So today I cooked a Sunday dinner for Beloved and I – a nice chicken dinner. Yes, feel those good old traditions.
Except Beloved thought there was a problem. Now, I was ready to ritually disembowel him for presuming to comment on anything that happens in my kitchen given his past record in this area – but he was smarty enough to get a head start and yell that he thought I had cooked too much (though it all looked wonderful and amazing and please don't kill him. Hah, the wimp, threaten him with repeated stabbing and he loses all backbone).
Being the infinitely patient and understanding soul that I am, I paused to consider his words and the food that was happily bubbling, steaming and roasting away
So we had the bacon latticed, butter covered whole chicken and the garlic and tarragon stuffing and the sausage meat stuffing balls (you always need 2 kinds of stuffing, it is known). And the sprouts with chestnuts and the herb mashed potatoes (with sweet potatoes, onions and more butter, of course) and peas with onions and mint and butter. And the roasted carrots, parsnips and leeks (with garlic, of course), the mashed turnip and the mashed butternut squash (naturally both with butter), and the crispy roast potatoes, the sesame broccoli and the platter of immense Yorkshire puddings (which rose like champions, of course), the ocean of gravy, the cranberry sauce and the bread sauce.... Ok... maybe. Just maybe... Yeah he kinda had a point. Wow... I kind of got carried away there
What? Don't look at me like that, sometimes I gte in the cooking zone. I blame my grandmother, she never cooked for less than 6 people. It's in the genes damn it!
So Beloved at last got to invite someone round after consulting me! Admittedly it was like 40 minutes before dinner was served so he was on the phone “hey, have you eaten yet? Sparky just cooked enough for a regiment! Come, eat, take away leftovers! Save me from 6 days of bubble and squeak”
In my defence, I quite like bubble and squeak.