260. A kitchen weekend

Herself was out teaching this weekend, and the Hound was recovering from a minor operation and had to be kept quiet, so I spent my weekend in the kitchen.

On Saturday, I took the tomatoes Herself disparages so cruelly (despite having grown them from seed) and turned them into the tomatoeyest version of themselves, stewed under greaseproof paper for two hours.

Then I made a one-pot lamb meatball tomato butter bean stew thing, using the tomato sauce – the pot puttering gently on the stove while I talked, cajoled and bullied the Hound into relieving herself in the garden. It's strange what that dog has to be persuaded to do, sometimes...

Then we watched River Cottage, tucked under a blanket. The Hound was allowed out of her Cone of Shame for that bit, as a special treat.

When Teach got back we ate and drank very merrily.

On Sunday, I made chicken and mushroom soup for the Parent. And I baked real oatcakes. And I nearly set the house on fire by mistake. Then I spent a couple of hours planning an imminent trip to the Auld Country with said Parent. We mainly talked about where we would eat. The apple didn't fall too far from the tree, did it?

I wrote some extremely bad fiction.

Then I made Shepherd's Pie, long and slow and rich and unctuous.

It was a deep, nurturing pleasure of a weekend. The dog's stitches are healing nicely, Herself was fed and watered as befits a hard-working person, the Parent was tempted from her diet, none of it went wrong. If only I didn't have to earn my living, I'd never do anything else.