Cold Comfort

"I have decided..." I said to The Husband last night, "...to ignore your advice."

"Oh" he said, without looking up from the newspaper. (Anyone would think he might have heard it before).
"Yes, I am going to turn the volume up on the fridge and see what happens."
"Righto" he said.

Some days before, I had complained to The Husband that the fridge did not seem to be Working Properly as it felt too warm.
"What temperature is it set at?" asked The Husband, "Maybe you just need to turn it down a bit."
Well, I have always regarded the fridge a little bit like my radio - in that it is Modern Technology and therefore beyond both my sphere of knowledge and of interest. They do share, however, a dial - which makes them do more of the thing they are supposed to do if the arrow points to the big numbers, and less of the thing they are supposed to do when the arrow is moved to the small numbers. Easy. The radio transmits more of The Archers if you turn the dial up, that is, it gets louder. So it follows then that the fridge will refridgerate more if you turn the dial up, that is it will get colder. If you turn the dial up. Obviously.

But No. Apparently Not. According to The Husband, who is a man and therefore genetically programmed to understand Modern Technology, it is in fact entirely the opposite. The fridge will actually get hotter if you turn the dial up.
"Like the oven?" I suggest hopefully.
"Like the oven" agrees The Husband.
"Not like the radio then?" I want to clarify the situation.

Before we go away for the weekend, I hear on the radio (which I turned up) that a Heatwave Warning has been issued by the Met Office in conjunction with the NHS. I decide that the fridge will need a little help during the hot weather and therefore I should turn the temperature down even further. Following The Husband's advice about Which Way To Turn, I twist the dial right down as low as it is possible to go, and we leave the house.

Anyway. We return home to discover that the fridge is indeed more like a radio than an oven, and that turning the volume down renders the fridge a mere cupboard (albeit one with a handy little light that comes on when you open the door). Not the thing for storing your perishable comestibles in during a Heatwave.

____________________________________________

It has been a busy few weeks. First we had the outlaws - The Husband's parents made their annual pilgrimage to check up on their grandchildren and I was faced with the usual dilemma. They are not foodie types and somewhat traditional in their tastes, and he is a retired Vicar. Not that that should make the slightest difference to what we might have for dinner. Their previous vist had seen me serve up Venison in Chocolate which provoked not a single approbatory comment, but a discussion about the culinary value of Butternut Squash (apparently there is none). With hindsight, perhaps the menu was a little too... sexy? On their way back home they had stopped by the Covered Market in Oxford to buy tripe.

So this time I played safe and went for fish, but done my way. Pan-fried Cod with Black Pudding, on a salad of Green Beans, Baby Spinach, Pancetta and Pine Nuts with a Honey and Mustard Dressing, served with New Potatoes and a Lemon and Parsley Cream. Once again, the silence was deafening. I was starting to think I had Got It All Wrong and that I am, in fact, Unable To Cook.


The following day I thought that perhaps a change of scenery might do it, so decided that we should eat in the garden. One of my female relatives had decided this was also the occasion on which we were to meet her New Boyfriend, who it turns out is a Lay Chaplain. So now I have two Men of the Cloth to fix a suitable al fresco lunch for. Quick Pissaladiere, with Olive Bread, Cheeses, my Autumn Chutney, Roasted Red Peppers with Feta and Pine Nuts, Fresh Pomodorino Tomatoes with Basil, and a Herb Salad seemed appropriate. Pudding was Apricot and Ricotta Almond Cake with fresh Strawberries and Raspberries and a Lemon Curd Cream. Oh, and some Homemade Lemonade. Well, it seems this new vicar is a man of Some Appetite. He, at least, was quite vocal in his appreciation and even came back for seconds. Bless you, Father.

It was a Holy couple of days, as we were due to attend a christening the next day. Needless to say, we were late, which was not a good start, but it was the Christening Present that caused me the most anguish. What does an old heathen like me give as a Christening Present? I want to show appropriate respect to the parent's wish to baptise their child into their religion of choice and I want to communicate my support for their decision without being a hypocrite - so it won't be a trip to the leather-bound bible shop then... In fact the only thing that seemed in anyway suitable, that I could find in the half-an-hour I had free between making the anchoiade for the pissaladiere, and squeezing sixteen lemons for the two vicars, was a fluffy pink pig. Oh dear. It was not meant in any way as a subversive comment at all. Honestly.

Number 3 has just filled up the hoover with orange squash.