My final grocery order hoved into view this morning.
Slight trauma as a jar of pickled shallots shattered, soaked through into a box of Shortbread biscuits and wafted the aromatic and highly pungent smell of pickling vinegar through the house, before we found the offending bag and gave it back to the nice Ocado man who was most apologetic.
I considered keeping the biscuits and seeing if I could do something Hestonesque with them, but discretion was the better part of Valerie (though all of her is nice), and back they went.
Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief.
I am down certain items, as well as my shallots and shortbread, but when I surveyed the panoply of food I have amassed over the last few weeks, even I was shamed into admitting that we really do not need me to go out and buy any more. We could withstand a significant siege, if not a zombie apocalypse (not enough gardening tools we can turn into weapons).
It was a great relief to abdicate responsibility and not trot off to the supermarket for the umpteenth day in a row.
Instead, Uncle Robber came round and zoomed Oscar and I into town, where I bought Tilly a fluted tart tin so she can make me Panettone bread and butter pudding (at her request btw. I am not sending her down the Panettone mines or anything). I am all about encouraging her baking whims. She is a damn fine baker, and much less sweary than me. In a few years I will be able to unleash her upon GBBO and she will win the hearts of all.
And their stomachs.
I did a great deal of searching for the trifle dish of my dreams, which I need if I am going to become a master trifle maker in 2015. I found one that was too curvy, one that was too bulbous and one that looked a bit like a urine specimen bottle. It was all a bit fairy tale. Sadly I have not found one that is just right. On the other hand I have not been chased by three furious bears through the woods either, so quid pro quo and all that. All the sub standard bowls were vastly over priced. I shall keep searching. In the meantime I will keep creating trifles in my own unsuitable receptacles.
We went out for lunch to The Cosy Club. I ate there a few weeks ago with Robber, and wanted to return. It was very, very nice and I had a fantastic fish finger sandwich, although I wish it wasn’t called The Cosy Club. It sounds naff, and I keep calling it ‘The Cotton Club’, by mistake, which helps nobody.
Robber wanted to buy nice chocolates for the Boxing Day festivities at mum’s. We went into Hotel Chocolat. This was a mistake. I came out visibly poorer, with a bulging bag of chocolates. Top marks though for the salted caramel pralines. Oh lordy.
I have a stash of rhubarb and ginger cheesecake chocolates, and custard tart chocolates to try too. If I hadn’t just eaten half a family pack of Chilli Heatwave Doritos I’d be eating them now, but I am beginning to sweat chilli, and I don’t think it would work with the chocolates at all.
Another Hestonesque failure on my part.