This efficient method of communication ensures we keep in touch and also that my Dinner is ready when I get home. (Please understand that this is in no way an order to my beloved to MAKE FOOD, just a gentle transfer of information and intent)
My beloved does not always reply; there's no need, unless she wants me to bring some groceries home. So I wasn't concerned when she didn't reply to my text.
|It broke his mother's heart|
I remembered that my son was staying overnight in Wellington.
I remembered that my beloved was staying overnight with an old friend in the Wairarapa (To non-New Zealanders, the Wairarapa is not some strange kind of skin infection, but a geographic locale 50 km North West of our home)
I was too tired to go back out and buy a carry-out, so it looked like the fridge was it.
One hour later, I was showered and on the couch with my feet up, our little dog resting on my lap. The relaxed mode was aided by quite a large whisky, as I flicked through the rubbish on offer on the TV. Dear God, 96 channels of pure unadulterated crap.
I was briefly entranced by the God Channel, as yet another American Evangelist screamed that we were all doomed and going to Hell unless we immediately sent large donations of money to help keep him in his luxuriant lifestyle which the good Lord surely intended.
I quite like the God Channel, it's always good for a laugh.
|always good for a laugh|
Old dried bits of cheese wrapped in a stay-fresh plastic bag.
Decomposing bits of what I think were lettuce leaves wrapped in a stay-fresh plastic bag.
A loaf of bread
½ kg of butter, wrapped in a stay-fresh plastic bag.
½ an avocado, gone completely black wrapped in a stay-fresh plastic bag.
An unidentifiable piece of what I think was fish but was too scared to open the stay-fresh plastic bag to find out.
23 jars of various pickles, herbs, spices, unguents and what looked like a jar of mayonnaise, but turned out to be Cold Cream.
Sometimes my beloved took things too literally.
She was also addicted to stay-fresh plastic bags, and was of the opinion that once something was in one of them, it would keep for almost ever, visual and olfactory evidence notwithstanding.
|Comfort in a glass (NOTE: No Ice, bloody American heathens ruining guid whisky)|
I could always make toast.
Toast and butter is always good.
Toast and butter and other things was better
I searched through the drawer where we kept the tinned stuff.
Beans, tomatoes, beans, beans, smoked mussels, tomatoes, bean salad, beans, chick peas, anchovy fillets.
That might go well with toast and butter.
I put a whole selection of things out on the work top and started making toast. About 6 slices should do me.
I scrambled the one egg that was left and put it on the counter next to the other ingredients.
Quick refill of my whisky glass. Where was that other bottle? This one's almost gone.
I started to make the toast.
Then buttered the slices and cut them into quarters, so I could try out the different topping combinations.
I've made a list of my toppings as I tried them, so you can always try it in the same order.
A little anchovy, smeared across the buttered toast with a knife. Actually quite good, but a little oily.
A little anchovy with some crunchy peanut butter. Didn't work. Textures and tastes fought each other.
A little anchovy with Marmite. Strange. Almost works but incredibly salty.
A little anchovy with scrambled egg. Excellent. I use up two slices of toast with this mix. I think next time I'll use hard-boiled egg, but it really works well with the creaminess of the scrambled egg.
|Lumpfish Caviar. Don't|
|Not surprising, this is the fish it came from. Ugh.|
A little anchovy with some sardines. OK, quite nice really, but a bit fishy.
A little anchovy with smooth peanut butter. No, still didn't work, and too salty
A little anchovy with smooth peanut butter. No, still didn't work, and too salty. Tasted familiar somehow.
|Maple Syrup. Great with pancakes, but not with anchovies|
A little anchovy with strawberry jam and crunchy peanut butter. No. Definitely and absolutely no.
No anchovy left. Feeling a bit nauseous. Work top looks like the aftermath of an alien biological invasion and war. Off to bed. I'll tidy up tomorrow.
Ha. And my beloved said I couldn't look after myself.
|Miss Reef Spain. Where the Anchovies come from.|
I needed some sort of link to a pretty girl.
And she's very pretty.