almost over flowing from my photo library. That was my plan…
Unfortunately this plan was devised by the head of my planning department; a small gnome like creature named Kevin who has absolutely no contact with the outside world, hence did not take into consideration the party we (Jennee and I) were attending last night. You see, our friend Emma (who last sprung to notoriety on these very pages when she hosted a house warming party that left both Jennee and I wounded… Jennee permanently brain damaged, scans would later show) has decided she is off to France for six months. She’s packed her bags and her kids (possibly in the bags) and she is off. Except before anyone leaves around here we need to have a party… a big, fat “au revoir Madame Emma” party… red and white checkered table cloths, French food, guys dressed up with blue and white striped shirts, red neckerchief and beret (where we have this stereotype from I know not, but it was abundant), girls dressed like French prostitutes from the golden era of the Moulin Rouge, ample breasts just barely being contained by corsets and other similar things and nary a pair of knickers between them (note to self; a French themed birthday party is probably a good idea), and booze… oh the booze. We drank like we were at a Scotsman’s wedding,,, and that, my friends, is where this plan crumbled. It was too reliant on me being of sound body and mind today, of which I am most definitely neither. I had put all of my eggs in one basket, dropped said basket crushing all of the eggs which were now oozing their way onto the grass in what could be described as a new age hippy lunch creation; the raw omelette with grass, and now the dog has wandered over and is cleaning the mess for me via it’s tongue.
But boy, did we eat.
We consumed like the Aussie mine worker on holiday in Bali. Nothing was too much for this feasting farewell to our dear friend. We started with home made chicken liver pate, cheeses… lots of cheeses and fruit, accompanied by only the finest bottles of imitation champagne 12 bucks could buy. That was followed by coq au vin, pommes dauphinoise (or potato grat-arn for those less cultured amongst you. Google that shit and pick a recipe), pickled lentils, sautéed cabbage and peas, onion and pumpkin tart, rocket, pear and walnut salad, crusty bread and, of course, booze… lots more booze. And then to top it all off was the croquembouche, somewhat of a sign that assures you my Jennee has been involved in the feast you have just consumed. Although to be absolutely honest, there were not many amongst us who could fit it in as our bellies were already teetering on the brink of bursting with a cocktail of chicken, cheese and a pile of booze… or maybe that was just me…
A fitting farewell in anyone’s books!
And just a little note to all of my French friends out there – Emma will hit your shores next week and she is ready to eat all of your cheese and pate and she will definitely put a dent in your stocks of wine and champagne. The time to re-stock your cellar is now!