Selection of salsa’s in a market restaurant, Mexico City.
For this I made:
Guacamole (made with only avocados, lemon/lime, chopped onion, salt. No garlic, you hear! You may add chili pepper if you want it spicy. Chopped coriander leaves .)
Salsa asado (tomatoes chopped not blended cos blending makes them look like vomit, onions, salt, lemon/lime, chopped coriander leaves, roasted chili peppers, after blackening, place in plastic bag, wait a few minutes then peel off shiny skin bit, remove seeds, chop).
Carottes rapées with lots of lemon juice, sprinkled with poppy seeds
Vegetarian nori nori sushi with avocado and cucumber, pickled ginger and wasabi
Rustic Greek salad with barrel-aged feta (roughly chopped cucumbers, fresh mint, black olives)
Red onion foccaccia
Rosemary (from his garden) foccaccia
Tabouleh (coucous, salted lemons, pine nuts, raisins)
Rondolets of French ficelle bread spread with green and black olive tapenade
Tomato and mozzarella salad (if you can get burrata all the better) with basil leaves/olive oil/balsamic vinegar
Bowls of marinated olives with lemon and garlic
Home-made hummus with paprika and roasted sesame seeds
For dipping: carrot sticks, cucumber sticks, strips of pitta bread, tortilla chips
Plate of cherry tomatoes with capers and anchovies
Fruit: Fruits of the forest berries sprinkled with brown sugar (controversial for the anti-sugar brigade who nonetheless are quite willing to snort/ingest chemical substances at the drop of a hat). Otherwise they are rather bitter.
I would have combined them with a pavlova if I had the time. I adore meringues.
It was quite amazing how much people ate at a party where everybody took loads of drugs.
Why did I cook for this man who had just dumped me? Was it masochism? I found out later his new girlfriend (an old girlfriend) was in his bed upstairs while I was downstairs cooking. I felt I was in a ’60s movie, maybe ‘Alfie’. I would have been the downtrodden homely one with the headscarf asking what he wanted for his tea while the exotic sex kitten was upstairs in a negligée.
I think, if I’m honest, that I got some kind of kick out of pretending to be his wife just for one evening…being his hostess. People did actually ask me if I was Mrs Wizard. Pathetically I was on verge of saying yes but thought he might find out and realise what a ridiculous fantasist I actually am.
I probably entertained stupid dreams that, if I cooked well enough, he’d recognise what he was missing…but sadly I’m not sure that the old adage that ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ is true. I think it’s much lower down.