|Please note, we didn't eat the plate rack|
|Daughter OS prepares mise en scene|
There are takeaways and there are super-takeaways. This was one of the latter.
A celebration for all the family which meant grandson Zach had to sleep in my study. He’s used to it.
Super-takeaways are characterised by their elaborate and highly individual packaging which ensures every grain of rice, every spare-rib (huge in this case) and every container of highly varied sauce arrived unharmed. The theme was Mexican but upper-middle-class Mex if that makes sense.
Why a takeaway given there are at least three Grade One cooks in the family? Simply because there was a good deal of champagne to be got through before we ate and we wanted no one scrabbling in the kitchen as the corks popped. Also, this meal was a genuine multi-course bargain: £20 a head. That wouldn’t get you very far in most decent restaurants these days. We’ d have spent more if it had been necessary but it just wasn’t.
We are a family of mixed preferences (two are veggies) and yet every container was scraped bare. The quality of the food demanded I explored the extremities of my wine cellar. Two bottles of red cost £34.50 each, but what the hell?
The last participant went to bed at 3 am. I fell asleep listening to their murmuring. Something about a strimmer, I think.