Even Arsenal supporters have taste, sometimes

I’ve been forbidden by my husband for talking about the cats. (Which is ironic considering that, at this exact moment, they are shimmying all over him – including an anus in the face [theirs in his, I should clarify], and being rubbed and KISSED in return.)

So, no cats.  I’m afraid that doesn’t leave me with a whole lot to write about. The only thing of any merit I did today was learn a great way to stretch a snag out of a net curtain;  when I say “a” snag, I mean of course about 76, caused by Those Who Shall Not Be Named.  (Stretch the fabric over your knee and scratch laterally.)

Also, I spent a pleasant couple of hours making up statements by Singaporean teenagers for a product a client is selling.  It was always my greatest wish as an office-bound lawyer to have a job (“job”) where I would sit in a coffee shop and make nonsense up;  today I realised that dream.  But then I went home and scooped out shit out of a box, so it sort of mitigated the euphoria somewhat.

The children went to school dressed as tramps for Deepavali (the Indian Festival of Lights).  The school brief was to dress either in traditional Indian attire, or to wear bright colourful clothes.  As the former wasn’t an option because the thought of traipsing around Little India was Just Too Much, off they went looking like drunken Arsenal supporters sleeping rough at an away match.  Almost literally:  the Boy was in the brightest thing I could find in his wardrobe – an Arsenal away shirt (bright yellow, for those of you rightly unfamiliar with such things) and orange cut-off shorts (don’t ask, he LOVES them).  Sadly the Arsenal shirt is (a) too big for him;  (b) falling down at the hem, and (c) unidentifiably and irreversibly stained.  Oh, just to complete the look he was also wearing knee-high soccer socks and a pair of falling-apart trainers.   The Girl meanwhile looked quite pretty in her orange sarong and cute pineapple-print shirt (actually it’s very lovely, tho I admit I have not done a great job describing it.)  She however ruined the ensemble by also wearing a pair of knee-high soccer socks and deep-purple sparkly slip-on shoes. 

Mind you, I spent the day in work-out clothes from Primark, so I am hardly one to judge.

I also concocted a new meal for the kids, as follows.  They groaned and moaned when presented with it, the Girl actually burst out crying and said it was DISGUSTING, but then they tasted it and all swallowed their pride, their words, and their pasta.  Apparently it’s “delicious”, but as I cannot eat anything unless it’s been liquidised – and frankly, things are going to be pretty bad if I start liquidising pasta – I can’t attest to that.  It’s easy as pie (as long as the pie takes ten minutes and involves a bit of cutting up, stirring and pouring) and  super quick.  

Pasta with Salmon in Creamy Lemon Sauce.  With Broccoli.  And Parmesan.

You need (for 4 kids, probably 2 adults):

• Any dried pasta. (I used shells, my rule of thumb for the kids is two handfuls of dried pasta per child)
• A clove of garlic.
• A splash of oil.
• A decent-sized fillet of salmon – a bit larger than you’d normally eat – skinned and cut into dice.  
• A handful of uncooked broccoli spears.
• About 150ml cream (any type, although double works best)
• Juice of ½ lemon
• Salt
• Grated Parmesan, to serve.

Cook the pasta.  Put the broccoli in a small pan of cold water and bring to the boil, then let cook for about 5 minutes – until al dente – then drain.

Meanwhile,  heat the oil (any type EXCEPT COCONUT.  Christ I hate coconut oil. Why is it such a thing at the moment?  I don’t get it.  If you want everything to taste like sun-screen, just add sunscreen to your food) and dice or crush or whatever the garlic into it, stirring it around.

Add the salmon, stirring until opaque, then the broccoli and the cream.  Mix.  Add the lemon juice, and taste to see how much salt you need (if any).

It should be fairly watery – that’s what you want, to coat the pasta properly.  Add the drained pasta, stir well, then portion out, and sprinkle (or completely cover, if you’re serving my children) with parmesan.

Watch them eat it, longingly (the watching, not the eating) while you have your 9^th banana smoothie of the day, making sure not to talk about the CATS.