Scran

We are consumed by consumption. The icy grip of Phlegmy Coughington grasps our wear lungs and aching throats. Not to be dramatic or owt, but I feel poorly.

This will not get in the way of enjoying a Sunday. The last Sunday before normal life resumes. Boo etc. etc.

Yesterday I made bagels. I've never made bagels before. In fact, 100% of my attempts at bread have resulted in building material. Bricks that could withstand any amount of wolfly huffing and puffing. But practice makes perfect, maybe, probably not.

Anyway, the bagels turned out an emphatic OKAY. They taste like bagels, the insides are bagelly, the outsides, although correct in appearance, were solid and crispy. I thought boiling made them a lil chewy like the tasty numbers you get in scary borderline aggressive deli's in New York Citay. Alas, not today.

BUT I filled them with home smoked salmon, cream cheese and thin slices of red onion and tomato.

Lunch was the remnants of last nights "good shit Chinese" which turned out to be good good Chinese. You win some you lose some.

Eaten hovering over the kitchen counter.

This is a roast dinner Sunday. But no-one is in good enough health to brave a trip to a shop of any sort so it will be a Fauxst. Not Faust.

Single chicken breast with accompanying items. And a giant yorkshire Pudding.