To be more specific, it was this morning. As the cruel torture of my alarm woke me at 6.35am, in my parallel dream world I was reaching for a plate of freshly carved roasted loin of pork. I have no memory of the context of the fantasy meal, but I have never been more desperate to sink back to sleep. I can still see it and savour the rich smell of the sizzling fat; the balsamic-dressed, roasted root veg in steaming bowls on the table and a warm and comforting mound of jacket potatoes. I could even taste it as I woke.
I was surprised - I don't believe dreaming of food is usual for me, but why a full wintery roast? It may be approaching the middle of October, but summer is still clinging on and it was a warm night. It's not as if I expect to be dreaming of salad in more clement climates, but a full on meat and fat prepare-for-hibernation feast certainly came out of the blue. And why pork? I crave sausages, I love a bacon butty on a hungover morning, but as a roast I've always seen pork as the more pikey brother of lamb or beef - it's definitely cheaper. Red meat is where it's at, as far as I'm concerned. You want it bloody. You want to know it has run around. You want to be able to savour the muscley full flavour.
And I've been ravenous all day.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment