Another Thursday

FOR MY experimental cook day, today, I do us a hearty beef casserole in a red wine stock with chestnut mushrooms. And even if I say so myself, it’s very good, very comforting and tasty. Just the sort of food you need to warm the old cockles on a cold winter’s day.

And cold it certainly is – one of the coldest winters we’ve experienced in many a year. We visit the farmers’ market to stock up on provisions, and only a couple of hardy souls have stalls up outside in the yard. Everybody else has sensibly gone indoors, into the church hall. Even inside, though, only half the stalls are manned – the first market of the year is evidently a quiet one. Still, we manage to get most of our shopping – a pork joint for roasting on Saturday, and some diced veal for another casserole, later in the month.

We go home for a spot of lunch and I prepare the casserole for this evening. It’s to cook for about two and a half hours in a very slow oven, so we’ve plenty of time. To escape the tantalising aromas issuing out of the kitchen, we pop along to our local for an hour or so. There, unfortunately, we bump into an old acquaintance.

How can I describe A? A man in his late forties, who has spent his whole adult life obsessing about money. Somehow, business success is his raison d’être, and he feels he needs to constantly justify himself – endlessly justify himself. His spate of patter is unending, and he’s able to persuade himself of the truth of everything that comes out of his mouth. He’d make a really great used car salesman, because I think he truly believes the things he says, even if, a moment later, he’s arguing the exact opposite. I’m tempted to say he’s a sad case, but that would be unfair. In his own eyes, at least, he’s prospering very nicely thank you – as the competition goes to the wall, he’s making money hand over fist. At least that’s what he claims. And it may even be true, who knows. But he doesn’t exactly make for the most stimulating of companions.

We finish our drinks and hastily make our excuses to get away. “I have something in the oven,” I tell him, honestly. As My Good Lady and I walk away we breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no malice to the man, but dear, oh dear, he can be a bore!