My dad was short of stature and had a ruddy complexion, helped along – no doubt – by his love of brandy and Coke. He was also partial to peri peri sauce and we always had a little bottle of the red stuff on the dinner table. A particularly good concoction earned my dad’s greatest praise and was labeled a ‘bastard’. I recall one night at supper, when one of my siblings wanted to add some zing to the meal and asked my mom “Where’s the little red bastard?” I got the short end of the stick and replied that he was away on business. It became a standing family joke that my dad, God bless him, took very well.
I’ve discovered a new product that would have invoked a howl of ecstatic agony from my dear old dad; this is a product to raise anyone’s hair on end. My recent chicken and pasta salad was positively wicked and a ginger beer and strawberry cooler was called for to render things bearable. It made me wonder – rather darkly – if anyone living alone has ever died from hot chili sauce.
I was hard-pressed to catch my breath and sweated for about an hour after eating.
My friend Paula has requested my recipe for ginger beer and I must ‘fess up that it’s a filched one. That Jamie lad gave it to me, although he doesn’t know he did:
I’m not going to be found guilty of plagiarism, so here is the link. It’s a sure win in these hot, hot, hot days of summer.
Speaking of summer and chicken, I’ve been hard-pressed to restrain myself from joining my colleagues in their daily consumption of take-away foods. I have succumbed on a few occasions and there was mass disbelief, until photographic evidence emerged…