Well , we're probably not really culinary twins , anyway . But , as I pottered about this morning , peeling cooking pears to stew very slowly with cloves till they turn a deep rosy red , I pondered on Fine Dining , presentation and portion size .... and our approach to "plating up". Yes , it's Professional Masterchef time again .
Chef Michel's clients don't seem to have any cutlery skills . Minute mouthfuls of concentrated deliciousness are dotted about large plates , all the better to pop between refined lips . And not a pin bone or seed to cause disquiet or alarm . Which , let's face it , is probably essential in such circles , tomato pips being the conversation stoppers they are .
But I've trained my lot to be a bit more pro-active at the table . Years of eating grilled sardines in little beach cafes , gnawing their way round spare ribs and finding bayleaves in the soup have toughened them up .
I feel I can leave Husband to fish the cloves out of the syrup himself as he polishes these off
Anyway , he's just come back from the local Occupy camp looking wistful .... for two pins , he'd be down there tonight eating beans off a tin plate and enjoying a good sing-song .
P.S. No , I haven't seen New Grandson yet . Weekend flights in December are proving difficult to squeeze onto . But Smitonius is going up tomorrow , so I'll hear every detail very soon . Meanwhile , I've heard the yells and he sounds sturdy... very sturdy for a pixie !
Perhaps the fact that the first thing I saw through the mist , as I left to cycle to work after I got the news , was a young man , carrying a violin case and whistling , is a clue to who this child will become .