desperance

My first London editor of blessed memory (oh Nick Sayers, where are you now...?) was a big fan of Keith Waterhouse*. Who was mostly writing newspaper columns at the time, and not much within my ken, except that he produced a book called The Theory and Practice of Lunch, whose title tickled me enormously. Especially as I was developing my own fondness for publishers' lunches (also of blessed memory, and where-are-you-now-ishness; these days budgets are skimpy, editors are overworked and oversober; it's a nightmare out there, I tell you).

But lunch! Lunch is a fine thing, in much the same way that a walk is a fine thing: viz, infinite in variation, from the brief and solo stroll around the corner to the hike in company that takes all afternoon. I have had lunches that took all afternoon. Left solo, I'm more inclined to the swift stroll, a sandwich at the keyboard or an omelette over the news; but these days, I am seldom left solo. Marriage changes things, I find. Lunch is becoming a challenge, in the best possible way: something that needs thinking over.

Today's needed a lot of thinking, and may have been a little late, but it was worth it. I made little miniature souffles in a muffin tray, flavoured with cheese and mustard and Worcestershire sauce. They should have been a proper Welsh rarebit souffle on top of toast, but I wasn't wholly sure that Karen would like that, and besides: cuties in a muffin tray! They rose beautifully, too. I shoulda taken photies, just to show you.

Broccoli-and-bacon salad on the side. I was very pleased.


*If the name means nothing, never mind. British journalist and playwright, floreat '60s and onward: very much of that generation & mindset.