OK. I have spent the afternoon skim-reading the abridged handbag sized version of “He’s Just Not That Into You” and I agree with everything those wise old yankees say. So time to stop wasting brain space on Dirty Scottish Georgie and get on with the project the Fricksta and I have been talking about for around 3 years.
Maybe the BLOG is the way forward for our Silver Screen Suppers project. It worked for Julia Powell and her “Julie and Julia Project” and with the two of us egging each other on perhaps we can make some beautiful suppers, watch some classic movies and entertain each other with Transatlantic postings about the results. Whaddya say Ms Frick?
I had a horrendous day yesterday moving boxes and boxes of junk that I just can’t bear to part with to my lock up in Slough. This involved being polite to the man who has just dumped me because he is a “man with a van” and how else do I move my crap?! Life is all in chaos and this has given me a real kick up the arse. Food equals comfort and survival. I will therefore begin to cook.
Time to stop procrastinating. Time to buy a mini DVD player (no tele on the boat), order up some classic movies through the net and get my pinny on. First recipe I am going to tackle is one I think should NOT be shared with friends. Bette Davis’ own recipe for Boston Baked Beans. First of all I have no idea what your American measurements mean. What the blue blazes is ” a quart”? What are pea beans? What is fat salt pork? Of the 6 ingredients needed for this foul sounding dish I have but two – 2 teaspoons of salt and 1 cup of boiling water – so off to the supermarket for me. I will report back on the success or otherwise of Ms Davis’ favourite dish to serve at a Sunday night supper party given for a few of her most intimate friends. Accompanied by a simple salad and some brown bread this is apparently a meal the charming hostess could serve herself without bothering to have any servants around.
I don’t think there would be room for any servants on my tub even if I could afford to have them, so we shall see how this dish works for a suddenly single singleton alone in a floating caravan on the Thames on a lonely Sunday evening…
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