Several times, I’ve introduced Lady Peacock, a friend of ours who is delightful yet some might say just a little quirky in some of her outlooks. Her strongly held views would more than likely improve life and culture as we know it if only, as she lamented recently, “people would listen to me and do what I recommend.” In the first episode, “Snacks Without Borders”, much was made of her eating habits, which she insists are fully compliant with a healthy, nutritional lifestyle. Much like Donald Trump’s cheeseburgers, the experts no doubt would disagree. I, as merely the scribe here, feel compelled to document this so that researchers in coming generations and centuries may come across these chapters and perhaps identify where society broke down. It’s a mission.
On Valentine’s Day, we had arranged to with Lady P. to take a trip to one of her favorite specialty food stores. This is a producer of jams, jellies, special sauces, and a wide variety of cooking items. These products appear on the shelves of high-end shops at high-end prices. Because they’re expensive, a trait to which Lady Peacock is inherently drawn but often can’t afford, we wait until their outlet store has sales. As I may have mentioned in the past, Macy’s is her Dollar Store, and by buying things she really doesn’t need on sale there, she’s saved a ton of money. It’s an economic plan much like the Pentagon’s.
Off we go, then. It’s about an hour drive, so as we’re driving along, she talks about how the pounds will need to be dropping off for her upcoming trip to Paris and London in the spring. The travel arrangements are a bit complex because she needs to arrive at and leave from the same destination. The reasons are not totally clear, but, well, ok then. We arrive at the outlet, and it’s fairly busy because of the sale, even though it’s a Thursday. Most of the clientele is retirement age, so no real mystery here. I have a couple of items of which we’re running out. I pick up two bottles of a spread that we particularly like at half price, and a new barbeque sauce to try. The store has samples set up to try, and I do taste a couple of things. Quite good but nothing I really want to buy. For Lady Peacock, however, this is a buffet. She’ll be grazing for quite some time, and has not reticence to ask store employees to open up bottles of anything to which she takes a fancy. On these trips, one or two of the staff will become her personal shoppers. My wife reports hearing a commanding voice directing a store employee to go out back and get something on one of these trips, and then realized – guess who?
I made our purchases – two small bags and a total of about eighteen dollars, and went out to the car, where my wife and I chatted. Lady Peacock emerged an hour later with a cart-load. She’d found a crepe-maker on sale. That’s exciting, although I’ve never known her to actually make a crepe. Just the thought of it makes her giddy. I do remember a brunch incident where she ordered crepes, which sadly came with wrong filling. That was, coincidently, the day the orange juice was wrong too. The fresh squeezed had an “odd taste”, but its replacement of concentrate was also “off”. On the plus side, it kept the waitperson busy dashing back and forth to the kitchen with glasses of orange juice. Anyway, out comes her ladyship with a cartload of bags. She’s discovered a wonderful new ‘fig and walnut butter”. Maybe it was fig and mahogany – it was some kind of wood. I’m doubtful that it had a Weight Watchers seal of approval on the label, so I’ll send a quick inquiry to Oprah. Bottles of salsas and bags of stuff with which to eat the salsa. My guess is that she could open her own substation when she gets home. The crepe maker was a true find because it was on sale (see the Macy’s reference above), and mention was made of a “Crepe Party” in the offing. Her parties are renowned, much like Hyacinth Bucket’s “Candlelight Suppers”, so this is an event that will be eagerly anticipated by her inner circle. However, as she’s travelling in about four months and those preparations are well under way with excruciating attention to detail, the great crepe event, or GCE, won’t be happening in the foreseeable future. There is the distinct possibility that by the time she’s returned from her trip, the mystique of the crepe maker will have worn off, unless they’ve installed a crepe maker at Giverny to inspire her. I’d say that within a year, this wonderful kitchen accessory will be occupying prime real estate in a closet or it will be consigned to a yard sale. Lady P. did point out that, unlike pancakes, which sop up considerable amounts of syrup (which in my mind is the whole point), crepes are thin and delicate and tend to repel intruders. The maple syrup makers of New Hampshire will be delighted to hear that crepes are taking off at Teale Cottage.
On to lunch, because no proper outing is complete without a meal on the road. We stopped at an Irish pub that she’s discovered and quite likes. That’s essential. She ordered the Irish equivalent of “bangers and mash”. That’s sausage and mashed potatoes mixed with vegetables for our American readers. She also ordered a beer because, well, it was a pub, let us all remember. Here, Lady P. shows her incredible will power. She only ate half the meal so that she could save room for dessert. I know what you’re thinking, right? Again, you the reader are asking, “Isn’t there a diet in play here?” The answer is, not really. It’s a holiday, so the rules of caloric intake are suspended. Some kind of bread pudding with a gooey topping and whipped cream is on the horizon. The will power discussion really only extends to foods Lady P. doesn’t like. In her lifetime, she hasn’t met too many desserts that fall into this category. However, she’ll take home the remaining portions, so out we go with yet another bag to accompany extensive collection in the back of the car.
Another happy day in the life of Lady Peacock. And to top it off, it’s a two-for-one day at Starbucks, so she’ll stop and pick up two whipped frothy drinks on the way home. Another sale, another win-win. Until tomorrow morning when she steps on the scales. Then, we’re thinking . . . . . ..oh, oh.
I'm Thinking...No! 