Bombe Fromage

Tonight, we had cauliflower cheese for dinner. I’d been to Norwich for lunch and then straight back for a meeting and I didn’t feel like anything inventive or strenuous, or even meaty.

I cooked the cauliflower whole, although I criss-crossed the base to speed up the cooking a bit.

Ro came into the kitchen to enquire about the progess of dinner. He peered in the pan. “Oh I say. Is this the latest fashion?” (I usually cut a cauliflower up, for then it cooks faster) “I couldn’t be bothered to chop it up,” I replied, with dignity. “Fair enough. What’s that pile of cheese for?” “To put on top and melt in the oven. And to eat while the rest of the meal is cooking.”

I put a pile of pasta and halved grilled tomatoes in a dish, plonked the cauliflower on top and poured on the cheese sauce. I sprinkled on the grated cheese. He chuckled. “I bet you’ll take a picture and blog about it next. What are you going to call it then?”

I laughed too. “Looks like a Bombe Surprise!”

“Call it Bombe Fromage*,” he suggested. So I did.

During dinner, the Sage was talking about someone we knew years ago – I remembered her name for him. “Her husband ran Yarmouth Stores, didn’t he?” I was a bit surprised. “Isn’t he a surveyor or something. Where is Yarmouth Stores, anyway?” “Er, in Yarmouth?” said the Sage, kindly. Ro nearly fell off his chair for laughing and choking on his delicious Bombe Fromage.

I will tell you about my day in London, which was Lovely, but I’m still really tired and I wouldn’t do it justice.

*He says that it reminded him of Bon Voyage. But I don’t see that having any possible relevance.

7 comments on “Bombe Fromage

  1. Z

    Oi, don’t you start, Jen!

    No, I didn’t take a picture and now it’s all eaten, except for a little leftover pasta which the chickens will have for breakfast.

    Nothing wasted in this house.

  2. Z

    I’m just so bloody easy to tease. I’m actually starting to feel guilty that I didn’t take a photo of a cheesy cauliflower!

    It was a local cauliflower, too.

  3. martin

    Don’t let the met police hear you are making “Bombe Fromage” out there in the country. There will be two hundred armed police crashing in at three in the morning !. Good job you did not take a picture, no evidence………… just hear say.

  4. Z

    Blimey, it’s like that Roald Dahl story where the wife hit her husband over the head with a frozen leg of lamb and then cooked the evidence and fed it to the policemen, isn’t it. Thank goodness we ate it all (except the bit that the chickens are tucking into Right Now).

    Thanks Martin. A narrow escape there.


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