Diary of a Grammatical Misfit

The plates sat, mostly empty, in front of them. The last few mouthfuls had been scooped up slower and slower before the forks clattered down with a metallic sigh of relief and the lean-back pose was adopted to allow for greater comfort.

I had overfed my guests. Quite significantly it seemed.

I love to cook for people. And I don’t generally bother with recipe books (except for puddings which need to be more precise). This usually works out in the taste department but not for quantities.

In this case, a simple spaghetti bolognaise for a Friday night with the girls turned into an endurance trial, with no-one quite wanting to leave food uneaten but no-one quite having the stomach capacity to do it easily.

I looked around guiltily. Wishing, for the umpteenth time, that I’d kept some food back for seconds and/or leftovers or better still, checked a recipe book - not so much to specify ingredients but to give some idea how to cook suitable portions for more than two people.

“Anyone for cheesecake?” I asked, half-heartedly.