That sinking feeling

We had a party last night, a barbeque for some family and friends. We cooked a mountain of food and crossed our fingers that the weather gods would break our barbeque curse and instead deliver us a fine evening. The gods smiled! So what was on the menu? Two beer can chickens, Island Bay sausages, corn on the cob, homemade ciabatta, baked jacket potatoes with sour cream and homegrown chives, arancini to start, then banoffee tarts and mini chocolate eclairs with strawberry cream for dessert. Yum!

I love prepping for a party. Menu planning, the baking binge that starts the night before (and usually involves much singing and dancing in the kitchen), the spotless home that we only ever seem to achieve when we're entertaining, enjoying food, sunshine and great conversation ... why don't we do this more often?

The aftermath is less fun, though. I'm getting better at planning menus that revolve around one or two courses of finger food and cleaning up as we go but there is always still an inevitable mountain of dishes that follows the big event. Every time I fill the sink or scrub another barbeque tray, I think back to a poster that used to be displayed outside a favourite teacher's office at secondary school many years ago - one that I used to look at and think, "yeah, right. I'll never do that."

It turns out that Mrs Miller was right. Last night (and today), this is what was on my mind.

Ah, c'est la vie!