May Bank holiday and the smell of freshly lit barbecues hangs in the air. A million expectant sausages line up pink and chubby for the official start of the barbecue season.
Charcoal...check. Pile of decadent meaty delights...check. Eager friends without gardens...check. More booze than you can shake a drumstick at...check, check, check.
All is looking good for Mister Chief and myself to entertain with the help of our spanking new kit. Nearly all that is, until we spark up the barbecue and bang on cue, the rain begins to fall.
Still, we are British and we're certainly not going to let a little drizzle get between us and our programme of bank holiday fun and games.
So having eaten too many crisps and dips whilst Mister Chief does his thing (under the cover of my natty floral umbrella), I dutifully prepare the salad-y antidote to the meat feast. The tomato, parsley and caper salad turned out rather well. Sweet and sharp, a delicious accompaniment to the homemade burgers... The guests turned up a little late having waited for a break in the downpour to dash down the road. The bowls of crisps now somewhat depleted from my "testing" of the dips.
As we wait for the barbecue to reach the perfect cooking temperature, we start on the chilled Muscatel, but by the time the food is charred to perfection, the wine has taken the edge of our appetites somewhat. Undeterred, we make our way through the mounds of garlicky beef-burgers, spicy sausages (well done HG Walter of Barons Court) and we (even the boys) manage a smattering of the salads.
The leftovers have to be hidden away to allow space for to lounge and digest, and a game is mooted to prevent post-prandial lethargy.
About 15 rounds of pub quiz ensue, accompanied by about 15 bottles of wine. By the end of the evening the assembled party has been well fed, well challenged and well pickled. We all agree that we are no worse off for the inclement weather.
Mister Chief and I have a small nightcap and head to bed with the comforting prospect of a whole Monday morning in bed with the Sunday papers.
Charcoal...check. Pile of decadent meaty delights...check. Eager friends without gardens...check. More booze than you can shake a drumstick at...check, check, check.
All is looking good for Mister Chief and myself to entertain with the help of our spanking new kit. Nearly all that is, until we spark up the barbecue and bang on cue, the rain begins to fall.
Still, we are British and we're certainly not going to let a little drizzle get between us and our programme of bank holiday fun and games.
So having eaten too many crisps and dips whilst Mister Chief does his thing (under the cover of my natty floral umbrella), I dutifully prepare the salad-y antidote to the meat feast. The tomato, parsley and caper salad turned out rather well. Sweet and sharp, a delicious accompaniment to the homemade burgers... The guests turned up a little late having waited for a break in the downpour to dash down the road. The bowls of crisps now somewhat depleted from my "testing" of the dips.
As we wait for the barbecue to reach the perfect cooking temperature, we start on the chilled Muscatel, but by the time the food is charred to perfection, the wine has taken the edge of our appetites somewhat. Undeterred, we make our way through the mounds of garlicky beef-burgers, spicy sausages (well done HG Walter of Barons Court) and we (even the boys) manage a smattering of the salads.
The leftovers have to be hidden away to allow space for to lounge and digest, and a game is mooted to prevent post-prandial lethargy.
About 15 rounds of pub quiz ensue, accompanied by about 15 bottles of wine. By the end of the evening the assembled party has been well fed, well challenged and well pickled. We all agree that we are no worse off for the inclement weather.
Mister Chief and I have a small nightcap and head to bed with the comforting prospect of a whole Monday morning in bed with the Sunday papers.
