Poached Egg Salad
Let us, today, have a completely domestic post. No books, no discussions of the time-space continuum. No nothing but household objects and concerns.
Here, for starters, is some knitting:
Why, look! What a surprise! It seems to be yet another of the ubiquitous Ab Fab throws!
Why, yes. Yes, it is. Became addicted. Have a dealer in Wales. Alas. These things happen. I started small, with some Giotto and a cute little top. Now I mainline Zanziba and Mohair.
I'm able to post this picture because I know, absolutely, that its receiver will never never see it here, because she never never reads my blog, because she's under the delusion that I'm more interesting in person.
So. Here's her birthday-with-a-zero present, which she won't be seeing till June, but you get to observe now.
You can't have an Ab Fab throw just for any old birthday. I might be addicted, but I'm not wealthy. I have to space them out some.
But I can stop anytime I want, really.
On another domestic front, in case some of you don't actually receive the Delia Newsletter in your email, I'd like to head you on over to her site, because today she's presenting a special May menu which is a doddle all through.
I myself did not know what the hell a doddle was, but luckily we have all sorts of dictionaries around here, and one of them translates British English into American English, which is how I know that the entire menu is Dead Simple and Easy to Make.
Which is good, I think. It's to feed six, for one of those little dinner parties which you might be giving this month,but which I won't.
It starts with a salad. A poached egg salad. No, really, no kidding. Go look.
Nice, huh?
I'm so fascinated by this I might have some people over just so I can feed it to them and see what happens. I haven't ever been fed a poached egg salad in England, and I'm not sure what happens when you feed poached egg salads to your dinner guests in East Anglia, but I'm pretty sure that if I were to try it in Pittsburgh all the guests would blanch.
And then I'd be hearing about it for the rest of my life. Which might take a while, on account of all this health.
So. No. I think we're not going there. Besides. I don't think they sell quail eggs down at the Giant Eagle.
On the other hand, her Lemon Lime Refrigerator cake could cross the pond quite easily, I think. Pittsburgh understands dessert.
Here, for starters, is some knitting:
Why, look! What a surprise! It seems to be yet another of the ubiquitous Ab Fab throws!
Why, yes. Yes, it is. Became addicted. Have a dealer in Wales. Alas. These things happen. I started small, with some Giotto and a cute little top. Now I mainline Zanziba and Mohair.
I'm able to post this picture because I know, absolutely, that its receiver will never never see it here, because she never never reads my blog, because she's under the delusion that I'm more interesting in person.
So. Here's her birthday-with-a-zero present, which she won't be seeing till June, but you get to observe now.
You can't have an Ab Fab throw just for any old birthday. I might be addicted, but I'm not wealthy. I have to space them out some.
But I can stop anytime I want, really.
On another domestic front, in case some of you don't actually receive the Delia Newsletter in your email, I'd like to head you on over to her site, because today she's presenting a special May menu which is a doddle all through.
I myself did not know what the hell a doddle was, but luckily we have all sorts of dictionaries around here, and one of them translates British English into American English, which is how I know that the entire menu is Dead Simple and Easy to Make.
Which is good, I think. It's to feed six, for one of those little dinner parties which you might be giving this month,but which I won't.
It starts with a salad. A poached egg salad. No, really, no kidding. Go look.
Nice, huh?
I'm so fascinated by this I might have some people over just so I can feed it to them and see what happens. I haven't ever been fed a poached egg salad in England, and I'm not sure what happens when you feed poached egg salads to your dinner guests in East Anglia, but I'm pretty sure that if I were to try it in Pittsburgh all the guests would blanch.
And then I'd be hearing about it for the rest of my life. Which might take a while, on account of all this health.
So. No. I think we're not going there. Besides. I don't think they sell quail eggs down at the Giant Eagle.
On the other hand, her Lemon Lime Refrigerator cake could cross the pond quite easily, I think. Pittsburgh understands dessert.
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