I’ve got so many ex-hummus pots in the fridge harbouring fritters, left-overs, fritters, baked beans, fritters, cold potatoes, fritters again that finding the one that has hummus in it is like Edgar Allen Poe’s Purloined Letter.
The builders were supposed to be coming tomorrow to do the tiling in my kitchen. Back in 2016 I had a new kitchen fitted and the guy who did a great job on the floor tiles was not around to do the ones on the walls. The result was amateur, so they’re going to be redone. One day. I think I have had four dates so far for this work. To be fair, I dodged out of one of them, the builder had the ‘flu for another, but it is beginning to feel like the cleaning of the Augean stables, a job that’s never finished. But until it is I can’t contact Tony the painter to begin the other less well known Herculean task of repainting the flat.
Knowing I would have limited access to the kitchen the builder was in situ I prepared a few batches of fritters, and planned to have ready prepared boxes of salad in the fridge so I could grab and run, whether it was off to work or just to the sitting room. I can still grab and run, but the need, shall we say, is less pressing. This is the Fritter Front. Noting my new culinary obsession Celia suggested I might end up publishing a cook book. I’m not sure how much of a market there is for vegan fritters made with a rather casual respect for measurements and ingredients. I suppose if I wrote each recipe down as I made it there might be some mileage. I was brooding on this while surveying my ranks of ex-hummus pots.
How about fritters created with specific authors, novels, or even films in mind? Fritterati. Descriptions in novels of wines, tablecloths, salads and condiments could provide the setting for each ground bean based offering. Beignets Proustians à la recherche de pois cassés perdus; Lentil fritters au John Ruskin; Apeacolypse Now. It could be fun. It could earn money!
Yet again my lottery ticket investment has failed to result in huge wealth, or any wealth at all, not even a free lucky dip for the next draw. A visit to the Destinations Show at the weekend increased my appetite for all things New Zealand but brought home how expensive it will be. At the minute I’m veering towards the sod it, you only live once, spend the money attitude, but my middle name should be Frugal, The Most Annoying Neighbour has been flexing her annoyingness again, and moving home has once more an enormous appeal.
So call me the Fritter Queen, not quite as immediately alluring as Abba’s Dancing Queen, but ultimately every bit as satisfying. Probably more. And from here, a lot of fun. Pre-order now for Christmas!