Plans, best-laid, agley-ganging
Jan. 25th, 2014 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceWe have old friends from England coming to dinner tonight. In order to maximise the hanging-out-and-drinking time, I pretty much planned dinner to be ready in advance, nothing needing doing once they come.
Indeed, I planned to do the bulk of things this morning. Half a bottle of white wine has gone into the lamb shank braising liquid, and m'wife doesn't care for white; my plans included Chaz having a relaxed afternoon with the other half a bottle, largely in the garden, while things mulched slowly in the kitchen...
Heh. I should've known better, shouldn't I? Brenchley's First Rule of Everything is that Everything Takes Longer. 'Specially when you cock things up. I mixed the dough and left it to rise and totally forgot that I'm using a different kind of yeast that needs different treatment, that you can't just throw in dry and leave to get on with things: so two hours further in I am beginning again, and the deadlines on the dinner rolls suddenly look very tight indeed, given that we're starting with soup. Soup without bread is like eggs without a moustache, unless it's a kiss without salt.
There should still be time to make a recover, but margins are slim. So I am drinking anxiously, rather than indulgently. Hey-ho.
Still: it's a sunny Saturday afternoon, and I have half a bottle of chilled Grigio, and I guess things could be worse. Now I need to decide how to turn a bagful of fresh sorrel and a tub of homemade chicken stock into soup. Hmm...
Indeed, I planned to do the bulk of things this morning. Half a bottle of white wine has gone into the lamb shank braising liquid, and m'wife doesn't care for white; my plans included Chaz having a relaxed afternoon with the other half a bottle, largely in the garden, while things mulched slowly in the kitchen...
Heh. I should've known better, shouldn't I? Brenchley's First Rule of Everything is that Everything Takes Longer. 'Specially when you cock things up. I mixed the dough and left it to rise and totally forgot that I'm using a different kind of yeast that needs different treatment, that you can't just throw in dry and leave to get on with things: so two hours further in I am beginning again, and the deadlines on the dinner rolls suddenly look very tight indeed, given that we're starting with soup. Soup without bread is like eggs without a moustache, unless it's a kiss without salt.
There should still be time to make a recover, but margins are slim. So I am drinking anxiously, rather than indulgently. Hey-ho.
Still: it's a sunny Saturday afternoon, and I have half a bottle of chilled Grigio, and I guess things could be worse. Now I need to decide how to turn a bagful of fresh sorrel and a tub of homemade chicken stock into soup. Hmm...