Much Ado about wings and tuna

Right, you all know I am a suck­er for a pic­nic: fit­ting foods into lit­tle con­tain­ers and pack­ing them up in the wick­er pic­nic bas­ket, com­plete with tiny plates and salt and pep­per shak­ers in its lid, is my delight.

How­ev­er, faced with an out­door play that begins at 8, a half hour’s dri­ve away, I was stymied. How on earth would we be hun­gry at 7 after a late lunch, where would we sit, the whole sit­u­a­tion mixed me up. But now I know, and so shall you.

Here’s what you do: eat a very late brunch, say bagels and smoked salmon at 11:30, if it’s a Sat­ur­day, or a tiny sand­wich at your office desk at noon if it’s a Fri­day. Then pack up these in a cool box and put a rug over your arm.

Sim­plest Grilled Pic­nic Chick­en Wings
(serves about 1 per­son per 6 wings, so 4 for 24 wings)

24 chick­en wings (whole, the drum­stick not sep­a­rat­ed from the wing and SKIN ON!)
sprin­kle gar­lic powder
sprin­kle paprika
sprin­kle sea salt and fresh ground pepper
olive oil to coat all wings
2 tbsps bal­sam­ic vinegar
large hand­ful curly pars­ley, chopped fine

As dis­gust­ing as it may seem, you must get your hands in there and roll the chick­en wings around in a bowl full of olive oil and all the var­i­ous herbs. Then line two large cook­ing trays with foil (aids in cleanup) and lay the wings in a sin­gle layer.

Bake at 325 for two hours. Take the wings out and put them back in a large bowl, sprin­kle them with the bal­sam­ic vinegar.

Heat your out­door grill to medi­um high and place the wings on the grill. Watch close­ly so as not to incin­er­ate, and grill on each side for per­haps 2 min­utes. This is just for col­or and fla­vor as the wings are already cooked through. Place in bowl again and sprin­kle with pars­ley, then toss well. Serve with some yogurt and more chopped pars­ley, or fro­mage frais.

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So pack these guys up along with plen­ty of paper nap­kins, leave an hour’s free time before the play, and head off. Spread your pic­nic rug out, eat to your heart’s con­tent (a baguette and some cheese would not go amiss, nor would a big bowl of cher­ry toma­toes and some extra sea salt).

Of course, the play has to be as good as the one we saw, “Much Ado About Noth­ing”, at the open air the­atre in Regen­t’s Park, on Wednes­day night. Sim­ply the best. The sun stays up ter­ri­bly late here in the ear­ly sum­mer, so the play began in quite full day­light, but quick­ly slid into a sort of warm, blowy twi­light, and by the inter­val, the leaves above blew about mys­te­ri­ous­ly, caus­ing Avery to tweak me by the elbow and say, “Look up, just look up…”

The per­form­ers were on fire! John says he enjoyed the per­for­mance almost more than any­thing else he’s been to that he can remem­ber. What stood out for me was the IMME­DI­A­CY and moder­ni­ty of the play: old Renais­sance cos­tumes and swings dan­gling from orange trees notwith­stand­ing, the play felt fresh. I thought, “Here in Eng­land, Shake­speare just… lives. Right along­side us all, his words still being breathed and laughed at and delight­ed in.” It’s one of the joys of liv­ing here. Shake­speare: just one of us.

The sheer­est delight of all the evening was the per­for­mance of the con­sta­ble: at first com­plete­ly sub­tle so that no one noticed him, and then he emerged as the most mag­nif­i­cent Mr Mala­prop­ism of all time. I am far too igno­rant to know if his lines were orig­i­nal to the play, but he was hilar­i­ous. When he brings forth the cul­prits of the great decep­tion, he says grave­ly, “We have com­pre­hend­ed some most aus­pi­cious characters…”

And lat­er, in indig­na­tion, “You have not… sus­pect­ed… my rank! You have not sus­pect­ed my… age!” And here he held up an old-age-pen­sion­er’s Oys­ter card, the card we use to get around the Tube! Just priceless.

Well, we can’t go to the the­atre every night, but we’ve tried our best, and good edu­ca­tion­al bits for Avery, whose exams at school began today. Per­haps for her relax­ation we could get her inter­est­ed in our lat­est fad: bowls in our local Raven­scourt Park. You would just shake your head at the cast of char­ac­ters: John and I agreed that any French game of boules, of Ital­ian of boc­ce, will boast the very same peo­ple, just speak­ing anoth­er lan­guage. Two supreme­ly skin­ny fel­lows smok­ing mad­ly, with very few teeth, presided over by a very short but very LARGE lady, moth­er­ly and car­ing. “Just you come with me, dearies, and we’ll set up all, right enough.” We were giv­en hand-size tests with the utmost sin­cer­i­ty (I am com­plete­ly aver­age, “for a lady, that is,” but John won out as “the largest ball we can give you.” Of course he did).

Down to the man­i­cured lawn, with our “woods,” the balls them­selves, and the “jacks,” the lit­tle mark­er balls, all in white. And mats to stand upon, mind you. We had some rare begin­ner’s luck where the balls, with their slight­ly asym­met­ri­cal for­ma­tion, spun the way we told them to. Then all hell broke loose and our balls ven­tured onto oth­er peo­ple’s areas. Sor­ry, sor­ry, sor­ry! But the sun shone, the sky was blue, Avery was hap­pi­ly ensconced in the play­ground near­by (there­by post­pon­ing the answer to my ques­tion the day before, “How long before she is too old to enjoy a play­ground?”). We shall return, which we report­ed to the Two Skin­nies and The Large Lady. “We’ll see you around then, any time,” they chorused.

Tonight was a new for­ay into fish for us: I can’t think of the last time we cooked tuna, but I went to the super­mar­ket hun­gry and with the express inten­tion of being inspired by what looked good. And the tuna did. So against the back­ground of the com­fort­ing sounds of Avery and Emi­ly’s vocif­er­ous “revis­ing” for their exams (I bet not) and John argu­ing with the Tax Man on the phone, and the cats growl­ing at vis­i­tor Char­lie from next door, I produced:

Spicy Grilled Tuna
(serves about 6)

8 tuna steaks, about 1 inch thick
1 large bunch fresh cilantro
2 large red chill­ies, deseed­ed and fine­ly sliced
4 shal­lots, fine­ly sliced
Grat­ed zest and juice of 3 limes
4 cloves gar­lic, crushed
1 stalk lemon grass, fine­ly minced
4 tbsp soy dsauce
2 tbsp olive oil

Mix all the mari­nade ingre­di­ents and smear them onto the tuna steaks with your hands. Set aside for 20 minutes.

Heat your grill to medi­um-hot and grill on each side for 3 minutes.

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With these we had cous­cous with sauteed gar­lic, shal­lots, mush­rooms, pep­pers and sausage. Very cred­it crunchy and also… delicious.

Right. I’ve promised myself an ear­ly night. Tomor­row I’m babysit­ting as John goes to a fundrais­er for the bur­sary at Avery’s school. I can’t think of the last evening Avery and I had with­out him, more’s the joy. What to cook…?