Take it away...

Well summer is officially over, sent on its sorry way by a particularly tasty takeaway curry last night.

That first curry is always the best one for me.  The lamba tikka is succulent, the rice fluffy, the poppadoms crispy and the peshwari naan quite possibly the best thing you've ever tasted.  By the time you get to April, the tikka meat is anything from guinea pig to goat, you can't eat the rice because it was cold when delivered (and we all know you can't eat reheated rice, as you will probably die) the poppadoms are crushed as they were put in the delivery bag underneath everything else, and the peshwari naan never even made it to the bag.

Son number one was at home last night, so curry was suggested after it  became apparent that yours truly wasn't getting off the sofa on a Saturday night for anyone.  Strictly was on, for heaven's sake.  I had got as far as instructing the husband what to get out of the fridge which he'd done in a most satisfactory fashion, but then the question arose as to what was going with the slabs of meat defrosting on the kitchen worktop.  

Well, I knew there were no oven chips.  I cleaned the freezer out on Friday and got rid of several half empty bags of stale bread rolls, four rogue fish fingers and something wrapped in newspaper which I was too nervous to unwrap, so I know what's in there now down to the last frozen pea.  I suggested, from my sofa, that one of them could cook the slabs of meat, while the other drove into town and bought some chips.

'Or we could get a curry....'  said son number one, keen to take full advantage of the fact that he was the only child in the house, and therefore, had a damn good chance of a free meal.

The husband's little eyes lit up, and before you could say Vindaloo, the order was placed, and the table laid.  Half an hour later, the paper carrier bags turned up at the house, and the culinary delights were put onto the table (still in their foil trays to limit washing up to an absolute minimum).  Son number one and I ate ours and pushed back our plates after a while, stating that we'd had enough and were FU&FTB (Full Up & Fit To Burst).  

The husband approaches his curry in a completely different way.  He likes to mine sweep everyone else's food and after watching him work his way through it for ten minutes, he looked up and told us to leave him there while he finished everything and he'd probably be a while.

Son number one and I had managed to finish Strictly and watch the first half of X Factor before he showed up in the lounge, moaning about how full he felt, and needing to loosen his belt.

I won't hear the end about how he wished he hadn't eaten as much - but not to worry, all this will be forgotten next time the brown carriers cross our threshold...