As I sit here, having smoked 10 cigarettes in quick succession and almost downed a bottle of red wine in under a mnute I ponder why oh why did I offer to cook for my housemates. Normally it be 4 of us, but this weekend we have visitors. 7 in fact.
It is the mid afternoon and I thought I could cook a roast dinner for 7 people!
And it wouldn't be too bad if they were used to English faire but no I live with 2 french girls and a swedish model (before you ask she has a boyfriend)! So not only am I aware that the swedish girl won't eat anything but organic vegetables (which of course they all are... if she asks) but that french ideas of roasts normaly have far more additives (spices, herbs and you know flavours).
But it's ok for I am slightly tipsy now and have such a head rush from smoking so quickly that I'm pretty certain by the time the gravy actually thickens and the roast potatoes look slightly more golden then the palid complexion of a scandanavian hermit frightened of the light, I wont really care.
I could have cooked chicken, thats easy, pop it in, cook it through... simple. But beef, people have preferences on the colour (I'm a medium rare kind of guy) the french like it blue (should I just cut off a bit and serve to them?) the swede hates meat so thats easy, and the others have decided that they want it in all the possibilities you can cook beef...
Time for cigarette number 11 and looks like I need to open another bottle before they come into the kitchen and wrestle the wine from me.
7, I'm insane...