Lay Your Prompts On Me - 2. 304 - The Dinner Party

“We’ll that’s the freezer out then.” I sighed, slamming the door shut on the meagre offerings. “Dinner for eight people in less than an hour? Oh why do you do these things to me?”

Because I love you? I could hear Daniel’s voice in my head, smirking at me. And because you told me to break the habit of a lifetime and go make friends.

I opened the freezer again and glared at it with unfocused animosity. So much for simple dinners prepared in advance on my one day off. If we’d had plans, I would have stopped by the farm on my way back from the stable yard and bought a haunch of venison or something. Daniel better not have made new friends with a vegetarian… I snatched the three little steaks and threw them in the microwave to defrost.

“Fine…” I started slamming around the kitchen, grabbing pots and pans, and then looked over my shoulder at the mess that was our open plan lounge and dining room. The table was currently folded away, which at least meant it wasn’t covered in crap and paperwork.

There is a secret known only to women and gay men… my brain recited the lines for me. You don’t have to clean everything! Because you can always cover stuff with an Indian throw. Haazar-shazzam!

“Right then! Bread and stew it is.” I grabbed for my phone, turning on the oven pouring strong flour into a bowl with the cell pinned to my shoulder. “Babe? You need to get wine on your way home.”

“But I’m nearly back already!” Daniel whined. “Please babe…”

“Not a chance, turn around, go back and get some wine. You owe me.”

“But-”

“You can make it up to me later.”

Nothing but nothing, makes a house seemed more welcoming than bread, and people think it takes forever to make, but five minutes, bread flour, yeast, sugar, salt, olive oil and warm water later and the bread was proving in its bowl, balanced over the top of the hot oven. I started to excavate the tin cupboard in search of beans and red things.

“The king of leaving town in a hurry does not skimp on dinner.” I felt around in the cupboard for the big blue Le Creuset, given to me by Daniel’s mother before she had become my official mother in law. I think I had fallen a little bit in love with her right then.

Hot stove. Olive oil. Two red onions. I shook out a dozen or so frozen garlic cloves and stirred the casserole while it sizzled. As one of the cheffing sort, I was distinctly proud of my knife collection, which after last Christmas had spread over two magnetic racks. I chose the five and half inch Hammer and Stahl santoku knife and got to work with the meat, a selection of peppers and what remained of a big butter nut squash. Add stock, pinto beans, butter beans, passata, paprika and stir. I left the lid on, built the table, found the cloth, and searched the flat for the other two chairs so we had eight.

It didn’t take long to knock back the bread dough, turn it into eight long strips, plait them up and dust them with egg yolk and sea salt before adding that to the oven. Just as I pushed all the mess in the lounge behind the armchair and covered it with a big purple throw, there was a warning knock on the door. My hour was nearly up.

“Babe…” Daniel stood the in doorway, looking pleased an punch. “The house smells great.”

“So who are these new friends of yours pretty boy?” I took the wine as Daniel hung his coat in the hallway. “I hope they like Spanish stew.”

“You made bread?” Daniel wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled into my hair. “I always knew I married the best guy out there.”

“Aww, thanks sweetie.”

He took a step back and looked at me, one eyebrow arched.

“You know, as much as I like you like that, they’ll be here in two minutes, and maybe the chef shouldn’t just be wearing boxers and an apron?”