Henry and Walter Are Ravenous

Here I am.

As 'spritely' and as 'smashing' as always, according to Henry.

His blue eyes told of a bad night's kip, yet his conversation was as sharp as a butcher's knife.

And as we swallowed strong sweet tea we spoke about Walter's warning at work, Henry's new hair cut and this Sunday's lunch.
And how lunch at my house this Sunday is all Walter wants to talk about. He's obviously very keen to try my cooking and that's good because I love to cook. And I also love to fuss. So I'm looking forward to wiping din dins off the mouths of three gentlemen, well two, if you leave out Henry.

Yes, this Sunday I will be cooking for the boys.

I'll make sure my guests are well fed and watered and if that means buying extra potatoes and a few beers then that's what I'll do. The menu will be simple but expertly executed with all the flair and panache of a woman who loves to give. I will of course wear a flowered pinny because the thought of splattered fat on me gorgeous dress sends me head into a spin.
Shoes might be a problem because I won't want to wear flatties, so I'll slip into heels just for the occasion.
The table will be dressed with the Amish community in mind, with plain white crockery placed on small lace mats, shining odd glasses, old odd cutlery and a chicken and cock cruet set.


The idea came to me a fortnight ago as I leant over the sink with a parsnip.
'Wouldn't it be great fun if I glazed some root veg for the men folk'.
And so the very next day I invited Henry and Walter over for a Sunday roast.
And they've been banging on about it ever since.

No roasts today though.
Today is home-style cooking at it's very best.
Chicken casserole made with red wine, a lot of thyme and lemon stuffing and apricot jam.
Served with mashed potatoes and green beans.
For pud. A lolly.