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.