H and I have had so many busy weekends, whether it’s
travelling or work that the last couple of weekends have been bliss to just
sleep in, enjoy H’s cooked breakfast (or bought one) and then enjoy whatever
the day may bring.
This Saturday we had a friend of H’s coming around for dinner
and I’d been given the briefing that his girlfriend is a 6ft red haired Russian
model. And both are vegetarian.
My first surprise was that a Russian was vegetarian. I
thought that the main staple foods of Russians consisted of meat (goulash) and
potatoes. Maybe she’s over goulash like I’m well over sausages! I ate so many
of those damn things when I was a kid, that unless it’s the gourmet spinach and
pinenut ones I just won’t eat them.
I can’t say that I’ve ever had dinner with a model, let
alone a 6ft red haired Russian model, so my first concern was what to cook.
After spending time with H’s mum this week and reading through the family
Indian cookbooks I decided to cook some Indian curries.
If you’re the slightest bit interested in the menu, here it
is;
Entree : Pappadums and Pakora (with some homemade chutneys)
Main : Bhendi (Okra) curry, Aloo Palak (Spinach and Potato), Gobi (Cauliflower) curry, accompanied with raita, chapati and rice
Dessert : Fresh Fruit and melted Toblerone for dipping
On the day in question and after sorting all the food, I
went to get myself ready. That was when I opened my cupboard to get out some
clothes, and had one of those ‘oh shit’ moments... what the hell do you wear to
a dinner party when you’ve got a 6ft red haired Russian model coming?
Perhaps I should have done that extra gym workout this
morning... or sat in the sauna for a few hours to at least make myself feel a
bit slimmer. But really, what can a 30 something woman do to try and make herself look half decent against a 20 something woman that is a 6ft red haired Russian. No point.
After feeling depressed about my lack of wardrobe (and the fact
that Blighty adds on pounds no matter how much you exercise), I finally settled
on a safe option of casual jeans and a top. However when she walked through the
front door I had omitted to wear any shoes. That was a big no no, as you can
imagine being 5ft something, I looked like a dwarf next to her (and she didn’t
even have heels on). Thankfully we were seated for most of the night.
You may ask how dinner went?
She ate.
Actually more than me. And here I was brainwashed by those
trashy magazines that tell us models starve themselves. I can safely say they,
or this one, truly do eat.
The evening went well, although I don’t think she understood all the things I said, the Aussie accent can cause confusion even
for the Brits at times.
What did I learn?
That the benefit of being a 20 something model is you can wake up the next morning and look perfect even if you've had a few red wines, unlike my disheveled state.
And that next time I WILL wear high heels!
