So, don’t you think the answer to that question simply defines people? I always want the bad news first and then I can’t hear the good news by the time I get it, which tells you a lot about me.
Hmm, since I don’t know your answer I’ll go for my system: we have no heat or hot water! No, your cursor didn’t accidentally send you back to last week, or to last month. Nope, it’s happened again. But let’s skip right from that and the fact that I am completely sweaty and stinky from shelving all my books, and Avery’s hands are beyond inky, but no one can take a bath. Really, we’ll skip right from that to the good news which is… which is… see? I can’t remember. No, now I do: my bookshelves are filled! The flip side of that is the fact that there is still a box of my books to be shelved, plus four boxes of Avery’s books. I think the only solution is a quick trip to John Lewis over the weekend and see what we can just take home with us…
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Have you ever gutted a lemon sole? It’s very off-putting and icky. However, all the slaving did result in an incredibly tasty dish that also marked a milestone in our domestic sphere: John ate fish! Next time, though, I will ask the fishmonger to fillet the little guys for me because I was really out of my depth. The recipe came from Mitchell Tonks’s fabulous cookbook “The Fishmonger’s Cookbook,” so in all fairness I went to his fish shop (doesn’t he look incredibly cheery?), “FishWorks” in the Marylebone High Street where I had such a memorable lunch early on in our stay here, to get the fish. Unhappily I left this task until after I picked Avery up from school, so she had to come along, and she was not happy at the fishy smell, nor at the sight of the many different whole fishes, a little too up close and personal for her refined tastes.
So the recipe called for dredging the fish in flour, shaking off the excess, and frying it gently in lots of butter, about 6 minutes per side, then you take the fish out of the frying…
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