I've alluded to Wednesday Night Dinners already. They are a weekly tradition amongst about 10 of our friends. Each Wednesday, one friend will cook for all the others, and we take it in turns to do so. Initially the idea of cooking for 10 (or more, the cook's housemates are also invited, and sometimes a friend or two from outside) is pretty daunting, but once you done it, it's not that hard to plan a meal that will feed everyone without running you off your feet. A common strategy is to do much of the preparation in the day or so beforehand and then throw it all together on the night. And the payoff is huge - nine weeks of Wednesdays when you don't have to cook! And you get a pretty amazing meal... We're not competitive about things, but everyone seems keen to turn out a good meal for their friends, and the standard only ever gets higher. Wednesday Night Dinners has been running since March this year and is a solid fixture in the calender.
As the first WND since we started our diet, last night was bound to be a challenge, and I really wasn't looking forward to it. But I sure as hell wasn't going to miss it. I love seeing these friends once a week, and even if I had to cook my own dinner and apply my iron willpower, I was going to be there. Come 7:30 I arrived to a lovely warm house filled with delicious cooking smells and with a cheese platter and hot marinated olives laid out on the table. *sigh* This was going to be tough. D was already there. Apparently I gave him a bum steer by telling him it was at 6:30, so he'd been enjoying/enduring this lovely atmosphere for an hour already.
C had cooked a lovely veal casserole with parpadelle, with parmesan and herb, and beautiful breads on the side. It looked pretty delish, and the thought of cabbage and beans with lamb yet again wasn't so appealing. It is great that D and I are both doing this, as I would definitely have caved when C said: "I don't want to lead you into temptation, but if you want to, you're welcome to some of this". Oh C, your cooking could lead me into temptation any day! So, We steamed our veg and fried our chops. I had made sure I bought nice loin chops. I didn't want to be chewing on any sub-standard chops while all this delish was being passed around! Really it wasn't so bad, we just ate our food with everyone else, and the conversation and joviality of the night carried us. But there was still desert to come...
Putting maple syrup on the list of acceptable foods was an inspired idea of D's. If you buy the good Canadian stuff, maple syrup is really pure and unprocessed. They pretty much just stick a tap in the side of the tree and then hold a bottle under it to fill. Well, not quite, but if white sugar is a hussy, maple syrup's a virgin. I would never have thought to put a sweetener on the list, despite being a rampant sweet tooth. Perhaps D already had the exquisite torture of cooking our own food at WND in mind. Anyway, come desert time, we decided to reprise the poached fruit. D: "Would you like me to poach the fruit, dear". Me: *stares daggers*. Hmph. "Ok, you can poach the fruit". So we chucked it in a pot with some water and an light-hearted admonishment from C's housemate K: "No fires". It all went to plan this time, and what emerged was a lovely mix of firm poached pear and mushy apple sauce. We poured on a bit more maple syrup for good measure, and munched away happily.
It was pretty funny being a non-drinker at WND for the first time. It's pretty standard for a fair bit of wine to be consumed at these affairs. In fact, at the very first WND I drank so much wine I was rather hungover and very grumpy the following day, and loudly declared to my poor housemate who had gone to the effort of kicking it all off: "I think doing this weekly is a bad idea!" I quickly learned the gentle art of moderation and have managed not to get into too much strife since, but I'm not the only one who frequently feels a bit tipsy by the end of the night. We get away with this indulgence because all of us except C live in the same suburb, within a short walk (or drunken stumble) of each other. C lives a five minute drive away, and once you count out the cyclists, the rest of us usually manage to pile into one or two cars leaving the rest free to wine it up. I'm making us sound like drunkards. We're not, but you get the idea, we like wine. Anyway, there was one point last night when I was conversing with S and K, and then, all of a sudden, I had no idea what they were on about! They clearly were still on track, as they were laughing away together. I was laughing too, as I loudly proclaimed: "The only problem with being sober, is that you can't keep up with the conversation!" All in all it was a lovely night, and I didn't at all mind being the designated driver.
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