Christmas in Peckham
Well, this new Blogger Beta is a bit of a faff, isn't it?
Anyway, I have battled my way to the stage where I can actually publish a post so I can fill you all in on the inaugural Peckham Christmas Dinner.
I was on time, Dr James was only 30 mins late, and a great time was had by all. Aretha the Plant was adorned with decorations (both sparkly and edible) and was crowned with the Megabus Man. Lotte had been using her leisure time productively to marinate her own olives and make some beautiful handmade Christmas cards, and it was clear that the festive spirit was strong in Peckham.
Lotte did ask me to report that the food was produced as if by magic, without hint of sweat or toil, and almost floated to the table, no doubt on an exquisite silver platter or immaculately manicured hand. I feel duty bound to report that LeLotte et LeLane had clearly spent several hours slaving over a hot stove and the kitchen was operating at near fever pitch, but they were clearly coping well under very trying circumstances and put on a very impressive spread. To start, we had a veritable mountain of bruschetti as we conference-called Heidi and Tim to wish them a Merry Peckham Christmas. This was followed by a very exotic roast chicken dinner, involving curly kale, celeriac mash and a delicious squash/double cream concoction. Dave also did a very good job of carving the bird. I think the secret lies in spending about twenty minutes sharpening the carving knife in as camp a fashion as possible.
After retiring for post-prandial smokes and parlour games (and a few more buckets of wine), we were presented with some yummy scrummy chocolate puds and mugs of Baileys. Yum. Although I still can't believe that nobody spotted my interpretation of Cheryl Tweedy through the medium of mime.
Photographs available at the Flickr Group Site...
P.S.
I hope Tim's ant farm removal site is healing well. I am very glad to hear that Heidi has returned to doing the housework in states of near-undress. As to Tim's Coldplay problem: the signs were always there. Once you've dabbled with the gateway drug of Snow Patrol, it's but a slippery slope. Just stay away from the Keane.
Anyway, I have battled my way to the stage where I can actually publish a post so I can fill you all in on the inaugural Peckham Christmas Dinner.
I was on time, Dr James was only 30 mins late, and a great time was had by all. Aretha the Plant was adorned with decorations (both sparkly and edible) and was crowned with the Megabus Man. Lotte had been using her leisure time productively to marinate her own olives and make some beautiful handmade Christmas cards, and it was clear that the festive spirit was strong in Peckham.
Lotte did ask me to report that the food was produced as if by magic, without hint of sweat or toil, and almost floated to the table, no doubt on an exquisite silver platter or immaculately manicured hand. I feel duty bound to report that LeLotte et LeLane had clearly spent several hours slaving over a hot stove and the kitchen was operating at near fever pitch, but they were clearly coping well under very trying circumstances and put on a very impressive spread. To start, we had a veritable mountain of bruschetti as we conference-called Heidi and Tim to wish them a Merry Peckham Christmas. This was followed by a very exotic roast chicken dinner, involving curly kale, celeriac mash and a delicious squash/double cream concoction. Dave also did a very good job of carving the bird. I think the secret lies in spending about twenty minutes sharpening the carving knife in as camp a fashion as possible.
After retiring for post-prandial smokes and parlour games (and a few more buckets of wine), we were presented with some yummy scrummy chocolate puds and mugs of Baileys. Yum. Although I still can't believe that nobody spotted my interpretation of Cheryl Tweedy through the medium of mime.
Photographs available at the Flickr Group Site...
P.S.
I hope Tim's ant farm removal site is healing well. I am very glad to hear that Heidi has returned to doing the housework in states of near-undress. As to Tim's Coldplay problem: the signs were always there. Once you've dabbled with the gateway drug of Snow Patrol, it's but a slippery slope. Just stay away from the Keane.
posted by MaryMoo at 4:24 pm
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