Obviously, I knew life would change with children and, like many people, I underestimated it a bit. I realised that going out on a Saturday night would not be the regular occurreance it once was. But six and a half years in I find myself perched on the top step of the stairs with my laptop and a hot whiskey for company. Now THIS is definitely not how I imagined things.
The evening began normally enough and I had planned, as the title suggests, on blogging a little about tonight’s supper and tomorrow’s breakfast. The Bavarian put the boys to bed while I fed Number Three then put him to bed. The Bavarian wanted a bath and I wanted to write, so that’s what we agreed to do. He hopped into the water, I made a hot whiskey and promptly Number Three woke screaming. It seems he wasn’t too pleased with not being included in the evening’s activities. So here I am attempting not too successfully to get the soother back into his little mouth before he really wakes, whisper soothing words into his ear and then return to the laptop at top of the stairs.
Cue crying (his).
So now it is a cold whiskey and one-handed typing with a relatively content baby on my arm. But let’s get back on topic…Saturday Night Supper. We spent most of this week galavanting with our visitors from home and ended up with loads of food that needed using up. In an effort to use up as much as possible, I cobbled together French bread pizzas and salad. To make the pizzas, I sliced two par-baked baguettes lengthways and spread them with creme fraiche. This I topped with freshly ground black pepper, chopped sun-dried tomatoes, grilled red peppers (recipe here)and slices of a goats cheese log. I baked them for 12 minutes at 220°C and served them with a salad I threw together while they were in the oven.
The salad consisted of lamb’s lettuce tossed with the grated zest of 1/3 of a lemon, walnuts,finely sliced pear and very finely sliced fennel. Dressed with salt, pepper, sherry vinegar and my good olive oil no one else is allowed to touch, it was the highlight of the meal for me.
|My last yeast plait|