Flambé

Another day in quarantine ... I got through the whole of Adriene's yoga session this morning by breathing better and organising some headphones on an extension lead so I could hear better and didn't keep having to crane my neck to see what she was doing. It was very pleasant doing it on the terrace to the sound of birdsong.

S had a more exciting day; he Skyped with his writing group in France for an hour and then -- oh happy day -- went to the supermarket. Now we are very well supplied; he managed to get virtually everything on our long list except for eggs, and yeast ... I've started a sourdough starter now since I don't have one here any more.

Lunch: leftover lentils, sausages, fresh bread. Leftover crumble, and then macarons with our coffee ... yes, macarons are still being produced in mid-crisis. Dinner: a single (large) slice of tomato each with olive oil, garlic, salt, and balsamic glaze. Smoked salmon with lemon and more of the fresh bread and butter. We had to drink cava with this as two bottles have been loitering in the fridge since January. And then, since we still have three precious eggs and a bottle of Cointreau, Crêpes Suzette.

For us, crêpes Suzette are a synonym for a) extreme circumstances and b) making the best of them. Many years ago, we were in Dover waiting for a hovercraft to France (yes, it was that long ago). The weather was too bad for the hovercraft to go, and French dockworkers were on strike, so no ferries. The hovercraft terminal was full of grumpy people slumped on the floor waiting for news. 

"Sod this," we thought, and strode off up the road. The first restaurant we came to was a very traditional Italian one called the Ristorante Al Porto with crisp white linen tablecloths and sparkling cutlery and glassware. We had a fabulous and well-lubricated lunch which culminated in crêpes Suzette made in a chafing dish at the table by the dinner-suited waiter. I will never forget this. We reeled back to the terminal hours later, wreathed in smiles, to find the same people still slumped grumpily on the floor. Within half an hour a ferry turned up and off we went. 

So whenever we are in circumstances beyond our control that might make us grumpy, we look at each other and say "Ristorante al Porto." Works every time. And I think this is probably the last time we made this dish -- in mid-powercut. Hence we're a bit out of practice, but although they didn't look good, they tasted great. Hic.