The ramblings, musings and domestic and social adventures of a middle-aged man living in the north-west of England.
Friday, 3 July 2009
Al fresco dining
IT'S OVER 100 degrees F in the garden this evening - 102 to be exact.
That's warm!
We're almost reluctant to start in on the hot, homemade crab soup; instead, we enjoy a second apéritif (a g. & t. for me, an extra-dry martini with lemonade for My Good Lady). We're not great nibblers as a rule, but we do succumb to the fresh anchovies we got as a treat at the fishmonger's the other day.
We watch the temperature slowly falling on the thermometer on the side of the shed - down to about 85 before we finally decide we can face the soup; we stir in a dollop of cream as it warms up,and we pop the jacket spuds into the mircowave.
By now, the sun has gone behind a cloud and the temperature has dropped to 70 - just about right for dining.
As we tuck into MGL's excellent crab and vegetable soup we reflect just how holiday-like this dining al fresco is: it's what we always do in France, when we're self-catering there. It's one of the pleasures of being abroad, and now it's a pleasure we can enjoy right here, at home, this summer, with our birds twittering around us, and our garden stretching out into the distance.
All very agreeable.
I'll second that. The vixen
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