I'm spoiling the end of the story by writing this blog post now and not a month ago like I should've, but anyway, this is the tale of the last group dinner before I went to New York. We've had more since. I'm not dead like Jesus.
Sorry, non existent.
The beginning:
Well, as usual I accidentally invited round ten people for dinner. My friends are like those strings of Walls' sausages. Very hard to separate. Not that I'd want to, as I like strings of sausages that tumble into the oven together. Oven, or medium sized kitchen with ten people in it talking very loudly about teaching (for some reason) whilst I tried to not rub raw mince into my chilli stinging eyes.
Everyone dipped in (stirred the meatballs, not double dipped) and soon it was ready. Moroccan meatballs with herby cous cous. It was widely commented that this was my best dish yet.
The end:
We finished the main. Polished off orange marmalade upside down cake courtesy of the lovely Alex. Did some group youtubing. Then made heavy hints for everyone to leave so we could go to bed.
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