shrimping

Ron went walkabout yesterday for the first time ever, and we’d forgotten what a worry it is.

Being the Greediest Cat in the World, he is generally first in line when the tin is opened, with sharpened elbows at the ready to make sure nobody gets there in front of him.  So when Henry had been complaining in some detail about the lack of supper, and Ron didn’t show up, we asked ourselves when and where we’d last seen him.  And we weren’t sure, but we knew it was some hours previously.

We told ourselves, of course, that he’s quite able to look after himself, that he can find his way home from the front of the house, that he’d be absolutely fine.  But it didn’t stop us worrying a *lot* until he strolled in at about 9 p.m, showing no signs of remorse whatsoever.

Wretched beast.

Mirrored from the Tribe.

local food for local people

Last Friday, Pete and I skived off for the day in order to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary, and went down to deepest, darkest Somerset. En route to Porlock, we screeched to halt at a sign advertising “locally picked asparagus”, and bore home a bunch that was reassuringly expensive.

On Saturday, the local farm shop had Axbridge strawberries too.

So we roasted the asparagus in the oven with olive oil and sesame seeds, and ate it with angel hair pasta and feta. The pasta stuck together a bit - I should have added some oil when it was cooked - but it was sublime. And the strawberries were consumed with brownies and double cream.

Nom nom.

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Mirrored from Reactive Cooking.

shrimping

 Ron went walkabout yesterday for the first time ever, and we’d forgotten what a worry it is.

Being the Greediest Cat in the World, he is generally first in line when the tin is opened, with sharpened elbows at the ready to make sure nobody gets there in front of him.  So when Henry had been complaining in some detail about the lack of supper, and Ron didn’t show up, we asked ourselves when and where we’d last seen him.  And we weren’t sure, but we knew it was some hours previously.

We told ourselves, of course, that he’s quite able to look after himself, that he can find his way home from the front of the house, that he’d be absolutely fine.  But it didn’t stop us worrying a *lot* until he strolled in at about 9 p.m, showing no signs of remorse whatsoever.

Wretched beast.

two more years

I’ve just paid to renew this domain for another two years, so I guess I’ll have to continue writing Stuff.

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Mirrored from Reactive Cooking.