Hello

Well, where to begin? I know! I saw "X-Men First Class" last night, and came home with a hankering for dry martinis, brutal scotch ( for full effect drunk whilst affecting the look of swilling iced tea-i know it probably is iced tea- movie props and all- but damn, who doesn't want to look that cool draining the hard stuff!), and rare fillet mignon. Obviously a day of getting up and standing on a rugby field whilst looking semi-interested ( I make no claims to love anything other than my children- not their chosen forms of fun, I don't play pokemon either, but no-one expects me to fake THAT) got in the way slightly of immediate gratification; oh ok, one martini, dirty, but apart from that, I was sooo good. But today was another day. Dinner began with the appropriate frozen gin, with a drop of bitters, I have a vermouth bottle, and I stand the fellas together from time to time but that is the extent of their relationship. So then steak, and I am willing to eat it, but not mistreat it so spent petrol money on a beautiful aged steak, the rest on a bare handful of rocket. Came home and cooked - without complaint-obliged roast chicken( a dear love, but ...later, Spoilers!!) for children. Then when the whole house quiet, and sleeping and not even vermin dared stir, came the steak. Martini in hand, I oiled it lightly, peppered it with freshly cracked pearly, yet wizened, ebony grains, applied Maldon with my usual heavy hand - apparently stress means you can't taste either salt or sugar correctly, I can only conclude with my absolutely normal blood pressure and high desire for Maldon, bordering on jonesing and slight panic if I am in a restaurant and cannot see salt, to mean I may be under some firmly placed denial about stress levels. Then I seared that slab of burgundy meat, 2 mins each side, on a pan so hot Hades himself would have been in some discomfort, then left the beautiful caramelised meat in its pan at the back of the stove whilst I made Bearnaise sauce. My sporty- well sporting at least- children had cubed the butter earlier, everything was ready , I could see my steak, smell it, plus, goaded on by my martini, I knew failure was not an option. Sometimes the fear of failure- mixed with greed and a sense of "C'mon, how much could go wrong???'- is what aids success.  Over simmering water, i took the vinegar and herb reduction, added the organic egg yolks, salt, pepper ( if after all we can do nothing else in the battle to not be disgusting abusers of the planet and all our fellow inhabitants, accept this: Battery Eggs are NOT AN OPTION), and began to whisk in the butter, each time thinking, " oh dear Lord do not scramble, or curdle, or" ( sipped martini, imagined Michael Fassbender awaiting dinner and ...moving on). And you know, it was wonderful. the rocket cradled the steak, the bearnaise anointed the meat with a silky piquant creaminess. Short of a sharp dressed mutant ( or two) and a body that could eat this and live partially in lingerie, life was for a short time wonderful. And when that feeling briefly eased I mixed another martini until it returned to wondrousness.
 I won't always be this exciting or happy, but hell who is? I want to reflect a love of food and life always, even when my circumstances do their damnest to detract from joy in every moment, lets strive for joy in some, comfort in all, and at least sustenance until we are back on form from all others. Looking forward to checking in with all of you.