On Tuesday I had a simple luncheon comprising egg mayonnaise with a sliver of smoked salmon, cold salmon and devilled kidneys. I have now re-read Abbie and Arthur (much the better of the two Abbie books.)
“Cook, the master will not be here for luncheon, but this is one of the last days of my dear nephew’s visit. We must lunch well. None of this nonsense of eleven courses of which the master sometimes partakes, but we would like to start, there still being an R in the month, with a dozen sound Colchester natives apiece, on the shelll of course, followed by a cold consommé; then blinis, caviar and sour cream, followed by a dish of at least four garden vegetables, plainly boiled but lightly dotted with fresh Essex butter at the time of serving.” She paused and looked up at Cook, and then at me before she went on. “Then, of course, your hare pie which my nephew so much relishes, with a green salad of several kinds of lettuce. And then what?” She paused again, and these are the moments when she is so clever.
”An orange soufflé, milady?”
Abbie beamed.
”You’ve done it again, Cook,” she said. “A perfectly balanced meal. I will leave the savoury to one of your own choosing.”
Cook started out of the room, but stopped in the doorway when Abbie spoke.
”The master will be returning late tonight, Cook, and may well have lunched in the City. Please have placed by his bedside a cup of cold camomile tea and a nourishing water biscuit.”
(Abbie and Arthur by Dane Chandos.)
Meanwhile I have been shopping. The elaborate packaging gives scant evidence of my purchase.
In spite of what I wrote recently I was tempted by a Swiss watch from British firm, Christopher Ward.
