Thursday, September 17, 2009

Nigella Speaks

Deftly and slowly peeling a courgette recently I was reminded of the late Elizabeth David and her predilections. Elizabeth had a way with a courgette; a slow ceremonial unveiling of a ripe and unctuous inner flesh concealed beneath a a seemingly resilient but easily removed skin.

As a domestic goddess I simply must have a huge fridge where I can store the residual comestibles which I have failed to scoff. There is no greater delight of an evening than to wander into one's fridge and discover a chicken carcase. The carnalities involved in picking off the last shreds of flesh with one's painted fingernails is beyond my powers of description.

Oscar Wilde could have. Oscar was, I have been told my good friend Carla Bruni, a great fan of cold roast poulet. I'm not sure if I believe her though, as she had Eric Clapton before settling for that repulsive little French sex dwarf and consequently cannot be trusted on matters of substance.

Nicky is so stack heeled and petit bourgeois he makes me honk on my ortalan.


EmmaK said...

hey Nigella! I disagree! that little sex dwarf is one of those ugly men who is very sexy. Think about it, would Carla Bruni go out with someone who wasn't sexy? Have some pity she has him doing so much bedroom gymnastics that he recently collapsed

garfer said...


He is an evil little gnome from impoverished Slavic origins. He needs to be chained up and spat upon.

Unless Carla manages to kill him first with her Jane Fonda inspired work out routines that is.

Madame DeFarge said...

That's a lovely shade of blue. Distracts from the emerging bosomage.

Mick P said...

If there's ortolan to be honked, Nigella, please feel free to make full use of my most accommodating lap. I'll even hold your hair.

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