Food For Thought

Often on a Sunday evening when one family member or another rings up for a catch-up chat the conversation turns to what we are having to eat. "Roast chicken," they might say, "roast potatoes, gravy". What??? I reply, aghast. What???? Why didn't I think of that? And so I'm left to conjure their traditional plate in my mind's eye as I settle down to pasta, or salmon, the usual. But yesterday I joined in the feast-making. My Waitrose delivery on Friday evening included a fat, free range corn-fed chicken, and I made delectably scrunchy roast potatoes, a yummy chicken gravy and broccoli, eaten in front of the recorded Strictly relegation. I was in heaven, it was that good. I now have a chicken to pick at all week, which is ironic because my fridge is full of bought chicken soup, the better to boost my immune system. Luckily some of the dates are well ahead so they will keep.

The Waitrose delivery was due between 8-10pm, but in the event it came at 8.15pm. How the man found the house in the pitch darkness and rain I don't know but he did. "I spent half an hour earlier trying to find Hall Farm in (named a village), up and down the lanes, couldn't see anyone to ask then eventually stumbled on it by accident," he told me wryly. When the woman opened the door she said, "You're late!" and I told her I couldn't find her house. But everyone knows where I live, she retorted.

My delivery had to be this late because I spent the afternoon playing in a charity bridge match with Judy and David and Judy's daughter Sophie. The hall in Eye was filled with jolly ladies and the occasional man, and we played with gusto and much laughter. At 4pm on the dot we stopped for tea, and how astonished I was to find plates and plates full of tiny sandwiches, virtually all made with sliced white bread and filled with things like marmite, honey, cucumber or tomatoes. What is this, the 50s? Sighs of satisfaction and happiness filled the air as I tried to prize the glutinous white mess off my teeth. Of course there were cakes, one sugary sticky horror entitled The Queen Mother's Favourite which nobody touched, but I had two slices of coffee cake and two cups of tea. Sophie and David were all for playing on beyond 5, but Judy's face was ashen and I thought we should stop. She'd never give in herself but she looked relieved. "Are you feeling pale Mummy?" Sophie wanted to know. "Can't we have another few hands?" But she gave in gracefully and we all got up to leave. We checked the scores. David: minus 230; Judy: 347; Soph: 932; Denise 3,010. Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!