A mistake that has to be made

Yesterday’s domestic dysfunction, it seems, was just the warm up, with tonight’s meal culminating in two hysterical children, a mother kneeling on the floor between them staring into space, and a father and husband throwing things around like a 6 year old and seriously contemplating smashing up his own house, grabbing a bottle and heading to the nearest local landmark.

I had once again stopped off at Tesco for a quick recipe and came out, again, with the only meat I can eat from there: lamb, this time a rolled shoulder. It cost three quid, so I bought a couple of cans of borlotti beans too and a savoy cabbage for the craic. When I came home I fried off some shallot and celery and garlic in a roasting dish and tipped in the beans, a little water, some fresh rosemary, bay, laid the unrolled shoulder across the top and put into a hot oven for 45 minutes until the fat was crispy.

I also made some ice cream to get rid of the pots of birthday cream standing in the fridge, a vanilla with just the right vanilla, creaminess and sweetness. It was the perfect ice cream, with no less than 6 medium egg yolks, or at least it would have been had I not first checked the wooden spoon I used to stir the custard. The result is a pint of garlic and onion bolognaise-base vanilla dessert, which at least served to lighten thigns up later on. I will never again use a wooden spoon to stir custard.