We had our first dinner party here last night. Mark Lister, client/colleague/neighbor and his amazing partner & bag maker, Kat came to our wee (I am scottish now and can say that to fit in) flat for Saturday night supper.
Well it wasn't as much of a dinner party as dinner and some rocking 80s trivial pursuit, which I was all too excited to play, until I realized it was the British version. I barely knew about my own rock idols and political scandals in the US when I was 15, less having any awareness of overseas issues. I was a miserable failure. But we laughed and they asked my all the 'obvious' ones that I 'should' get. Um. Not so much.
But we christened the occasion with the Jamie Oliver Italy cookbook -- making 100% new things that enabled us to buy ingredients from all our local purveyors -- Edinburgh farmers market for 3 variety of cherry tomato, Crombies, the butcher for pork loin and Italian sausages, Valvona and Corolla for expensive buffalo mozzarella and Parmesan and linguini and amazing and annoyingly dear Amalfi lemons, ciabiatta, and the Sicilian bakery for creamy cannoli type smattering of desserts. Wine was drunk. As was decaf and port. We dabbled in Scattegories, my all time fav game. I am not even fun I like it so much. And ended the night with some hilariously bad charades.
It was a smashing fun night. Especially not to go anywhere except down the ball to bed when it is over. Which brings me to my title. The washing up. We have managed to jointly ignore the entire pile of glasses, cookware, splatterings, colanders, wrappers, plates, bottles and mess the entire day and just turned out attention instead to the TV. All day. Great unwashed humans and kitchen.
It has been a lovely 24 hours.
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