So I roasted a chicken (well part of one, the rest will go in a honey and lemon and mustard sauce and be yummy tomorrow or Tuesday) with trimmings (too many veg. BUBBLE AND SQUEAK HERE WE COME!) today – not because it’s Sunday but because it was “how long has this chicken been in the freezer?” day.
So there it was, all laid out. Chicken, peas, carrots, parsnip, stuffing, mash and roast potatoes and, of course, some cranberry sauce.
And then I frowned. I confess, while I make many things from scratch, cranberry sauce is not one of them (simply getting cranberries is a bit of a hassle anyway), besides, I’m not a lover of it (yes, Beloved will no doubt point out that if I don’t love it, it tends not to get made and he is forced to sneak it into the house after late night shopping trips. He exaggerates. A little). Anyway, I frown at the goop in the little sauce thingy because it doesn’t look quite right.
I take some, taste it then smile and watch Beloved eat for a while. Until a confused and faintly horrified look crosses his face. He chews slowly brain trying to catch up with what’s happening
Beloved: Um… what did I just eat?
Sparky: Well, it looked like chicken, some stuffing, a small piece of roast potato, covered in gravy and a big dollop of strawberry jam.
Beloved: Strawberry jam? *pokes red stuff that does, indeed, have seeds in it*
Sparky: Yes. It looked positively revolting – was it as ghastly as I imagine?
Beloved: Not as awful as you’d think but… yeah pretty damn awful…
I would also like to refer him to an argument I believe we had in, oh, 2009? I think it was 2009. I will have to check my diary of “I Told You Sos” (I get to cross one out!) to be sure. Anyway, this was in the aftermath of one of the great Condiment Wars that constantly rage. However at the time I insisted that if he MUST add ingredients to the food I’ve cooked AFTER I’ve finished cooking then at least put them on the side of the plate for dipping and scooping rather than layering them all over the food until every iota of original flavour is destroyed (especially before tasting. OOOOH is there ANYTHING more annoying than people who add seasoning and condiments to food you’ve cooked before they even taste it? Hanging offence. No, hanging is too good for them.)
See, if he hadn’t decided to “humour” me then, his entire dinner would now be covered by strawberry jam. This proves that I am right. Someone call me the Doctor, I need to go back to 2009 and say “I told you so” with appropriate smugness.