Summer meal

The friday night before a bank holiday is surely the best time to have a summer meal.

I intended to defy the weather, regardless of the reality outside the window, and planned to re-create summer via the medium of food: lots of lemon, mint and beautiful fruits. And - if necessary - the heating turned on so we could really relax. The original menu was beautiful in concept, but given that broad beans, peaches and other summery delights aren't naturally available just yet, the scheme began to pale. And then I went out every night that week, so my energy flagged and I had no food in the house, and the preparation would have been too big a job for one person... in all, the grand schemes flopped.

I'm so glad it did, because what happened was much better.

Arriving home at 5, in a panic, with bags of Sainsbury's plastic bags, I felt fraught and unethical. However, washing deep mauve aubergines almost immediately soothed my spirit, as did the arrival of HG with the most beautiful bouquet of pink peonies - and from then on, everything slipped into a natural pace. HG fried aubergine slices and stirred chocolate sauce, Jo fixed a salad and dressing, Anun and HG poured the chocolate into magestic espresso cups, and I stuffed and rolled the aubergine. What with the prosecco and good company the meal arrived in no time.

What started out as disorganised and fraught, ended up as the most relaxed, and relaxing, evening I have had in a long time. I think this is in no small part due to my generous spirited guests, who I know would have been happy had I served up take away curry ... and also to Jo, always helping in the background, finding vases for the froth of peach roses from Anun and Gordon, starting conversations and opening wine. In the end, it was less a witty concept, and more about the food bringing together some of my favourite people, and talking and laughing. Which really is what food should be about.

This is the rustic dish that did it for us:

The beginning: olives from the corner shop, stale pringles and prosecco in champagne saucers

The middle: Involtini mostly from Nigella's 'Feast' version (which makes me laugh for the line 'this was the vegetarian option at my last Christmas meal') and I utilised cous cous instead of breadcrumbs, as we had not a crumb left in the flat. Baby spinach and rocket leaves with Jo's special dressing (squashed garlic clove, oil, lemon, seasoning)
Red wine, white wine or G&T, depending on your favourite.

The end: Chocolate pots: double the quantity and with 4 tbsp brandy. Next time I'll add the full quantity.


Post script: although I love food to bring people together, I don't mean this to overrule its function as one of the most hedonistic pleasures: after eggs and toast the next morning, I snuck outside to delight in a chocolate pot, sitting in the sun. Unbelievably good.

Ottolenghi

With shame have I left this write up so long. So long, in fact, that the third salad is now hidden to my memory and I have no notes on the taste of anything. Bad times :(

Still, like the woman in the song 'After the ball was over', I limp along with decreasing body parts. Actually, I'm not sure how well that analogy will work, but here goes...

My plate sported:
Fat slices of some cut of cold beef, quite possibly marinaded or something (she took out her glass eye)
broad bean, pea and fennel salad with pink peppercorns
roast sweet potato and red pepper salad
another utterly delicious salad that escapes me (put her false teeth in the water)

Cornbread! I definitely remember the corn bread that Phil was determined to have all to himself out of the selection of breads. Happily, they let us have all corn bread so Mel and I also tasted the bread of heaven, dipped in some verdant virgin olive oil.

I have a better desert memory. Mel had a beautiful lemon polenta cake; Phil declined elegantly... then opted for the biggest banana toffee bundt known to mankind; I had a saucy little lemon and marscapone tart. The pastry was crispy and almost gritty, making me think it could have been made with polenta. The middle created tears of real joy: I love lemon done right.

There was coffee and it probably tasted nice, I was too happy and full to really notice. And then there were the bathrooms. Girls and boys, I won't ruin the surprise, but my advice would be as my Mother's always was: remember to go before you leave home. Super modern the bathrooms may be, but super impossible it is to have a pee without blushing. If you have any modesty don't use 'em.

I don't remember the price of our meal (shook from her hair the dye), but I do remember that there were so few of the dishes we asked for, that the utterly lovely waitress only charged us for two salads instead of three, each. I also remember laughing a lot and being lulled into a baby-like state of contentment after such a beautiful meal.

That's it: the inaccurate impressions that don't do justice to a gorgeous meal. A good reason to go back again.
Then what was left went to bye byes ... after the ball.