I fucked the bourguignon and crashed the van.

I fucked the bourguignon and crashed the van.

Well… The bourguignon was a bit tough (which was probably the cut of meats’ fault) and the car needs two new wheels (which was partly the cyclists’ fault).

Last year ended with aplomb and the new started with me not really remembering the new year because I was still drunk. Perhaps, after todays debacle, we’ll start the year afresh tomorrow.

The New Years Eve meal was alright I suppose: it was a bit rushed and I wasn’t overwhelmed with my roast potatoes. We smashed the posh bottle I’d bought for us and we got out with haste (leaving a bit of a state of a kitchen) and back for pre-drinks and the countdown. On to La Taverne (Or La Tav and we call it: very 😎) to get myself in a bit of a state, controlled nevertheless, and to bed for about an hours sleep. Up for breakfast – which I can’t remember – and to prep the evening meal, which I can’t remember doing either, and then frankly all that comes to mind is that the roasties were much better than the night before… and that instead of beef it was chicken.

We had an interesting crowd last week. Obviously it was New Years week and they had spent a lot of money and were clearly used to getting exactly what they wanted and they were clearly used to higher quality wine (although everyone else has been happy with the six options that we offer each night) and are used to staying in slightly smarter places. I got good comments on my food but it was all soured a little because some of the group felt that what was being offered wasn’t good enough for them or worth what they’d paid. Frankly I feel they should have just enjoyed their week – which I hope they did anyway. I felt compelled to go out and get them two bottles of vodka and tonic water on New Years Eve (It was demanded) even though I knew I wouldn’t get the cash back and then I bought them a few bottles of ‘better’ wine the next day: just because fuck it. I wanted them to be happy but really, inside, I felt that I was putting in a big effort in the kitchen – and with the group – and I thought that should be enough. I’m fortunate to have been to some of the nicest places in the world, and been seriously spoilt, but I always feel that when you’re on holiday with friends family that things should be relaxed and some things can be overseen so as not to ruin it for the whole group. And do the little things really matter if you’re having a great time with the people you love. Ah well. I hope they will look back on the positives.

Some of them were absolutely lovely; one family in particular were awesome and I’ll remember the week for Ben, an absolute lad, who went out of his way to say thanks each night, which meant a lot, and seemed to be enjoying himself regardless of what was being complained about around him. His daughter was a sweetheart too.

I’m sat on my bed, back down the hill at our accommodation, having just met and served dinner to week three’s guests. “The Farmers” as they shall now be known. One farms potatoes, one parsnips and I think I heard someone mention peas… all off the menu from today!!! Once again the chalet has been booked by a single group which I’d heard was unusual but two out of three now. They all seem like great fun: very relaxed and up for a laugh and a chat. They call me Gordon. Lols. I’ll try not to assault any of them with a baguette and call them an ‘Idiot fucking sandwich’.

And so yes I was on the way to the supermarket and I saw a cyclist putting his bike on the road to mount it and I was going a bit quick and I had to swerve and there was a weird pavement type reservation in the middle of the road and I had to hit it and I thought I’d completely fucked the van  but then I thought I’d just popped the tyre but it turns out that it was two complete wheels. And breathe. Fuck it. Accidents happen and I’m a bit pissed off and getting ribbed by the lads, which is fair game. It’s only a couple of wheels but a bit more than an annoyance. I blame the cyclist: stupid place to get on a bike: stupid thing to get on. I’m sure he blames me right back.

So tonight I did a Tomato and Basil Soup (which I was happy with) and Beef Bourguignon (which I wasn’t) and then Passionfruit Parfait (which I was.) I also did a Hummingbird Bakery Chocolate Fudge Cake as a birthday cake for our guest Sarah. It was her birthday. Thank fuck it was her birthday… could’ve been awkward because we turned off the lights and walked out singing. Then I pulled my pork belly out the over, took off the skin, wrapped the meat in clingfilm and put it in the fridge with a big weight on it to press it for tomorrow. Then I took the skin, cut it into lengths, covered in salt and stuck it in the oven. It’s crazy how much it pops: but you end up with great crackling.

And that was my day. Said goodbye to some unhappy guests, welcomed some very chirpy ones, crashed the car, fucked the bourguignon (I’m exaggerating) and came home.

And to bed.

It’s almost like I’ve got a proper job. Careful.


img_0016The van: Not looking pretty.
img_0015Passionfruit Parfait, Passionfruit Curd, Honeycomb.

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