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 .
9 comments:
Not sure Monica would approve of those pears. There are little ridges where they've been peeled. Ts ts.
A musician would be nice! You could stack the odds by pureeing those pears and piping them into him, with violin music playing softly in the background of course!
Word verification is "ingrammi!"
You peel and stew pears? Don't they come ready to eat any more?
My family are all toughened up in the food department. I don't mind gnawing on a bone or fishing shot out of a game pie. My (imminently-ex) husband couldn't get on with this at all, and never did the eating off other people's plate/ swapping food that my family were brought up on.
Poached pears are very nice, yours look delicious.
The pears look delicious. Don't you put cinnamon in too? And port? Or are we the only family who try to liven up everything we eat by adding generous amounts of alcohol during the cooking process? My mother has built quite a reputation by buying copious amounts of rum. Mind you, she doesn't drink it. She just puts it in everything she bakes and cooks, apart from potatoes it seems.
(I'm exaggerating.)
Anyway, love the romantic idea of the whistling violinist who crossed your path and the future of your grandson.
Was he a musician or a gangster, the whistler on the bike? EIther would make for an interesting life. One way or another.
Congratulations on the safe arrival of the pixie, and for celebrating with rustic pears!
You make quite a pear.
(ar ar ar!)
Cardamon seeds are the very devil if you find them in your mouth though. But like you, my lot are grown-up and capable enough to manage.
The pears looks lovely but I prefer mine just baked with brown sugar and a blob of butter. And served hot with cold ice cream ... and oh look, all I've got for dinner is beans on toast!
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