Saturday rained and showered and poured, and the winds howled and blowed and roared. Apart from working out in the morning I spent the day, much to Rosie Lee's delight, sitting on the sofa, covered with a fluffy throw, watching movies and reading. Rosie Lee sat on top of me the whole time, under the throw. And in the evening I went to Bill and Jen's Epiphany Party. Not wanting to hoist the big Sony camera around in the damp outdoors and having destroyed my small Canon, the iPhone had to be responsible for images, and poor they are...
I had made a huge apple pie, the filling was thick slices soaked in brandy and the pastry was loaded with plenty of Irish butter. I'd also taken 2 cans of Ambrosia Devon Custard, but was rather hopeful that one of them would accompany me back home, since I've discovered most Americans haven't latched on to this delicious dessert, and also because it's $5 a can.
It was dark and dreary when I arrived at the party house, hundreds of white Christmas lights brightly gleaming around the porch, and thankfully the rain had stopped. I deposited my offerings of pie, custard and beer in the kitchen, hugged hello's to guests and then trudged, or rather squelched, my way over to the abandoned Log House, where Bill and a few friends were gathered around the hearth upon which three large cauldrons of beef stew were bubbling and emitting a mouth watering aroma. We chatted and chugged on bottles of beer while we pondered on how we'd get the three pots of stew to the main house. I held a flashlight and shone the way while Chris walked behind me with one large black bubbling pot held aloft on a plank of wood. I don't know how the other two pots made it to the kitchen as I got waylaid by tempting dishes that had appeared in the dining room along with more guests.
The beef stew was amazing, I had a huge bowl. The meat fell apart as I scooped up mouthfuls of gravy and carrots. I really wanted to eat straight from the cauldron and wave away any other interested parties, I wanted it all for myself, it was that good. Luckily for the other guests my good manners won the day and I reluctantly backed away once my bowl was filled, and found some crusty French bread to dunk in that tasty herby gravy. And then I discovered another delicious delight. The scent of pears had been wafting across to me and I'd tracked it down to a bottle on the table with undecipherable writing. But there was an empty glass before it and feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland I poured myself a tot and sipped. And then gulped. This stuff was incredible! Thank God it wasn't that magic diminishing potion or I would never have been able to reach for a second pour. This was a pear brandy that Jen had made from the pears in their back garden. I had amazing stew in one hand and delectable brandy in the other, I was in heaven! Thankfully these wonderful hosts readily gave up both recipes during the evening to any who wanted them. And I actually ended up giving out my apple pie recipe to a few folks also, since I'd had so many compliments. I had rather hoped that since it was so big I'd be able to sneak a piece to take back home but no such luck. It all went, with Jen snatching the last piece because Bill hadn't had any yet, so of course I wasn't going to argue with that. But I did take home the second can of custard. As suspected the first can had barely been touched, so the remaining can was all mine.
Outside Bill and a friend were preparing for the annual Panettone Toss. I had no idea what this would entail but was curious to see torches were being lit with a strange metal grid in between them. A huge fire was blazing, which gave off welcome heat, it was so cold, with winds picking up. The ground was sodden from the heavy rains we'd been getting and I could feel my feet were getting wet.
Lighting the torch with a flame equivalent to a lighter wasn't working but Bill's flame thrower soon had them flickering brightly. The scene reminded me of something from Game of Thrones and I fully expected to hear the clang of swords clashing at any time.
The panettones were small bread like round cakes in which we stuck a glowstick, simply so it could be seen in the dark. There were a few of these and we reused them as often as we could. The idea was to hurl the panettone at the metal grid using a lacrosse styled stick. If you managed to hit the grid, the impact would set a curtain of sparks to fall from the torches and you would be a winner. Most of us failed abysmally at this. The glowsticks were particularly useful as these little cakes bounced like rubber when they hit the ground, so we were constantly running after them. Admittedly I only had one go, but I was too cold to push for another shot and the kids seemed to be enjoying themselves too much for me to butt in. Jen, who was by now, thoroughly warmed up with her pear liquor, managed to hit the grid first time, but I wasn't sure if this was due to her practicing all afternoon or the 'loosening of limbs' effect from her wonderful beverage. It was very cold out there and I had stiffened up considerably, while my poor feet seemed glued in place. I tugged my boots from the sodden grass with loud sucking noises and warmed my hands at the fire, which the winds had fanned causing huge flames to lick upwards and sparks to sprinkle about us.
Most of the others had by now also congregated by the fire which was putting out an extremely welcome heat. Bill handed out sparklers that we all busily waved about. I stood and sniffed, not from the cold but from that lovely sulphuric scent that comes from sparklers or matches. It wasn't long before people slowly sidled out of view and scuttled back to the warm house, to begin another devouring of the food. The panettones were abandoned on the grass and would become breakfast for the crows, who Jen said, would wake her up in the morning with their excited, 'Caw, caw caw!!' cries. I did spot Bill munching on one but never tried one myself. I snacked on a few more dishes myself before I realized how late it was, and then drove home, an empty pie plate beside me and one full can of Ambrosia Devon Custard.
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