Saturday, 4 September 2010

Happy Saturday Seasick Steve

Everyone loves Saturday. Even if you work shifts Saturday remains special. If you're not working, it's a day when most people, including you, can get up late and stumble about the High Street looking a bit scruffy. And this whole non-working day has built to a crescendo.

There was the shopping expedition. There was the trip to the allotment. There was cooking with a G and T with angustura bitters. These make a little sunset in a drink that otherwise looks like sparkling water and ice-cubes. But be careful not to overdo it. Six drops.

This would also just about sum up my approach to food: take a few excellent ingredients and don't bugger them up. Tonight, arguably with the exception of the oven chips, that's what I did. Fruitcake's position was even more radical: accept one excellent ingredient. We wondered what Cho might be getting at her conference, but not for long. I did rare rump, chestnut mushrooms, runner beans off the allotment, and chips. I opened a bottle of Rioja. Pudding was to be the first of the autumn raspberries steeped in a little sugar and a few drops of balsamic vinegar with Greek yoghurt. You might argue that this is not redundancy but the life of the fabled Larry. True enough, though remember it is Saturday.

It all came together. I woke Fruitcake up so that dinner wasn't too much of a shock and also, as he was asleep on the table, so I could serve up. I got Planet Rock on my computer and turned the speakers up. I put Fruitcake's portion on a little dish ready (we have a rule that no-one starts till everyone is sitting down) and put it all on the table. I poured a glass of wine, toasted myself and Planet Rock, and put Fruitcake's little dish on the floor to  the intro of a Seasick Steve number. I love Seasick Steve. He's the most authentic white bluesman there ever was. He has a big white beard, wears denim and a John Deere baseball cap, and has the shittest guitar imaginable. He makes it howl. He makes it sing. He knows about pain, being a drifter, out of luck.

And as I bit into my steak he sang "Happy to Have a Job."

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