but it’s official, the stall is no more.
I called and emailed the organiser today.
I said to Chef tonight, “so are we going to talk about this or are you just hoping to ride it out until I’m not angry any more?”
The upshot of it all was that I totally get how focused and preoccupied he is with his new gig, but that I’m on that ride with him. And that this stall on Friday was my little project. Something for me outside the domestic oblivion I’m spinning around in.
And that it was the fact he didn’t see how important it was to me.
That he forgot. That he didn’t think of it.
That was what made me so angry and upset.
That and the fact I’d spent two nights burning the midnight oil preparing relishes, marmalade and pickles.
Still, at least I’ve got Christmas presents for everyone now already made.
The last few days have been mental.
So much cooking:
From l to r: tomato relish, pickled onions (in white wine vinegar w/ coriander, allspice, cinnamon and cloves), pickled onions (in red wine vinegar w/ star anise, coriander, fennel and so on), onion marmalade:The kickarse puy lentil salad I made up:This lemon pepper seared lamb backstrap w/ couscous and roasted vegie salad was similarly awesome:
Lasagne has been requested a lot of late and I make a sensational one. You know. If I might say so myself.
Naturally, there has also been baking. Birthday cakes (see further down), choc banana bread and this new little coffee streusel cake number, which will be on high rotation for this summer:
Recipes will be up over here shortly.
So much entertaining. The table has been in fine form.
The birthday boy radiant in what was the Festival of Jasper.
The newest recruit just getting cuter and cuter and more friggin’ mobile by the day. That’s right, he already gets himself from tummy to his back, then does 360s and somehow ends up not where I put him down and sucking on someone’s dirty sock. Nice.
There’s a whole series I’m working on: A pictorial homage to the Thomas the Effing Engine birthday cake saga.
Because when you try to ice a birthday cake in the shape of a train with blue icing and three boys hanging around and people coming over for dinner already arriving?
It is officially referred to as a saga.
Here’s a taste of what is to come. Behold, Scary Effing Thomas:
What Homer Simpson is to beds, I am to birthday cakes.