quaker fencer

kathz isn't quite my name. I may be a Quaker. If I'm a fencer I'm a bad one and I don't do sabre. If I'm a Quaker I'm a bad one - but you've worked that out already. Read on. Comment if you like. Don't expect a reply.

Location: United Kingdom

Saturday, September 06, 2008

culinary genius

It might have been rude to take pictures of every course at a dinner party, so I didn't. But this picture, of a pavlova made by the chef for a party this summer, gives some idea of her culinary genius.

The chef greeted me with an offer of cocktails - I chose one with elderflowers and gin - then took me to see her bathroom, which has recently been renovated. "Probably the best bathroom in the world," I agreed and offered my compliments to the grouter.

The chef's house was strangely bare of books, since she's been packing, but filled with wonderful odours. I will give you the menu so that your mouth can water as mine did.

We began with rosemary soup. I've never experienced this before but I've learnt that it's a traditional recipe and that the first stage involves steeping fresh rosemary in milk. Later potatoes and onions are used. It's a wonderful flavour and the soup was garnished with more sprigs of rosemary and served with warm, fresh bread. We started on the wine too - a Pinot Gris from Alsace.

The main course was a frittata, with cheese and cauliflower. The chef always has spare egg whites, possibly because she likes to separate eggs in her spare time. She included some of these so that the frittata was remarkably light. She served it with a green salad.

The dessert was home-made creme brulee with a crispy top (formed with the aid of a blow-torch) and a raspberry base - a coulis, perhaps. It was wonderful.

We rounded off the meal with fresh coffee - black and strong - accompanied by brandy. Conversation was easy - perhaps I talked too much. We had more brandy ... and more. It was pleasantly smooth. Then, suddenly, I glanced at my watch and found to was 10 to 1. I decided I'd better go home.

The pavement swayed in a disconcerting manner and my feet took a slightly curving route over the paving stones. The teenagers were waiting for me. "What sort of time do you call this?" they asked, and, "Mum, have you been drinking?"

I was too abashed to complain that they were up late. I began to hope that the pleasant evening wouldn't hamper my ability at fencing the following night .... or the fit of my breeches.

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , ,


Anonymous Katie said...

I don't think there'd have been any creme brulee if I didn't like separating eggs in my spare time. Now, what about the corridor fencing?

10:03 am  
Blogger kathz said...

wait for my next post ....

10:09 am  
Anonymous Katie said...

but you promised it would be in this post.

12:46 pm  
Blogger kathz said...

I didn't. I just said I'd left the last post on a cliffhanger and you responded that I hadn't told people what we had to drink.

2:08 pm  
Anonymous Katie said...

no, I said you hadn't written about fencing in the corridor, and you said it would be in the next post and hadn't I noticed the cliffhanger?

2:15 pm  
Blogger kathz said...

oh dear. well, another post will follow shortly.

surely you realise that I felt impelled to give due weight to your excellent meal.

3:38 pm  

Post a Comment

<< Home