When words fail, alcohol takes over.
This music takes me back to when I lived in the country and cooked a big Sunday dinner every month or two (always playing this on vinyl as I cooked), for two good friends who died within a year of each other, leaving two nice children behind - sorry, but that's the sad truth.
I would start cooking at around 11.00 in the morning, they would arrive hungry at about 1.00 in the afternoon, then - to stop them from eating the furniture - we would eat around 4.00 in the afternoon, then go for a long walk in the woods. The joys of cooking on an AGA.
I tried to relive this idyllic time by moving back into the area, the tiny hamlet of Conkwell, Wiltshire (the only spring that Cromwell did not poison when his troops were stationed in the area), but - as we all know - that is an impossibility. I eventually called H.I. for help, and I have never looked back.
I sometimes think back, though.
This reminds me of Sunday lunches chez Simon Fletcher. He, of course, is still alive and living here in France, and I think we used to listen to Van Morrison; but otherwise...
ReplyDeletep.s. I hear there's a new You Tube video of a pantomime horse running through Tesco's shouting 'Mummy'. That should keep you warm (if you can find it).
DeleteI must look that one up.
DeleteYour post today evokes such a pleasant, yet melancholic tone -- in a poetic kind of way... and the Mozart is so much more than icing on the cake. I think I may follow your example and play it to accompany my Sunday culinary efforts ...
ReplyDeleteI had a tape of Gregorian chants i would listen to when i cooked a special holiday meal or baked cranberry apple pies. The tape wore out, and i find i still miss it when i'm about ready to make a special meal.
ReplyDeleteOver the years when i played it, i would think of all the people who had come for those special meals, mourn the ones who were now absent, and smile at the ones still here and able to share the repast.