As I’ve said before, when I use that word, homely, I mean it in the sense the Australians (and, I think, the English) do. Meaning homey and comforting, rather than our more common usage, not very pretty.
We had beef, formed into patties, smothered in onions and mushrooms – they were almost like individual meatloaves. Baked chunks of potatoes, a combo of zucchini and tomatoes, a pitcher of mushroom gravy and of course, our salad bar.
I must admit to not being quite the adventurous eater I usually am. One of the bowls on the salad table held a conconction built around miniature marshmallows. It was only after the side table had been cleared that I realized the mix was ambrosia. Really, I should have remembered my mother’s admonishings and at least tried a bite’s worth.
Besides the usual offerings of ice cream and cut-up fruits, servings of cherry crisp were on the dessert table. Sweet!
No comments:
Post a Comment