Andrew Kay: Yak Yak Yak

I have always loved the phrase “black is the new black”, the world of fashion has a fabulous way of disappearing up its own fundement.
Catchphrases are a constant source of delight – and horror. So many are purposefully created and lack any sense of the real joy that comes from a phrase that simply slips into common usage.
Right now my favourite is “Staying in is the new going out”, it could have been written for me!
Oh I know that I give the impression of being an all out gad-about and I do enjoy a night out with friends. I have my regular jaunts, a couple of pub quizzes, the theatre of course and restaurants. Oh and all the Food Festival activities I engage in. If that sounds a lot – the reality is that I spend a great deal of time at home, more often than not alone.
I am embracing my new found solitude with an open mind. I like the freedom that it brings and after the initial period of being, let me be honest here, lonely, I find that I enjoy my own company.

I lived alone for many years in London and loved it, but back then my life was a whirlwind of going out, often not going home at all. I was young, footloose and fancy free although I was never sure what fancy free meant – I’m not sure I do even now.
Living alone gave me so many options. I ate what and when I wanted, went where I wanted to go and when I wanted to go, and if I wanted company I had a nice group of friends who I would ask around. I have always loved entertaining and especially cooking for my friends and family.
I think that need to entertain, or should I say feed, is a genetic trait. My mum has it and my maternal grandmother had it too. (My paternal grandmother was not a natural hostess, although I did for some strange reason always enjoy her overcooked roast beef sandwiches on thickly buttered Hovis. I doubt I would like them now but back then I thought they were delicious.) She also had shop bought cakes, which for the rest of my family seemed like a real extravagance. Mum was always up to her neck in cake batter or pastry and despite us never having much money, there was always cake or pie in the tin.
I have this gene, the putter-of-food-on-the-table gene, and I love it. Living alone has ups and downs when it comes to food. Some of the things that I love to make are clearly created on a scale to feed the 5,000. This may sound great but after a few days of eating the same casserole you can tire. The arrival of a new deep freeze as a Christmas gift last year has helped, but I do not have the discipline to label, or a good memory, so dinner can be a lucky dip. It might sound like fun but it can be disappointing to get home to a container of soup when you really were hoping for a rich chilli.

So my staying in being the new going out is not always a solo pleasure, I have re-discovered my love of having friends around for a meal. That means cooking in the way that I like best and hopefully having the right amount of left-overs to enjoy rather than become bored with.
This past weekend I cooked for three friends, an impromptu Sunday lunch, inspired by seeing a rather tasty looking shoulder of lamb and a rolled breast to match. It was Saturday afternoon and I had not planned on inviting guests round, but a quick call to a few dear friends and all was in place. I bought both pieces of lamb, made a few extra purchases, one guest was vegetarian, and found some fresh mint to make sauce – I cannot abide the bottled stuff and hate even more mint jelly.
Sunday morning alone in my kitchen with The Archers and a pot of good coffee is my idea of heaven. I like peeling vegetables, I love basting meat and I thrill at the idea of constructing some kind of pudding. Please note that in my book Sunday lunch does not require a starter, nor does roast lamb require a Yorkshire pudding.
By 10am everything was prepared and ready to cook, which gave me time to vacuum, lay the table – properly with a linen cloth and napkins, and finally run my now sweating carcass through a hot shower.
By 11am I was done, everything in place and the oven warming in readiness. There was a mango and ginger tart cooling on the rack, a mint sauce steeping and potatoes ready to sizzle in smoking hot goose fat. At noon I rewarded myself with a G&T.
I might give the impression that I am the sort of person that gets home and settles down with a stiff drink every night but nothing could be further from the truth. I very seldom have a drink at home because I don’t much like drinking alone. It’s not a rule but it has become a preference – and given that I spend a lot of time tasting both food and drink it is probably a very good idea.
But a G&T as a reward for a morning in the kitchen, well I’m not into self denial, and wow, it was good, a double measure of Blackdown and a sploosh of Fever Tree and I was a very happy man.

My friends arrived and we spent four hours laughing and eating and sharing the afternoon, and at 5.30 they left and I washed up.
That evening I was alone once more, staying in and not going out – and I loved it. At seven I made a cold lamb sandwich. I watched a bit of TV and went to bed a very happy man.