Black cherry

Roast pirouetted me out of the fog on Monday with a medley of boiled new potatoes, cheddar cheese, bacon, and peas. Otherwise known as Nigella's "back from the bar snack".

As if she ever goes out. You can't maintain such a glossy body weight by doing anything but standing at the fridge tearing off hunks of cheese for a "bftbs". (yes, something she recommends for this dish. Greedy mouths haven't got time to grate).

And Roast and I certainly didn't have time to slice and fork, when it came to the quadruple chocolate loaf. We ripped off the less boiling hot edges like Natalie Portman's cuticles,

and stuck them in some tupperware to take the the cinema. Kept trapping each others' fingers in the tin as we tried to shut it, so desperate we were for more gooey chocolate pud.

We took the whole meal in a series of tupperware to the cinema to see Black Swan. Concerned that the usher would see that we'd brought our own dinner we ate the menu like popcorn with our fingers. Well, that may just have been me. Roast used a fork. Alex wouldn't eat his as it smelt too strongly.

A radiant meal. We were certainly the only members of the audience giggling through any part of Black Swan.

Juicy Couture

What seems like months ago, but may just have been last week (when you mostly exist in a daze of work and bed, sometimes at the same time, it's hard to know where you are sometimes), I went to Dave's for a nourishing little brunchy.

As he greeted me I was enveloped in the pull of sleep. Hmm eau de bed. Could just lick it off him like butter off toast. Luckily I had been told to bring my jarmies so I could emulate sticky slumber myself.

We busied ourselves in the kitchen making Dave's magic muffins whilst Daddy made business calls. Dave poured out the milk for the tea and I helped myself. Tasted a bit funny but I assumed I'd just made it wrong.

Once the eggs were poached and settled upon the buttered bacon stuffed english muffins like wobbly jellies we sat down to eat. Eurgh the milk is off, exclaimed Dave.

Oh. Again, I thought the little white bits in it were just because I made it wrong. Wish I hadn't drunk it all without a murmur. Luckily we had orange juice with juicy bits and a mouthful of pink champagne to take the taste away.

Then I had to go back to work, and Dave and Chris had to sink back into bed so we tearfully parted ways.

I like mine thick

Roast commented that when he was younger he thought he'd never go to a "dinner party" like his parents used to have, but he supposed this was one. Hmm. From my vantage listening point on the stairs I don't remember my parents watching youtube videos of cute dogs, or having a fourth course of smashed nuts. (FYI Sashy's thighs are great for the walnuts.)

Well what we lacked in quality we made up for with a huge quantity of sausages in a thick tomatoey garlicy juice with rosemary and some other herbs I can't recall. It was all cooked nestling together in olive oil and red wine vinegar, mopped up on our plates with tear and share.

I did serve a side salad. Just like the dinner parties our parents used to have..

A medium rare trip to Croyden.

Two hours! Two hours! Is how long it took to get to Bob and David Haddrell's house in Croyden. I could have been home and running a bath in Monks Kirby already in that time.

Luckily for them (as we'd been stirring up mean comments as we would a risotto), the meal, and the company was an absolute dream as soon as we crossed over their suburban threshold.

We had a dish of steak and creamy white bean sauce, with salady bits. I had probably encouraged Bob to do it quite a bit less than medium rare so I got to finish off Alex's bloody bits. Chewed, but the flavour not gone.

Then just as I was casting my eye round the room for some bones to gnaw on Bob brought out the cider apple jellies! With Rhoddas clotted cream.

OOOOh. That soothed the ulcers in our travel angry mouths right down. Once the jelly was finished we just spooned straight from the cream pot.

Once every drop had been licked from the bowls we retired to their tres elegant sitting room to finish off their Christmas chocolates and recall, 'what it's like for a girl..'

Now that's one situation that really did have blood dripping onto our plates.

p.s the chocolates had David Haddrell's face on them. We ate his colleagues in ascending order of looks.

http://www.youtube.com/user/marktakespictures#p/u/10/abmQZQQRgjY

Love and other drugs

Bonding with my ladies over smoking cessation (I am the officer you know, armed and ready to prescribe), I popped a NiQuitin sweetie to convince them it didn't taste too bad.

Dizzy, swooning, head in the toilet later, I spent the next hour careering round the office groggily whilst attempting to load up injections, run baths, and mash potato. I'll never know how Mums can take to gin. Drugs and mothering just doesn't mix.

After work, spat out into the cold night, I just about managed to board the tube and drag myself to Leicester Square to meet Bob. She found me in the middle of the traffic island gently weeping as tourists tutted about how the West End was going down hill. Is she in a gang?

We thought just

the thing to soothe me was a Pret meatball wrap (deliciously outrageous as we'd never usually spend money on sandwiches out).

Tummies full, we went to empty our wallets on £14 cinema tickets to see Love and Other Drugs. The ads were almost too much for me to take in my heightened state of senses. So BRIGHT. So LOUD. Please STOP! Managed to stick it out.

p.s Bob, do you remember when the door of the coach hit him in the face? Hahahahahaha.

We're very mean. Our favourite bits were when they got hurt, and when we kept thinking the girl had died when she was just asleep.

Weekfrienders

Really don't know how you normal people cope with having every weekend off. They're exhausting. So much pressure to do fun things. At least at work I'm guaranteed a McDonalds, a good session watching the Yesterday channel, and some colouring in time before 5 o'clock.

Luckily help was at hand with Alex itinerising our every breath.

1) Dalston Kingsland 12pm. (12.13pm if you're Chazney i.e. late)

2) Froggat Frondsley for the Freud museum 12.45pm. 1 hour allowed for browsing Freud's pot plants and me pretending I know everything about psychoanalysis. Psychology BSc I'll have you know.

3) 1.45 pm. Walk to Hampstead Heath via pubs to keep us hydrated/sedated. Time off for dog blogging photos.

4) 2.30pm Dawdling built in. For someone with such an athletic physique I'm actually quite bad at walking. Need pushing up hills.

5) 3.15pm. The desert boots were well and truly spoiled

6) Nice pub 3.30pm. Muddy, dog savaged, yet incredibly happy we sat down in the door way to eat.

p.s got a really cool dog to come and talk to me by smearing my fingers with gammon juice and waving a gammon bone in his face.

Santa's breast is best

What is that I hear tinkling through the air?

Why it must be Santa's sleigh bells as he drops the reindeer off (Dashy and Sashy and Dancer and Blitzen, and Roasty, and Chazzy, and Bobby and Mitzen.. etc). Don't worry Santa I'll have them back for the 24th. Bye for now.

Then Alex and I popped the kids upstairs sucking on their bottles of cava bien merci et vous to keep them amused whilst we sweated over a vast hot stove of food.

We had braised red cabbage, brussel sprouts with flaked almonds, mashed swede, roasted carrots, potatoes, parsnips, peas, pigs in blankets, and....chicken.

I'm sorry readers, instead of turkey we had chicken. And instead of a full chicken we bought individual breasts. Well we're working women! What do you want??

Anyway, Mum and Dad delivered the food upstairs to quite intimidating whoops of joy and then we sat down to eat.

Once sated I invited Santa back to sit in the manger to deliver the presents. Everyone was way more content with their gifts than with Frankincense and Myrrh. Especially me with a ladies night kit. Thanks Alex. If only it had some bio oil for the scars of last time...

A special present

On Christmas Eve a star led lots of friends bearing gifts right down Mulberry bag drive and into Dave's arms.

We feasted on dressed crab, crab legs, langoustines, chickpea curry, mango salad, Georgian cheese bread (if anyone wanting recipe ideas still reads wyduas then look this bread up), chorizo, and smoked salmon. Plus two cakes. A lime cheesecake a la little Annie and a very melty pile of chocolate from me. Hadn't realised that the chocolate icing would be too hot to take the addition of a layer of chocolate orange. But all members of the Watson family and affiliates agreed that the melty two tone chocolate was very Dali.

I had a riot with Grampa. Dave suggested we become pen friends but we all remember how Bob's attempt at that turned out.. Didn't want to put Grampa through the pain. (To be fair to Bob she couldn't read her elderly pen friend's 1920s scrawl. We can only understand type these days).

So we had a lovely meal and sociale. And it wasn't just Dave who got all the presents. I bagged some Everest sponsorship, a new Grampa, and a potential date with a farmer with an artificial limb post rotary accident. If one night can bring all that, who knows what 2011 will bring?