Food at the Beginning and at the End

I
t is very odd that I start a post with a food item.
It, customarily, is at the end.

But yesterday, Friday, was unique. We had been eating left over Easter barbecued duck, Chinese style, and we needed fish. Well, we had had fish on Wednesday, but we really needed some more. So I offered to pick up some sushi style tuna and make tuna tartare.

The result was magnificent. Delicious, succulent tuna in light soy sauce, sesame oil, toasted sesame seeds, finely chopped green onions (or scallions or spring onions, depending on where you were brought up), grated ginger, lime juice and zest, and, of course, wasabe paste to give it a bit of zing. The mixture, best mixed by hand, set on some lettuce leaves, was enjoyed by My Beloved and me.

In the fridge was a lovely wedge of that royal cheese, Stilton – oh, blue cheese is not too bad, but Stilton is the epitome of cheeses – and along with a bottle of Warre’s Warrior Finest Reserve Port (not the best, but affordable – and in any case, it was a gift from someone, so it didn’t cost me anything), we started on dessert.

However, first things first: a toast to Her Majesty, the Queen.

Oh, yes, my dear readers, one cannot let Stilton slowly melt in your mouth (say that s-l-o-w-l-y and isn’t it aphrodisiacal?) and sip Port without acknowledging a fine British tradition. Way back several centuries ago when Britain truly did rule the waves, the Captain on board a Royal Navy vessel might entertain his officers in his cabin with a meal followed by dessert of Stilton and Port. The rule was that the Captain would pour some Port into his glass first and hand the bottle to his left. That person would then pour into his glass and pass on to his left, all never allowing the bottle to touch the table – or a glass! Imagine that in a rocking ship. But that was why tables were constructed with something like a fixed lazy Susan with holes the size of a wine bottle above the actual table: the bottle could be set in a hole so it would not fall off the table. When the bottle had been around and came back to the Captain, he would set it in the hole, pick up his glass of Port, rise, as would his guests, and toast Her Majesty.

So did your ‘umble scribe and My Beloved.

I remarked earlier on having to eat leftovers of Barbecued Duck. Which brings me to the real item.

I had intended to use an old recipe of mine involving a duck marinated in a Chinese marinade of soy sauce, olive oil, garlic, ginger and some five-spice or anise or some other spice, all of which required an overnight marinating of the duck. However, Friday was Good Friday and, after church, it was not a day, in my opinion, maybe not yours, on which to celebrate and barbecue. So, why not Saturday? Well, because on Easter Sunday we had a sunrise service at church, following which our Men’s Breakfast Group, under my direction, was to provide a real breakfast. That meant getting up at 4.45am in order to be at the church by 5.30am to get things started. The service would end at seven o’clock or soon after and breakfast had to be ready to eat at that time.

Well, after the breakfast, we men had to clean up, dishwash and put tables and chairs away. At 9.30am, I and My Beloved had to be in the choir singing the Lord’s praises and hopefully not fall asleep during the service. After the service, we went home and I was in no mood for barbequing the duck. Besides, it had to be marinated overnight. So, I did prepare the marinade and put duckie in the fridge to suck up the juices and spices.

Which meant we ate the duck on Easter Monday.

Now there was another problem which I had to solve. Two or three years ago, I replaced a barbecue with a new one. But, apparently, I did not give much thought to the purchase. The previous barbecue had an infra-red back burner and a rotisserie on which I had stuck another one or two or three ducks. I had thought the expression ‘hoisted on your own petard’ meant something like that: but I found out that it meant, courtesy and copyright of Grammar Monster, “The term hoisted by one’s own petard means to fall foul of your own deceit or fall into your own trap. This term has its origin in medieval times when a military commander would send forward one of his engineers with a cast-iron container full of gunpowder, called a petard, to blow up a castle gate, obstacle, or bridge. The fuses on these bombs were very unreliable, and sometimes the engineers would be killed when the petards exploded prematurely. The explosion would blow (or hoist) the engineer into the air.” Just like if you turn the propane on and wait too long before igniting it.

Anyway, the new barbecue did not have a back burner nor a rotisserie and of the three I had from previous barbecues, none fitted the current one. So, I had to reimagine the rotisserie and, in fact, it looks nothing like it: simply a duck hoisted on a high rack so heat can circulate.

But it does look good, doesn’t it?

And the finished product looks – and tasted – even better!

So that’s how I ended up starting with a food item and still getting a food item to end the post.

At the moment, as I sign off, it’s pouring with rain – not Port – and I hope you all fare as well with your fare as My Beloved and I do.