Tag Archives: Food

A change in feeling

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So, I mentioned before that a friend is coming to Milan who I haven’t seen for more than 35 years. And, I mentioned that I was a little bit apprehensive. After all, we’ve kept in touch by Christmas and birthday cards only. Not even letters or stuff. So I don’t really know much about him over all these years.

At one point, the cards started to come with J’s signature. I guess that was about 10 years ago or more. I’ve seen some Facebook stuff and J appears to be Chinese or of Chinese origin (in fact, I learn, Taiwanese.)

They’re coming tomorrow.

We’ve exchanged phone numbers. And last night, we talked. It was so strange. It was him and it seemed like, apart from knowing almost nothing about each others’ lives over the intervening years, we’d always been in touch. Which, of course, is very good.

In his words, they want to “soak up the atmosphere.” They mean, of being in Italy, of course.

And that made me think. I’ve been here so long now that I don’t see things as different or strange. Or, at least, not so much. So I’m having to rethink. To try to remember what makes Italy different from being in the UK. What makes you go “ooh!”

Aperitivo is one thing. I’ll have to pick some places to go. Eating outside isn’t really on right now, unfortunately. Ice-cream, of course. Pizza. Coffee at the bar. Coffee near the Duomo, sitting and watching the people, even it’s it’s outrageously expensive. The places we should go.

I’m gong to take a couple of days off work. F doesn’t really understand this. He thinks it strange. But, then, even if he’s lived in the UK, he doesn’t quite understand us that well.

Anyway, he’s hardly going to be here. Sadly, PaC is not good and he’s going down for a couple of days. Then, on Saturday, he has to go to London for meetings. I’m not sure when he will be back. Possibly Tuesday. So, in the end, he’ll just have dinner with us a couple of times. But that will probably be enough for him.

So, now I’m quite looking forward to seeing D and meeting J. It should be nice.

I don’t think I will like it (even if I have no idea what it is)

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He pulls a face.

“Ugh!”, he says.

I think: Oh fuck, he doesn’t like it. Oh well, I’ve done it now. Perhaps it’s the hazelnuts? Or the meringue? Or the combination?

I’d just thanked him. He’d been to the supermarket and brought back some raspberries. He knows they’re my favourite fruit. I’d said, enthusiastically, “Oh, great! They’ll be perfect to go with the sweet.” Which they would be. After all, fruit and nuts go together well. And raspberries and hazelnuts would be a perfect combination.

However, of course, I wasn’t thinking. He didn’t know I had picked this dessert. He had assumed it would be something along the lines of what I had mentioned before. And I had forgotten that I had mentioned something else.

So the response of “Ugh!” came from him asking me what I was doing and me replying, Hazelnut Meringue.

Now, I’ve absolutely no idea what he thought Hazelnut Meringue actually was. But, he didn’t like the “sound” of it. Apparently.

We were doing dinner for a couple. In fact, she was my first landlady in Milan, when V and I came for 3 months to check it out, to see if we really wanted to come and live here and to find a flat to live in. Since then, we’ve kept in touch because she’s really lovely. Well, she really isn’t Italian, in many ways. She had several different types of job and keeps trying new things – radical changes to her life. The latest is that she’s set up a business in Australia. And she’s back for a couple of weeks so, as Saturday was almost the only day we could do it, we opted for dinner chez nous.

I had asked her if there was anything they didn’t eat and she said she was intolerant to gluten (Coeliac) but that one night wouldn’t matter. However, if someone tells you they have problems with a particular thing, you have to do your best to accommodate, don’t you? And so, we had to really think about what we were going to do. Out went all pies/cakes and things like that.

We decided the main would be the salmon and courgette fish cakes that I had in the freezer. So the first course was going to be F’s chickpea soup with fried prawns, I would do the fishcakes with some buttered carrots and fennel and then we needed a sweet. I had said, that morning, that I would probably do something with chocolate. But, then, F had to pop to the shop to change his password and, whilst he was away, I suddenly remembered the hazelnut meringue that I hadn’t made for over 30 years. I had the recipe from the time when I went to night school and took a Cordon Bleu cookery course. I had no idea if it would work OK or not but I had, for some time now, wanted to re-try it.

So that’s what I told him when he came back with the raspberries and that’s when I got the disappointment of him not liking it.

Except, I should (and, for that matter, he should too) know better. He didn’t like the sound of it but, really, he had absolutely no idea what it was.

I made the two layers of the hazelnut meringue which were to be sandwiched together with whipped cream with a little coffee flavour and then to be decorated with whipped cream, hazelnuts and, now, a few raspberries.

I cooked the meringue. Unfortunately, I didn’t have two good size baking trays and so, for one of the layers, I used a roasting tin. I was worried about it turning out OK given that it had deep sides but I needn’t have worried. The cooking of it wasn’t the problem. the problem was the “getting it out of the tin in one piece” on which I failed comprehensively. So, there, cooling, was a perfect layer and a layer that was more representative of a jigsaw puzzle. However, I knew I could put that as the base and “put it together” so that it wouldn’t really be noticed.

F suggested that, instead of trying to put the base together, I should just crumble it on top of the other one. It was, in fact, either something like a meringata or a brutti ma buoni. Apparently. So he said.

But I was curious as to his sudden interest in it.

“Have you tried it?” I asked, slightly accusingly. And, yes, he had. And, yes he liked it. In fact, he loved it. And this is not the first time, of course. I stopped him “picking” at the broken one, which is what he was doing.

So, I have to remember, next time he pulls a face or says he doesn’t like something, to say that he should trust me and remind him of fruit crumble (another occasion where he had said he “hated” it …… until he tried it) and hazelnut meringue.

In the meantime, here are some photos:

Hazelnut Meringue (sadly, NOT how mine looked although it still looked quite good):

hazelnut meringue

NOT my hazelnut meringue, sadly

Meringata:

Meringata

Meringata – a bit like hazelnut meringue – without the hazelnuts

Brutti ma buoni:

Brutti ma buoni

Brutti ma buoni – a smaller version of hazelnut meringue

I guess it was a bit of a shock!

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“It will be quite hot,” I suggested.

“I come from Calabria,” was the reply. And, it is true that Southern Italy cuisine tends to use chillies in their food, making it a little hot.

But, this was Indian food and Indian food uses a variety of spices that can numb your mouth in ways that chillies really can’t. But, we’re in Italy and, after all, Indian food here is certainly not like Indian food in the UK. No, no, not nearly as hot as it can be in the UK.

I was having my usual Lamb Balti. On the menu it has two chillies against it meaning it is one of the two hottest/spiciest things on the menu. I love it.

A had chosen Chicken Madras. If we had been in the UK I would have said he shouldn’t have it. Here, I couldn’t really say that even though it was the only other item on the menu with the two-chilli sign. However, I was a bit concerned. After all, in spite of everything they may say, Italians simply aren’t used to spicy-hot food.

However, in his usual arrogant manner, he effectively told me that people in Calabria do everything better, especially when it comes to hot food.

Let’s be clear on this, I had not chosen the Indian restaurant. He had chosen it. It’s not because I didn’t want to go just that Italians trust “foreign” food in the way they trust immigrants – in that, they don’t. We still have stories here about the Chinese restaurants using cats in their dishes, etc. Plus, Indian food can be very spicy-hot and really not at all what Italians are used to. So, even if he’s a “real man” and comes from “God’s gift to the world”, Calabria, I had my doubts about the choice. I was, in fact, quite nervous about this. But, hell, I love it and he had chosen it.

Whilst we’re waiting for our antipasto (I had the usual mix and he had chosen some chicken and lentil soup – which, apparently, was quite nice), he said that I was an OK person for never having insisted on this place as one of our options.

But, that’s partly, for me, because it would only give him another reason to diss English people and their choice of foods. He can be quite crap at times.

Still, we were here. As part of my mixed starters I have a poppadom and I like to mix the incredibly hot onion mix with the cooling yoghurt to have with it. After he had finished his soup, he looked at the onion mix.

“That’s really hot,” I warned him. He decided to try a very small amount. It was as I had said. Too hot for him. He was grateful I had warned him and said so. But, that really should have been a warning in general. Anyway, it was too late now – we had ordered. The main dish arrived.

The waiter had persuaded him to take rice with his madras. I was, as usual (as always), having two naan breads. There’s a thing about spicy-hot food that’s done well. It takes a few moments to really hit home and then it stays with you and builds up over time. It’s one of the things I really like about Indian food. But, for me, you really need the naans to take away the heat. Bread works wonders.

So he started with his madras. The first mouthful was OK but by the second, you could tell by the look on his face, it became a little too much.

After all his “this will be nothing – I’m from Calabria” stuff, it made me laugh (inside, of course – I couldn’t actually show that). As it happened, the waiter came over to check if everything was OK. He knew me so knew that I was fine but was really checking about A. A spoke to him telling him it was too hot. The waiter suggested that he mix it with the rice (although I’ve always found naan breads better) to take away some of the heat. Still the waiter took it away to be “softened” a bit.

Except something went a bit wrong with the instructions and it came back hotter than it had been. It was like something from one of those comedies.

Needless to say it went back again to be “softened”. By that time, I’d finished mine. I tried the “new” version. Obviously, mine had been quite hot too so my taste buds were a bit fucked. Anyway, I found it too tomatoey.

But, fair play to the people in the restaurant. They were sympathetic and tried to be very helpful. I guess they’ve seen all this before!

However, maybe next time we go somewhere he isn’t used to, A will actually listen to me and not assume that, just because he’s from Calabria, he knows and can do everything?

Although I very much doubt that, bless him :-D

We were at the Rajput – see link on the right

Normal service has resumed.

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Day 1:

So, that was that.

Christmas that wasn’t like Christmas at all, New Year that was, more or less, the same as normal and, with the new flat this year, more dinners than we normally do, so quite a busy couple of weeks.

And, although my pear and Gorgonzola tart went down very well, if I never have to eat it again, it will be too soon! :-)

F also had a birthday. The “real” present has not yet arrived; it should be here by the end of this month. As some “temporary” presents, the dogs “bought” him the DVD Osage: Orange County and I got him the book “The Humans” by Matt Haig, in Italian, my absolute favourite book of 2014. I hope he likes it. He’s in London until Sunday so he may get chance to read it.

And now I’m back at work for the first day back. Obviously, it’s a bit of a drag but it could be worse – I could be without a job! So, one has to be grateful for some things.

Day 2:

Last night, a friend was “passing through” Milan on her way back to Africa. I arranged to meet her although we knew it would be quite a short meeting. In the end, we had enough time to race to catch the bus she needed to get to the airport. It meant I didn’t have time to take the dogs out until much later, so, then, I had to stay up later for their final walk which means, now, that I am again as tired as I was before the Christmas holidays! All that good work gone, disappeared in a single night!

Now I need the weekend and sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

Breakneck speed …..

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As we hurtle, at breakneck speed towards the “time to go back to work” and the “time it gets to be effing cold”, I thought I’d get you up to date ……

Most years, I wish for snow at Christmas. It never happens, of course. Maybe we have some snow before Christmas but that’s gone by Christmas Eve. But, just once, it would be lovely to have snow and for everywhere to look like it does on the Christmas cards.

However, this year, I didn’t wish for snow because, for the first time ever, I would be travelling on Christmas Eve and the road/motorway I would be travelling on would be through mountains – so I definitely didn’t want snow. I didn’t even want rain, to be honest.

So, secretly wishing I wasn’t travelling but, rather, staying home, I travelled. There was little traffic and I was down there by the afternoon.

F had put the heating on for a full day but opening the door, it was like a sauna. My glasses steamed up immediately. The house has a damp problem. A big damp problem and the heat, instead of drying it out, just created a steamy atmosphere. I opened windows, hoping it wouldn’t be so bad.

To be honest, I was a little bit worried for the dogs. I’m not sure that the humid/damp atmosphere would be good for them but there really wasn’t anything I could do.

That night, we went to his cousins for something to eat. I was bloody starving as I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I had planned to have something for lunch but our cleaner was in so I didn’t and she only left at the time that I was leaving so no chance to grab something quick. I ate like a bloody horse – so much so that this was the butt of jokes over the next few days.

We slept at the house. We switched the heating off and it got very cold and damp during the night.

The next day, Christmas Day, we went round to his parents’ place to say hi. PaC, to me, didn’t look worse than the summer except he was slower and seemed resigned, almost as if he had had enough.

Then we went to the restaurant for our Christmas lunch. Christmas lunch with the extended family (not F’s but the cousin’s). It was OK but once I caught myself thinking that I may have preferred to be in Milan, on my own. Still, it was nice and I was included. F drove back and was going to drop me off at the house and then go his parents but had a headache and asked if we could go to his parents’ first and then I take the car to the house. I was to have a bath, take the dogs out and call him. I didn’t call him because it meant he could stay with PaC and I didn’t want to disturb that. Eventually, around 9, he called me. He had been sleeping and had a bad cold (which he had had before Christmas but now it was worse.) We agreed that, with his cold, it would be stupid for him to come over to the damp house to sleep and so he stayed here and I stayed at the house with the dogs. I left the heating on low all night.

To be honest, without him being there, it made it possibly the worst Christmas I’ve ever had. At least the one Christmas I had been on my own, many years ago, I had the comforts of home. Here I had no computer, no films and not even a TV! It was really dreadful.

The next day, we were to meet at his sister’s to have lunch. When we got there I said, as I decided previously that morning, that I would go home after lunch. I mean, what was the point of staying if I wasn’t even going to have the nights with him? He was happier with that too as it meant he wouldn’t have to worry about me. And, so, I came home and happier to be here. F said that it didn’t feel like Christmas and for me, it was worse, it was a crappy “weekend”.

But it’s done and over now. New Year’s Eve was the usual dinner with (mostly) self-invited guests. We put on a wonderful spread with help from FfI and her friend, H. We finished at 4 a.m. I think it was successful.

And now, tomorrow, is F’s birthday. The special thing which I helped to fund via Kickstarter has not arrived in time, so it will have to be a birthday present to come later. In the meantime, I’ve bought an Italian copy of The Humans by Matt Haig, my favourite book of 2014, a DVD and one of those cards with the year he was born.

Tomorrow, as well, because we didn’t have our usual Boxing Day lunch with P and A, we shall have that, to celebrate his birthday. Then there’s a dinner party for A, my friend, and his girlfriend on Monday, then Tuesday is the “take the tree down” and him getting ready for London and Wednesday is all back to the usual grind.

And, apart from the day before New Year’s Eve, when he was a complete bastard (but I’m trying to be so patient with him given the circumstances) it’s all been either OK or, in the last few days, quite lovely. We now have TV and so we’ve been spending some time watching films and stuff in the lounge, which has been nice.

From Wednesday, he’ll be in London for over a week and I’ll be struggling to get back into the swim of things.

And, so, I hope you all have a great 2015. Wishing you all a very happy New Year.

Nearly there.

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Well, here we are. Christmas Eve. Happy Christmas to all my readers.

Last night, being as F is already away, I went out with FfI and H. We sat outside Gattò. They had heaters. After finishing one bottle of red wine we decided to have something to eat but stayed outside so we could smoke. The food plus another bottle of red wine later and my toes were numb from the cold. Still, it was a nice evening.

And now I am almost packed. The last few things need to go in when my cleaner has finished in the bedroom and then we’ll be off to Carrara to join F.

The dogs seem to sense something is up as they aren’t leaving my side.

My usual Christmas Eve, last minute (on purpose) Christmas shopping won’t be happening this year – and I shall miss it. But, then, this isn’t really going to be a Christmas like others. Tomorrow we’re at a restaurant. I have no idea what I shall be eating but it’s unlikely to be some sort of fowl, I guess. Neither will this be the “Christmas with the in-laws” that I had supposed when F, earlier this summer, mentioned that we could have his mum and dad up here for Christmas. Still, such is life.

I hope for a loving Christmas which I think we shall have. I shall be back in two or three days and then we’ll be getting ready for New Year and our dinner party which should be a joyous occasion, I hope. So, love and joy this season, good food and friends and family and, of course, the dogs. The important things in (my) life.

Bastard weekend. And the tree.

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It’s been a strange weekend.

First, on Saturday morning, we went to buy a tree. We chose one and had it delivered. It fitted perfectly.

I left him to it. I did ask if he wanted help but he said no. The strange thing is that we can do certain things together but for other things, we just don’t rub along. In this way he reminds me of my father, for whom I could never do anything right; I was never ready with the correct tool or correct thing; it was boring because I wasn’t actually allowed to “do” anything. With F, this is much the same. So, as last year, I left him to it.

But, obviously, that wasn’t quite right either.

After some time, I heard a load of expletives and so I went to look. Apparently the adapter, for the lights, was broken and, worse, he couldn’t get the broken one out of the socket. I started to suggest something but, as usual, he talks over me so I shut up. Then we have the usual “go on then …. say what you were going to say …”

I made a suggestion. I went to get the screwdriver. I asked if I should do it. He, grumpily, moved out of the way and, within 2 seconds I had removed it.

Of course, we didn’t have another. I offered to go and find one.

Now, here’s the thing about Italian plugs and sockets. They can be very different. Some plugs have two pins and some three (in a line, not like the UK) and sometimes the pins are “fat” and sometimes “skinny”. The fat ones seem to be on the larger electrical items (fridges, cookers, washing machines, etc.)

So, we needed and adapter with thin pins which allowed both thin pinned plugs and fat pinned plugs to be connected – like the broken one.

Off I went, carrying the broken one because I needed to find the same type. I went to three supermarkets and managed to find one which only allowed thin pinned plugs to be connected. Then I went to one of the Chinese shops and found one which did allow fat pins to be connected – but one of the fat pinned sockets was with a special “round” extension that didn’t allow all fat pinned plugs to be connected.

It was no good.

I said I would take the dogs out and have a look on the way.

I found another Chinese shop and got another adapter which was possibly going to work. Then I found a hardware store. The guy gave me an adapter – like the first one I bought, only for thin pinned plugs. i explained that I needed it for both types. He told me they didn’t make them any more (which explained why I couldn’t find them) and gave me a single converter for thin to thick pins. I said OK then I have both and plug the converter into the adapter. He said this was wrong/bad/something similar – but sold them to me anyway.

Obviously, this worked. And we only have the lights on when we’re there, so it’s OK.

The tree looks lovely.

The Xmas tree, F and the dogs

That night he had the shop Christmas meal.

The next day, after breakfast, I did some cleaning things. He said he wanted to reorganise the kitchen cupboards “because I can’t find anything.” He had mentioned this the day before and suggested something to which I had said OK. This time, he opened one cupboard and queried why some pans were at the top of the cupboard and some in the drawer. I explained (I thought) that I’d already tried that but, because the drawers were not fixed to the wall, the extra pans made the whole thing to heavy and it fell forward when you opened the drawer.

But, it seems that to his ears I was saying that I didn’t like the idea! Or, at least that’s what I guess.

Then he started on a rant about how everything is always done the way I want it. I said that it wasn’t true but he stops listening when he’s “on one.” So I shut up. Then I get how all English people are the same and just stay quiet followed closely by how selfish I am which is followed by how everything has to be done as I like which is followed by how the washing is always done when I want. The logic of all this escapes me. I laugh, for what else should I do? This is insane. Obviously, the laugh was in frustration but, possibly, the worst thing I could do.

So that was that.

I continue my polishing of the silver and doing the washing. We didn’t speak for the rest of the day. I watched a film; he watched a film. He went out.

He came back. “I’ve bought you some cakes. Well, obviously, they’re not all for you.” I thank him. I put them in the kitchen.

I ask, a little later, if he wants something to eat. He doesn’t. I take a shower and ask, again, if he’s sure. He says no, he’s still full from last night. I make myself some pasta, eat it and have one of the cakes. I go to the bedroom and thank him.

All other “conversation” is me telling him what I’m doing. Which is only when necessary. I try not to be angry but it’s hard. His argument still makes absolutely no sense to me. It has no merit or logic! I absolutely did not say that stuff had to be in a certain place, I just said that making the drawer too heavy meant that it would fall over when you opened it! I just don’t get it and realise that, in so many ways, we are so different. But, as I say, once he starts, there’s simply no speaking to him. I tire of it and I don’t want it. If I hadn’t been in the middle of cleaning the silver, I think I would have gone out. Next time, I probably will.

I realise that the cakes were some kind of peace offering but it’s just not good enough.

And, then again, I try to be somewhat sympathetic. After all, the thing with PaC and his aunt dying earlier ……..

I have a feeling that, this morning, he may have re-done all the kitchen cupboards anyway. We shall see.

In the meantime, life goes on. I don’t feel like going down to Carrara now. I want to say to him that I won’t go. And, then again, I think, perhaps, how miserable he feels and, so, I won’t say anything, of course.

Flexible Plans

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We learn more.

On Friday, F went to two doctors and got 2 second opinions. It seems that what had been said still holds true. I learn that a timescale could not be given and we could be talking 6 months or a year. Or less.

F is not looking forward to Christmas. However, we have agreed to do a tree as it is the plan to still have our New Year’s Eve dinner party and we want the flat to look festive.

The plan, so far, is that he will go down next Monday and I will follow on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day will be at a restaurant with his cousin, his uncle and some extended family. We could be about 20 people!

The day after, I may go to his mum and dad’s place, if PaC is OK with that. Otherwise I’ll go to his sister’s and he’ll go to his mum and dad’s on his own. Then the following day I’ll come home. Or, maybe, Boxing Day instead of going to his sister’s (the day after Christmas – called Santo Stefano, here.)

Then he will come back home on the 28th or 29th. Things may change, of course.

We went to FfI’s place last night. It was her friend’s, H, birthday. At some point, they all started talking about cancer and who was dead and who wasn’t. I badly wanted to tell them to shut up, but I couldn’t. How could I when he was there? But I felt for him even if he made no show of being affected. Then last night he didn’t sleep. It may have been because he ate too much or may have been because of the conversation. I don’t know.

In any case, it felt insensitive. Even if at least one, and maybe more, didn’t know about the situation.

And it crossed my mind, at some point over the weekend, that it will be difficult when wishing him a happy New Year, when it comes to it as, most likely, it won’t really be so good.

Rubbing along, sometimes more like a cheesgrater rub!

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“Tell me when you’re ready.”

I had started to take the glasses out of the cupboard. We’re putting some place mats into the cupboards so the glasses can sit on top of them.

Can I be really honest? I don’t know why. For me, to have theses place mats in means that we just have something else to clean. But, it will make him happy so it’s OK.

I clear the first shelf of the cupboard. I haven’t shouted that I’m ready yet. I want to clear the whole cupboard first.

I start on the second shelf.

He arrives, with cloth and ammonia to clean. He sits in front of the open cupboard, right in my way.

So then he starts handing me stuff to put on the table temporarily. I am, just a little, fucked off by this. I hold my tongue but, for a moment or two, I think about going somewhere else. To not be there. FFS – say one thing and do another! It drives me mad. But not so much, as long as I don’t react.

Then he cleans all the shelves, then adjusts the top one so we can put the wine glasses at the top. Then the place mats go in and then I start handing the glasses back.

There are an extra four place mats for us to use on the table. They match the upholstery of the sofas and are the other shade of blue than the seats in the dining room. Now, much later, he has laid the table. There are the place mats and a couple of candles, a slightly darker shade. I must admit, it all looks rather nice.

Earlier still, we had been for breakfast – the rain is persistent, constant and heavy. We go to the supermarket. I had nearly said that I would go later but, as it was raining so much, I thought better of it. In the supermarket, after a few minutes, he tells me to go and do my own thing. I guess he finds me as frustrating as I find him. That doesn’t make it better, of course. I worry a little about our lack of synergy . I mean to say, on a practical level, day to day, we don’t really have the same ideas or, if we do, we would go about them in a different way. And, yet, we kind of rub along together quite well. Later, in the supermarket, when we go to scan our items through, I tell him to pack. He doesn’t want to. I explain that I don’t want him complaining like last time so he must pack. He does but grudgingly. However, this time, at least he couldn’t blame me for anything going wrong! Not that it did, of course. After all, he had packed everything :-)

And so, tonight, we have our second dinner party together. There’s some chickpea soup that he’s done, the fishcakes and then a lemon meringue pie which I have made because one of the guys likes it so much and made a specific request that I make it.

Everything (more or less) is ready to go and we’re three hours away from them arriving so it should be fairly easy. I hope.

Inauguration

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We’ve now eaten a few times in the kitchen.

F made soup. And, one time, pasta. I like eating in the kitchen. It’s warm (from doing the cooking) and light and very comfortable. I think, even if he says he hates cooking, that he secretly quite likes it. Possibly, also because I am appreciative. V used to like cooking for the same reason.

However, the “big” test came on Saturday night. We had our first dinner in the new house. We ate, of course, in the dining room. First there were drinks in the living room and then we moved to the dining room to eat. F did soup, I did fish cakes with spinach and roast potatoes and then a chocolate cake.

And lots of wine.

It was lovely and the food seemed to go down quite well.

But, for certain, F had far too much to drink and, overnight, was ill. I know it wasn’t the food since we had the same thing and I was fine. He also blamed the drink. Still, it gave me time to clear up the next morning a bit, which he liked.

So, our first dinner was a success and it was certainly very comfortable with the space to do it properly.

However, there is something that I’ve noticed which is quite strange, for me. In the past, I would always do stuff I had done before. I did things that I had practiced until I “got them right”. Now, I always want to try something new. So, the fish cakes were new, the chocolate cake was new and I cooked spinach for the first time ever!

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m confident (because whilst doing these things I always worry that everything will turn out terribly) or, as I think it is, the thrill of doing something for the first time – with the fact that it could be a complete disaster (but rarely is).

20 years ago I would never have been so “reckless”. Now I seem to actually look for things that I’ve never done to see how they turn out!

F, bless him, compliments me to others, saying what a wonderful cook I am. Anyway, he certainly seemed to like the chocolate cake which was a little like chocolate fudge cake – like eating pure dark chocolate in cake form. I was (am, because there is still half of it left) very pleased with it.

So, that’s it. First dinner done. Now we have a lot more to do to repay all the dinners we’ve had at other people’s places. And, then, of course, the house-warming party in December. Maybe it’s the sharing of food with friends, the “breaking of bread”, but our flat seems almost officially inaugurated now.