Saturday, 24 September 2011
My daughter's a domestic goddess
No. This picture isn't of her. But she is a domestic goddess just the same.
I have just phoned her, and this morning she's made (not heated up; made) waffles for breakfast, and now she's made eight individual shepherd's pies and a pecan and something-or-other cheesecake and lemon ice cream for a dinner party tonight. She gives a lot of dinner parties.
I don't really do dinner parties. For me, they are the suff of nightmares. Will the people get on? Will the food be ok? What if eveyrone want to leave immedately after the coffee. AAAAARGH!
I panic over the menu. I try new things, and worry that they won't work. And as for things that have to be turned out (ie of moulds) - they are the worse of all. I shall never forget the fresh fruit jelly that promised to be so irresistible, with its jewel-like pieces of fruit in a glorious suspension of fruit juice, to be served with cream. Mmmm. Except that, guess what? As, with trembling fingers, (the jelly wasn't the only one trembling) I 'turned out' my jelly, it wobbled uncertainly for a few agonising seconds, then fell to its knees and collapsed in a messy heap. See what I mean? And that's only one example (the shoe-leather ratatouille being another). As for the guests, there was the night of the died-in-the-wool left wing friends versus the very-public-school right wing friends. That was a night to remember. And there are others, but I won't bore you with them.
So, my daughter (whom I love dearly, who is one of my very best friends, and to whom I can say just about anything) is a domestic goddess (she also makes amazing fancy dress costumes, and gives wonderful Hallowe'en parties for her kids, and and and..) and I am not. She is hosting yet another dinner party tonight, and we are going to sink ourselves in a bottle of wine and a DVD.
Posted by Frances Garrood at 12:33
Labels: domestic goddess. dinner parties
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I'm no goddess, but I do dinner parties. Friends come round and we share a bottle of wine as we read the takeaway menu, then we order, accept delivery and eat. More wine is generally consumed during this. I often forget to offer coffee.ReplyDelete
Patsy, you're my kind of girl! I feel much better now.ReplyDelete
Enjoy cooking but don't do dinner parties. Total admiration for your daughter Frances.ReplyDelete
Thanks, Colette. I have no idea where she gets it from!ReplyDelete
The secret is to cook something you know you can do well - even if it's only sausage & mash! Mind you - I like Patsy's idea of a takeaway.ReplyDelete
And if you open the wine an hour before the meal is ready, no-one will worry too much about what they're eating.
Do you hire your daughter out, please? I think I was more like that when first a young mother staying at home with two children. But I'm well past that stage now!ReplyDelete
Gail - I know, I know. My husband used to say "why do you always have to try out something new?" I still don't know the answer!ReplyDelete
Rosemary, I'll ask her!
I don't do them any more. I'm too grumpy afterwards. People either just eat and go, leaving me with the washing-up. And I think, 'What was the point of that?'ReplyDelete
Or they linger and try to be helpful, which means the dishwasher gets stacked 'wrongly'.
And I always get indigestion from worrying whether or not they like the food.
One guest retired to the other room to have a nap (snoring loudly) as soon as we'd finished eating, having made no effort to converse or offer a word of praise for the meal.
I just don't think I have the right friends. And maybe not the right temperament.
It seems that we creative types just aren't made to do this kind of entertaining (although Daughter's a brilliant artist, so bang goes that theory). Maybe we've just got better things to do, like blogging when we should be writing...ReplyDelete