Summer lunch

One of my mother's thrown-together lunches. I believe she is incapable of making an unattractive meal. I miss these little sausages, Stateside: chipolatas - little pork bangers. Good with biting-hot mustard.

 

This wine was incredible. I think it has been a year since I tasted Champagne (as opposed to our habitual proseccos and occasional cava, Clairette de Die or Gruner Veltliner - the difference being not just origin, but price, of course!), and at least 16 years since I tasted one this good (a Bollinger in a grassy parking lot in Stellenbosch, a picnic before a Pavarotti concert! - that's when we were told that he flies around with his own wheels of parmesan cheese...You think?). Anyway, this was a Pol Roger - non vintage, but still a reserve, and my father cannot remember when exactly he bought it, which is the problem with a NV. He thinks about six years ago. And that is what makes delicious champagne, I think: the edges go soft and smooth, wrapping themselves around a velvety, effervescent heart, and it slides down like cool happiness.

Sigh.

Local radishes are super-peppery.

 

And the herbs are from the garden. Chives (two kinds), basil and parsley.

In other food news, I am planning a menu for Saturday 's lunch under tree, where I feed bloggers, cousins and friends and a tired husband (whom I can't WAIT to see) and it is beginning to take shape, now that I've see what looks good in the shops. There are delicious, ripe apricots, white peaches and nectarines. Came home with lots of yellow peppers and gorgeous purple and green artichokes. Still looking for very small chickens and quail eggs (!). Bought a sackful of passion fruit, bars of black chocolate, powdered almonds, and too much cream. 

Tomorrow my dad and I are going riding near Paarl, on a wine farm belonging to a friend and colleague of his. I must rise at 5am. We ride at 7 to avoid the predicted heat. Oh dear. But I've reached the point at last where I realize that memories of actual experiences are far more valuable than memories of sleep. I am not a natural morning person.

But I do have Illy. Perhaps my horse would like some, too.

Oh, and there is roast lamb, next door at 66 Square Feet (the Food).