Yesterday's lamb shoulder, ready to re-cycle tonight.
It wasn't a typical Sunday, cos we met some lovely folk for a leisurely lunch which saw us full up to pussy's bow, so the usual baked dinner went by the board in lieu of jelly and yoghurt. Yeh I went straight to the pudding. What a treat on a Sunday night. No cooking no washing up no smell lingering - oh except that there was a linger, cos I had popped a lamb shoulder in the oven before we went out and it had cooked itself stupid while we chattered away.
I just Glad wrapped the lot and saved the jacket spuds and am ready tonight to present a yummo meal that seriously should be better than had we eaten it yesterday.
I reckon that very often, things 'next day' are even better.
Spag bog sauce is defo better and my plum sauce that goes with Pork Belly improves with age.
It might be that these things are better cos the cooking is already done, and laziness tastes damn fine.
I remember at Uni the first time, cutting up a pizza with the other end of a fork, the morning after a particularly brutal booze splurge, and even today that pizza remains one of the best I have ever eaten. It's true, I might have still been bladdered, memory is a strange thing.
My darling Nanna's less than triumphant forays in the kitchen have been documented here, but one thing she could whip up were fritters from leftovers. I loved her fritters. She would shovel in all sorts of stuff that would today be bin fodder cos it'd be well passed the 'use-bys' and she must have added stuff to the batter, or maybe the penicillin green stuff flavoured it all pleasantly, and I guess she fried 'em up in lard or something that you can't even buy today. In any case, her fritters were bloody marvelous. I make 'em from time to time when I am feeling nostalgic, but Stevie is not much fond of 'em and I fed 'em to the Grandie once, but I rather doubt that they made it to the top 10 list of things he liked about going to Ma's place.
So it's feast night at the Big House. Slow cooked lamb shoulder with leek and mustard sauce, with spuds and broccoli and I might even whip up some pancakes and drunken strawberries cos I fancy a big old vodka, perhaps a a nod to my younger wilder years, and if I hide it all under a mountain of heavy cream and fruit then no-one needs to know.
Fuck the hiding, break out the bottle!