Johnny’s pie was a flop. I think that I overcooked the custard and under whisked the meringue. It tasted good but it was such a floppy consistency it would have made a perfect custard pie in a Mack Sennett movie. A lesson learned – do not attempt to make an apricot meringue pie when drunk.
It has been a weekend of overindulgence. Last night I took Gary to my local eaterie The Bowl of Comfort. I think it is the craziest restaurant I have EVER been to (except Oslo Court) and it is right on my doorstep. Serving cuisine from Russia, India, Britain, Spain, you name it – it’s a veritable smorgasbord of cooking styles. The chef always comes out for a chat (he wears a massive chef’s hat) and more or less decides what he thinks you should eat. The food is totally delicious and SO CHEAP. Gary and I managed to put away two bottles of rose and two sherry glasses of complimentary blue curacao (most of mine ended up on the tablecloth). The gum cracking waitresses invited us to a party they were intending to throw once dining was done, but we decided we were too drunk. We rolled up the hill and I squealed, “push me, push me” to Gary who did so in order to get me up the four flights of stairs.
This morning I sat by the window playing my first game of patience with my lovely new 1940s Austrian playing cards waiting for G to rise and shine. He came in shaking a packet of Resolve that he’d brought with him. What a canny house guest – I guess he knew from experience that when staying with me, drinking is always involved…
