On Wednesday, I put on a brave face and cooked supper for four. This happens only once in a blue moon. The marrow was grown by brother-in-law Bill: plenty left still - it was enormous. The mince ended up rather too dry and too salty; but our guests - Robin and Felicity Littlewood - were too polite to say so. The pears in red wine weren't cooked enough, on the other hand. Better the next night, when Thibaud de Saint-Quentin was staying; but cooking for a Frenchman is not something I feel up to.
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1 comment:
Papa, this was surely just the hubris after such a fine feast for Father John! Best jump back onto the horse before bruises form and put you off long term. I'll get you a chef's hat for Christmas, how a bout that? xx
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