Tuesday August 31, 2004
“I think I got my portion control wrong here,” I said, spooning bashed potato over the top of my cottage pie mix.
“It smells good. It looks good. How do you mean, wrong?”
“I seem to have cooked twice as much as we need.”
“No problem, serve half of it and freeze the rest.”
So I forked a pretty pattern over the surface of the potato and popped the luscious creation into the oven where it proceeeded to bubble, brown, and fill the kitchen with the most appealing aroma. About half an hour later I served up the result, reserving half for the freezer. The meal was received with considerable approval.
“Is there any more?” Graham asked, wiping the last of the rich gravy from his plate.
“Sure, but you said we should save it for another day.”
“It’s too good to save.”
“Well, ok, but don’t blame me if you get fat.”
I retrieved the pie dish, served up another two portions, and we set to the job of polishing it off.
“That was delicious,” Graham said.
“Thank you. I think we’ll give dessert a miss, though.”
“Probably a good idea,” he said, though there was an element of reluctance in his tone.
“We can always have it for supper.”
And so the house settled down to a quiet, well-fed evening, two blokes sitting back clutching tummies that were full, perhaps overfull, but in the most comfortable way.
Harry Cat, taking advantage of our temporary immobilization, set about the task of helping to clean the pie dish.
Boxes, baubles and books