.After a day of feeding the hens, watering the garden, hanging out washing etc. plus a late visit to the patient (broken femur – good prognosis), I ignore my own advice to wind down over a chopping board. Even that is too tiring and I have the bright idea of finding a KFC. That is the first challenge because a KFC is not on my normal patch.
I finally find the red neon and drive in. As a complete novice, I am overwhelmed, first by the intercom ordering system and then by the embarrassment of riches on the illuminated menu. They remain patient.
I order a box (not sure what it's called) and add a coleslaw (for dietary balance) and mashed potato with gravy. I'm asked to move on to the next “window” to collect my order. I don't realise a can of Pepsi Max is included. Wow! Bonus! Another first! Then to the next window to pay. Very proud of myself for having navigated this without leaving the car.
Once home, I see the meal box is a charming construction but I’m at a loss how to open it so I hack at it with a paring knife. I set up my TV dinner in the sitting room on a tray in front of QI with Stephen Fry. I team this with an innocent but cheeky little French Rosé, and arrange some food on a nice plate.
(Faïencerie Onnaing, "Narcisse" N.E. France, 72 pieces "petit bourgeois" service for 12, c. 1898).
The presentation is neat. The coleslaw is over-chopped and vey sweet.
So-called "popcorn chicken", in a little tub, are cutely delicious, crumbed knobs of meat. A “slider” of chicken fillet in a tender, folded bun is nice with shredded lettuce and sweet commercial mayonnaise. Pieces of chicken (mainly wing) has a nicely crisp and crunchy coating contrasting with a juicy, tender interior. The mashed potato is watery and its gravy lacks “umami” (definitely not the Joël Robuchon recipe). I contribute a Mrs Ball’s peach chutney.
My bad photograph perhaps says a lot about my evening. Nonetheless it hits the spot while Roger is in Ward 109, having his delicious hospital dinner (not), complete with jelly trifle.