Year of the Monkey

Some years ago our village social club regularly used to host a Chinese New Year feast, cooked by a Vietnamese resident who is a retired army cook. He always refused help other than for the most menial tasks, and prepared spring rolls, two main dishes, and fried rice for upwards of 150 people; his reputation brought people in from miles away to enjoy the meal. Several collapses and renaissances of the club intervened and he stopped doing it. However this year the club has been reborn yet again with a completely new team, and G has once again stepped in. The novelty factor meant that our huge village hall was filled with 180 people.

This is the rather lurid Vietnamese aperitif, bright red with lychees floating in it like sheep's eyeballs (sorry, that's what they always make me think of!). I find I just don't have the stamina for this type of event; the official start was 7:30, so we showed up at 8. The first course made it to the table at 9:15. I was faint with hunger by then, having avoided over-indulging in apero and associated crisps, peanuts etc. So I ate more spring rolls than I should have done; once we'd all had our official ration of two each, more and more emerged from the kitchen. G must have made well over 500 of them! My neighbour D ate so many he started clutching his stomach and claiming he couldn't eat any more, before accepting another one.

Between courses we were subjected to the usual musical entertainment: a duo of singer and guitarist plus backing tape, performing everything from Piaf to 80s disco with tangos, cha-chas and paso dobles thrown in, so loudly that you couldn't hold a conversation without shouting in the other person's ear. I won't be too unkind, as at least the singer could sing in tune (not a given at these events) and they certainly had stamina. They filled the dance floor too. But by the time coffee arrived sometime after midnight, I had a headache, so we crept off home to bed to the strains of Gimme Gimme Gimme.