We are so lucky living in a village. Most of our friends, like us, live in their bubbles which makes us a whole lot safer. Not only that, but as the age cohorts open up, more and more of our circle will be doing that thing.
I digress. As usual.
A few weeks ago at our local, and which our friend runs, she asked what we were having for supper.
Let me explain: after kitchen Friday, I insist on escaping for an hour or so to the local and then it's home for supper.
Back to that evening. It was chicken pie.
"Does yours have mushroom in it?"
"No, not necessarily."
"Next time, please make one for me, I'll buy one. I love chicken pie and they always have mushroom in them."
It was a deal. She's allergic to mishrooms and she also knows that my chicken pies are made with leftover chicken from a roast.
Menu for the week sorted, I checked if she was in. She was.
Then it dawned on me that we are in lockdown. Her pub is closed. That's really bad. But I decided that instead of delivering the pie, we should do Friday around our table. With chicken pie.
An odd combination for cheer and the last of the iceberg roses before they are pruned.
So, we did chicken pie. With her new beau who is also allergic to mushrooms. Who would have thought?
Had I delivered it either to her home or to the pub, money would have changed hands. How much more pleasure, and fun, giving and sharing time and catching up around our table.
At the end of kitchen having produced the usual buns and Thai style roasted red sweet potato and lentil soup.
While lockdown is economically devastating for us all, we agreed that last evening was not just overdue, but a little silver lining.
We hope that lockdown is not tightened. We are kind of resigned to another week. At least.
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post Script
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