Almost every Wednesdays I’ve mistaken the next day for Friday. Too keen for the weekend.
I would say I’m not very efficient. I like taking my time with things. Usually rushing things just gets me super stressed, then I throw a tantrum and end up not doing anything. Selective multitasking. So today, having woken up super early – by student definitions – to go food shopping along the 45% inclined slope of Centre Street, clean out fridge, do food prep by washing up and cutting up a million pieces of vegetables, have lunch, go to a two hour “mock exam” which I hadn’t prepared for, unblock drain, more food prep, timing the beef for baking in the oven, making the gravy, alternating beef and camembert, slicing and toasting baguettes for bruschetta, blending ricotta and cinnamon for dessert…might have surpassed myself. Getting there.
You can see I’m in Exaggeration Mode.
Here I start with the third lot of dinner guests and the third dinner party I’ve cooked this year. Not sure why I always end up starting in the middle of things. With a repeat of the first main course I made. So I guess you can say it’s part of a start.
On the menu:
Baked camembert with rosemary
Tomato, garlic & basil bruschetta
Avocado salad with lemon & black pepper dressing
Ricotta, cinnamon and honey tart topped with fresh figs
3 out of 5 – actually make that 4 – would be food that appeared in the Netley household once or more…avocado and camembert being almost a staple. After three years of university I can at least put food of some form on the table for dinner, if I did learn nothing else otherwise.
Rant alert – if you want to know how phyllo pastry gone bad smells like, I’ve become the expert. Seeing as I actually googled it to make sure I wasn’t going crazy / being ultra paranoid about giving people food poisoning, I might as well give my contribution to other confused individuals as to when NOT to use the pastry. Puff pastry gone bad smelt awfully sour, like milk gone rancid or yoghurt having spent about 10 hours in the sun. And just to verify my sense of smell hadn’t gone askew, I put a corner of it in my mouth. It was the worst thing I ever tasted. Never ever want to taste anything like that ever again.
So I brought it back to the store. Turns out multiple packs of their puff pastry was off. Had to pay extra for ready-made sheets instead. And as I was recounting this incident in a huff to my poor dinner guests, it was the consensus of the
men boys to learn to let women always be right in exchange for momentary peace and quiet in the world.
D, J & T, thank you for coming to dinner. Please say I’ve grown up from 8 years ago? My lamp still needs fixing, along with the popcorn machine. May there be many more of these 8 years to come.
In retrospect I should have made my own pie crust the dessert. I also should get round to making my own puff pastry at some point. But hey I’m actually a full time student. Occasionally I’ve forgotten that I am myself, having opened the oven door more than I’ve done so with a book cover since semester started. (If my parents are reading this…um treat this as another of my exaggerations?)
Also incidentally managed to tick off a few more combinations on the Project.
9. Basil & Tomato; 10. Beef & Truffle; 11. Cinnamon & Soft Cheese.
So there we are. All this, in a day’s work. Somehow it makes me feel slightly proud.
“Can I not wear a suit?”