So, the weekend started with a bit of a whimper (from N, not me), with the news that Princess Pashley was taken from outside the Goodge Street offices, despite being chained up with three of the most hardcore chains. Thank God Hercules isn't still around to hear that bit of news - he'd be heartbroken. People are such gits, especially in London. Someone must have been checking out Princess for days, as you just don't have a pair of bolt cutters about your person in the normal run of your day-to-day existence. N said she heard a bit of a ring and though 'Ooh, that sounds just like Pashley's bell'. Course it was - bastard thief giving triumphal ting as he sped away, no doubt.
I heard the news en route to dinner on Friday at the Waynebah with Mr and Mrs Fleming. We had a lovely evening. The Waynebah sits on the corner of the square in one of those picturesque villages that Southern England does so well. The food's good - bistro/restauranty - tasty mussels in cream and wine sauce, roasted snapper with leeks and mustard, home-made lemon cheesecake with raspberry ripple icecream for me, goat cheese and red onion tart, slow roast pork belly and the (interesting) cheeseboard with chutney for the Boy.
Saturday found us in Oxfordshire at a very posh party in a tent, courtesy of one of The Boy's clients, celebrating their tenth anniversary. Theme - Cuban, which made for interesting costumery............
Unlimited pink and Widow fizz (i lost count after 8 glasses), grown up hapjes (warm chorizo, hummus, cheese straws and smoked almonds on the flower-decked and very colourful tables), personable girlies walking round with trays of canapes (marinaded bocconcini and cherry tomatoes on skewers, hot spiced lamb samosas, prawn cocktails in dinky glasses) for what seemed like hours, a cocktail bar serving the best mojitos it has ever been my pleasure to neck down, a vast barbecue of chicken, garlicky king prawns with chunks of fresh fresh coconut, home-made burgers in ciabatta rolls, salmon, beautiful fresh pea, mint, feta and melon salad, cherry tomatoes and a serious coleslaw accompanied by wines and beers of your choice (unlimited), followed by four types of serve-yourself puddings (chocolate mousse, lemon posset, passionfruit meringues and strawberry cream pots), self-serve cheeses (a whole Brebis, wheels of forme d'Ambert and an unpasteurised Brie with membrillo. All this, coffees and spirits ad lib, a bumper car ride, bouncy castles, an icecream van, a Cuban Band, a Blues Band and a One-Man Band in the grounds of a real, bona fide castle with a moat. Lovely.
Slightly the worse for wear on Sunday, though. Sort of a bone-dry head, like someone had sucked all the moisture and goodness out of me and replaced it with sand. Luckily the Boy had undertaken to cook so after spending the day carrying out his own particular form of garden maintainance involving lots and lots of secateur-wielding, he made a pie of immense proportions, without a recipe and to his own design. I must admit his initial idea had me swallowing hard and turning a bit Thomas, but it worked and in a big way. He made a layered filling of couscous with tons of marjoram, thyme and oregano, stewed red and green peppers with onions, chunks of feta cheese, spinach from the garden and slices of Bavarian air-dried ham. Total deliciousness -which is more than can be said for the leeks a la greque accompaniment - sauce, delicious, made from last year's frozen tomato sauce with onions, garlic, fennel and coriander seeds. Leeks - ah, yes. Like little spring onions, they looked, leading us to believe that they'd be tender in the way that only a baby vegetable can, plucked from the garden and straight into the pot. Ooh. Twiggy peasticks, actually, or bits of green bamboo. Tender, not. Not even after 40 minutes. Arse.
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