Man does not live by bread alone
We went out to dinner last evening to celebrate Kay’s grandson James’s birthday. It was a very pleasant event. We went to an Italian pizza, pasta and bistro restaurant at Petone that is set in a gutted former warehouse and well decorated to promote the appetite. The menu was extensive, and came from the wood-fired oven at one end of the building or the stoves at the other.
I dipped my bread into some olive oil and it wasn’t as nice as last week’s visit to Martinborough. I tried another oil and quickly decided there might just be something in favour of the local production.
So, for lunch I decided to give Kay a treat and design a plate that worked backward from the olive oil I bought last week. Oil, lemon juice and lemon zest, with basil and white onion, over coarsely cut tomatoes on a fresh baguette. On this I would place a couple of hard boiled eggs and, in the manner of my favourite Annabel, I would crumble feta cheese.
We went to the gym after breakfast and then called at Countdown to buy the bread and the cheese. There were no white onions, but there was a red onion at home. The rest we already had. On the way into the shop I found there was a special on some beef mince and on the way towards the check-out I found a special on asparagus. The mince I needed to bottle for the island (that’s another story). We then got side-tracked by going to Mega Mitre 10 hardware and getting some hose fittings. Morning coffee was interspersed with several phone calls, and then we did some gardening (or rather Kay did).
The lunch was put together, but it seemed desirable to cook some asparagus as well as the eggs. The bread was cut. Then we found the red onion after peeling was in a terminal state. Kay found a shallot and I got a spring onion from the garden. It all came together and I made the final flourish of the lemon juice, zest and olive oil. Some black pepper and it was ready. It looked so good I though I should take a photo. That meant clearing the kitchen table of its usual several piles of mail and ‘things that need to go out to the office’. I also thought a glass of wine would be nice.
It was unashamedly showing off, which is easy to excuse in the name of showing appreciation of one’s mate. We sat down and enjoyed the meal.
It was while I was clearing the plates away, I realised why I am an old man and not in the mould of Annabel. There, on the bench, looking at me accusingly, was the slice of feta.
That looks utterly fantastic! Even mitout the fetta! Yum