Husband and I had lunch in Surry Hills yesterday. It was another world. There were all these leggy girls wandering around with white mascara (bizarre new beauty trend?) and orange fake tans. They looked like aliens. (But were possibly models.) The restaurant was filled with Rococco furniture and garden gnomes. People were drinking Mumm champagne, laughing merrily over their crab sandwiches and pate. They didn’t seem bothered by the white collar recession or the imminent collapse of the European economy. Husband drank two glasses of wine, I drank two glasses of Diet Coke & vodka. The world quickly felt much safer and happier. We joined the blithe crowd, snacking on fried whitebait as Rome burned. After lunch, we wandered into a fancy schmancy food store, where Husband grabbed a small packet of $14 granola. Reality returned with a jolt (not really, I just love stirring Husband): “Hello? Earth calling Husband? Haven’t you been banging on about selling the house and hiding the money under the bed because we’re all doooooooomed …?” He ignored me and added it to the shopping basket with my virtuous bulb of ginger and lone red chilli (missing ingredients for my mango pickle recipe). We drove to pick the Sprogs up from school, while I extolled the virtues of Diet Coke and vodka for lunch. No fugginess, no hangover, cheery demeanor. Husband said I should try it more often. I said no, than would be alcoholism. Though, I must admit, the thought crosses my mind with disturbing regularity on these hot, exhausting spring afternoons. Husband gave me a hard time about putting the tip of my finger in my mouth while asking the nice, young waiter for my second Diet Coke & vodka. Like it was some kind of come on. Like the waiter was going to be seduced by the middle-aged redhead. About as likely as me agreeing to sell the house and hide the money under the bed, ie ridiculous.
PS Last night I dreamed a nasty man grabbed a handful of my tummy flobble and leer-jeered at me. I think it was my sub-conscious telling me it’s TIME. Diet starts again Monday. No more fried whitebait for me.
TONIGHT’S MENU: Leftover spag bol. But the lamb racks with mango pickle were quite yummy last night, so I’m including the recipe. I served the mango pickle – it wasn’t too hard to make after all – and curry sauce in little bowls for the Spogs to dabble roti bread in, which kept their main plates uncomplicated, just rice, cutlets and veg. It’s another old Gourmet Traveller recipe, slightly modified:
Enough lamb racks for 2/3 cutlets for each little/big person; 1 tablespoon softened butter; 1 tablespoon cumin powder; 1-2 tbs rogan josh curry paste; 400ml coconut milk; juice 1 lime; basmati rice. FRESH MANGO CHUTNEY: 1kg mangoes, flesh diced; 50g fresh ginger, thinly sliced; 1 long red chilli, seeds removed, thinly sliced; 1 cup cider vinegar; 1 cup caster sugar.
METHOD: Place all mango chutney ingredients in a saucepan, bring to boil, stirring, and simmer for one hour. Place in sterilised jar, keep in fridge for up to one month. Preheat oven to 200C. Place lamb in roasting pan, mix cumin with butter and spread over racks. Roast for 20 minutes. Set aside to rest for 10 minutes while you make gravy. Pour excess fat from roasting pan into a frying pan and place on stove on medium heat. Add curry paste and fry for 30 seconds. Add coconut milk and simmer for five minutes. Add lime juice. Slice lamb into cutlets and serve with rice, gravy and warm roti bread.
housegoeshome 
u cldnt b an alcoholic…. alcoholics go 2 meetings….