Kitchen diary, et al

Oh, these poor boys. There I was breaking down a chicken carcass, and there were they at my feet crying "We can help! We always help!" - but alas, we had a vet to dinner with the yogis on Monday, and she told us things we didn't know, including how feeding cooked human food to pets can give them lethal pancreatitis. And she positively delighted in telling us just how awful a death it is, and - yeah. That worked. No more chicken for the boys*. Now I just sigh and glance down softly and say "Can we say pancreatitis?" and they say "No, of course we can't, we're cats," and that's where we are, really.

We have guests for dinner tonight too, and for once in my life I am making a three-course meal. There is soup to begin with: which should have been asparagus soup thickened with a little potato, but has tragically come out more like potato soup tinted with a little asparagus. What I say is, a recipe should not say "one potato" without saying something about the preferable size thereof...

Happily, I only made soup anyway because I wanted to make bread rolls. They appear to have worked:



And then there's chicken-and-ham cobbler with carrots roasted in ginger and honey, and then there's raspberry chocolate cake, and that should do.


*Well, not unless they steal it. Happily they can't read, or this might be giving them ideas.