The country kitchen

There are two things I abhor: travel logs and recipes.  The reason?  They both inevitably dwell tarsomly upon the cause not the effect.  When it comes to globetrotting and tucking in I’d much prefer to hear what happened than how.  Accordingly I shall spare you, my dear reader, a repetition of the formula of last night’s meal other than to say, first, it was superb; and, second, it was pork tenderloin médaillons with mixed green salad and local baby potatoes.

The simple matter of local baby potatoes wistfully recalled to chef his family’s cold storage room where were housed the root vegetables and homemade preserves. Yesterday morning when preparing for last night’s dinner, he had by contrast searched the shelves of the local grocery store. It is yet another mark of the merit of parochial living that we’re spoiled with such plentiful and desirable local stockpiles. By coincidence while waiting in the car, I spoke with a gentleman who is a long-time worker at the grocery store.  He and his wife were also doing Sunday morning shopping there, testimony to the strength of the place.

As with so many successes, the meal was punctuated by the buzz of the entire day. It was a magnificent wintry day, clear azure sky and moderately cold temperature. Significantly the roads were dry – an immediate invitation for a bicycle ride. Late in the afternoon, as the dazzling sunshine was making its way to the western horizon, we launched onto the residential roadways on our trustee Electras.  We were joined in our outing by several other congregations of walkers, couples and families who were likewise intent upon exercise and the clarity of the day.

Thus energized by the fresh air and vitamin D (a tolerable alternative to Sunday morning worship service) we enthusiastically commenced the evening repast, beginning with smoked salmon on celery sticks. The end result of the complete meal was utter satisfaction! There is little that challenges the depth of a fine visit to the trough!