2007

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Mrs. Monk's Would-be Diary, should have been written by Mrs. Monk, since she is the "Writer" in the family.
However, since she is a writer only in the conceptual sense, I have undertaken to fill these pages on her behalf.
If not by her, these pages will certainly be about her, and other important matters of the day

Leslie Monk

 

Mrs Monk’s Would-Be Diary .........

Dancing Daffodils and Regurgitated Ostrich

18 March 2007 Cuisine

Spring came early last week with record high temperatures, but last night, the north wind did blow and today we were told to expect snow.

We set out from Leigh On Sea in bright sunshine. We were off to the new Monet show at the Royal Academy, which was commendably small in scale after the block-busting excesses normally associated with the Monet franchise.

Lunch at the RA was interesting; last time we were there, Mrs Monk complained to the staff that portions were getting small, prices were going up and the menu was becoming predictable.

Today however, we were offered somethings new, either ham shank or sirloin steak, described on the menu by some strange syntax that implied an “Ostrich Cheese” source.

I chose the ham, and Mrs Monk ordered the steak.

“You like Ostrich?” I asked, aware that she was confused by the menu.

“No way” she said.

She said “no” and then said “yes” and then said “no” and then said “yes” and then lost my interest in what she said.

The ham hock was the largest object I have ever seen on a plate.

The ostrich steak was a new experience, for both of us.

My judgement was that it looked and tasted like beef steak, but over-done. Mrs Monk’s judgement was expressed by regurgitating an unpalatable mouthful, declaring it unfit, and demanding a salad in lieu of big bird steak.

My gargantuan ham left no room for pudding, or the will to live.

But outside in Piccadilly spirits were raised since the St Patrick's Day parade was going by. Mrs Monk joined in the dancing, took these shots, but within 2 or 3 and minutes of this band passing by, an icy sleet fell on us and the parade, and we ran back to the car.

We dove home via Hyde Park where squally winds shook up the early Daffodils making them dance and waive at us as we passed by in the car.

Shoestringonline.co.uk

 

“You like Ostrich?” I asked, aware that she was confused by the menu.

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