Tuesday, 18 July 2017

I cook that's...

what I do.
It is a standing joke in the family, my daughter-in-law says
"Poppy never knowingly undercaters!" 
And I don't, one of the great joys in my life is sharing food with family, friends, nodding acquaintances, I have even been known to invite passing folk that I have never clapped eyes on in for tea.
Sitting around a table with even the simplest of fare is to me one of life's pleasures.
My son bought me a dish with the inscription around the edge...
'The company makes the feast'
It does... added to which my menu planning, shopping and cooking is all part of the fun.
Setting the scene is pivotal in my enjoyment...
don't get me wrong, it isn't cut crystal, matching bone china, Irish linen table cloth that you spend a day ironing and lose half a stone over the sweat of pressing to mirror smoothness.  Oh dear me No!
It is... mismatched china, a hodgepodge of bone handled knives, maybe the odd silver eating iron thrown in to up the anti!  The bread will be served in any one of a number of strange wooden boxes that I've accumulated over the years, a Cockburn Port box, trugs, orange boxes, whatever seems to fit the occasion.  I do always have napkins, not paper serviettes... snobbishness rearing its ugly head?  Perish the thought!  Candles in candelabra,  battered by everyday use... yes literally.  

The food... can be anything from a doorstop size chunk of Manchego and a bowl of local cherries instead of the ubiquitous cheese board our guests by then can't rise to. Leaving me the task of polishing off the many and various cheeses chosen by me, secure in the knowledge it will be me who eats the lot!  Is it any wonder that the scales don't reflect the slimmer lass of a bygone era?

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