Sat down to a great meal tonight. A HUGE risotto cooked by Sue, and a mixed pile of salads which I threw together in my usual last minute rush. The best of which was cold, cooked brocolli with vinegrette and black pepper. The brocolli was supposed to go into the Risotto but as there wasn't enough room in the pan, or Sue forgot (one or the other) it got left on the side and, just so it didn't turn into yet another pile of brocolli we watched rot, I made it into a salad. Merriol, Dan, and Sue had a glass of red wine. Holly finaly got over her fear of fizzy drinks ("They are for Grown ups!") and had a glass of Tonic Water with me which she said she liked, then did one of the loudest burps in the history of burping and giggled.
Fruit for pud, though after the gargantuan Risotto (Sue had an attack of the "It Won't be Enough!" fear and kept piling stuff in) we were stuffed and didn't actually felt like anything else.
A lovely family meal that fed right into my delusions of extended family and tribal living but I'm getting incredibly fed up with the way people just launch into their food around here. As soon as it is on the table people start shoveling it onto their own plate and eating. Sometimes as I'm usualy the one running around getting things from the kitchen I sit down to find the meal that I have been cooking half over before I get to join in. It must be nice to have a ritual at the start of a meal, like Christians say grace, to start it off. But not being Christians, Muslims or of any other religiosity I may just have to invent one. No one eats a mouthful until they have helped everyone else to something maybe, or even simpler! everyone has to raise their glass of water, wine, juice, or whatever and make a toast. "To Bifours!"
At least I got everything off the table this time. We weren't eating around a pile of all the other, non mealtime, stuff that usually just gets shoved to one side. Progress