Spinach is a wondrous brute in almost any form. But, for it to be enjoyed at its finest, this vegetable with nugatory calorific value as it grows, nekkid, needs blanching, draining, sauteeing in garlic and butter and then amalgamating with a little double cream and some further bubbling. Oh, and nutmeg, of course. So by the time it hits the plate it would fuel a Sumo wrestler and has 0.3% of original vitamins remaining. The iron, such as it is, has probably decided a career repairing a scratched little pan is more interesting than sitting around inside a tender-leafed plant, too…
But boy, oh boy, oh, boy, do I love creamed spinach. And I have it about four times a year. Prudence, that…
If one must suffer in order to be beautiful, is it the case that if one wishes to enjoy rather than suffer, there is some sort of opposite dictum, and if so what is it?
Apart from the eggs, I’m sure it was lovely, dahlink, but it wasn’t creamed spinach. Any spinach is a splendid thing. Never had it when I was a Gusling because the Ma hates it. I have been making up for lost time for a few decades, mind…
But going purple and blotchy and being really unwell and so on - well, it’s kind of exciting, isn’t it, dere Fish?
(probably a bit too exciting, to be honest. But it is a dratted nuisance for you, because they are in so many things)
Carinthia, have as 'Normous a Slammer as you feel is indicated, but please tell me that the wasp referred to above is a theoretical one and that you have not actually been stung this evening.
G xxx
