A Day of Rest.

jeudi, le 24 septembre 2009

Today is a public holiday. I have to admit that I’m not entirely sure why, but I’ll take the day off nonetheless!

The ICC Cricket Champions Trophy is being hosted in my country. So all I have to do today is to watch my team play, take The Princess for her romp in the park and go to The Artist’s birthday bash. I can so manage all that. Oh and then I just need to finish off the lamb casserole which will be the main feature on the menu. No problem.

I love my latest bed rest read and am couch camping with The Princess when I get a text message from The Poker Man. He wants to know what I’m doing. I tell him I have one eye on the cricket and one eye on the stove and every now and again I read my book. He asks if he can come and watch the cricket with me. I shriek and jump for joy. Since L’homme has left I’ve been left to watch cricket on my own.

I hit the pause button and rush out to the shops. It’s a day for a braai, a day to catch some sport, a day to test another boundary.

When The Poker Man arrives the summer smell of a braai fire hangs in the air, the salads are done and the potatoes have taken the place of the lamb casserole in the oven. I’m amazed at how much stronger it makes me feel to be inspired by food again. To cut things, to chop things, to adjust flavours and to taste until it is just right.

L’homme was always in charge of the braai. It was one thing I never interfered with, never intervened. Now I have to manage the braai for the first time in many, many years myself. I’m uncertain about everything. About how hot the coals should be, how long the lamb must be on the grill for, how often they must be turned. My Sweet Jewboy distracts me with advice, with witty comments, with his quirky sense of humour.

Before I can miss L’homme too much, we sit down to lunch. L’homme could do succulent lamb chops on the Weber, but these are great. I lie, they’re better than great. They are fantastic. With a hint of lemon, a hint of rosemary, a hint of thyme, cooked to rosy pink perfection. I’m immensely proud of myself. I’ve hit the ball way over the boundary, I’ve acquired another new skill. And my team wins the cricket game.

The Princess and I go for a very quick walk in the park and after her supper, we pile into the car with the lamb casserole and other party treats. She’s delighted to see her best friend and I overhear The Princess bragging about the braai. I wink and smile at her. She looks gorgeous in her designer collar I bought for her in Paris, as usual to L’homme’s annoyance.

Friends start arriving, the wine flows and the conversation interesting and entertaining. Compliments from the lunch table spill over to the dinner table. The yoghourt lamb casserole is excellent. I was hoping there would be some leftovers for The Poker Man, but not a morsel is left.

The dinner ends early. I pick a DVD from The Artist’s library. The Princess and I settle back on our favourite couch and watch a movie. A perfect end to a near perfect day. Tonight I can again whisper ’faire bons rêves’ to L’homme as I crawl between the covers with a smile and I can sleep with the fairies.

(The Princess with her gorgeous collar all the way from Paris.)