We start our day with Eggs Benedict, a firm holiday favourite, the only difference is that it’s usually consumed on the balcony of a ship but today we’ll have to settle for indoors, but keep to our nighties as we would afloat.
Expecting a very important delivery, we watch as Parcelforce drive past - to turn around we think - but no, it carries on and disappears out of the village. Checking the app, apparently it’s been delivered - clearly not to us. I navigate about 17 menus before eventually speaking to a very nice young man who tries to be helpful. He tells me the parcel was scanned at number 3, some 1/4 mile down the road, so I wander down and knock on every door in the vicinity, but no-one has the parcel. Meanwhile a lady calls me with an update to say it’s in my shed, which is interesting since we don’t own a shed! She offers to send a photo, so I wait with baited breath for this whilst chatting with a new-found neighbour who is entertained by the farce. When it arrives, the email is not a photo, but a pair of coordinates, so it pop them into Google and discover that the location given by the earlier chap is a street wrong. Finally there’s a glimmer of hope, and hot-foot to the new location, and to the bemusement of yet a another neighbour who’s not even looked in his shed, when he learns that he’s got my lobster!
Running behind schedule now, I rustle up a Cæsar dressing and build lunch whilst Hubby gets boots and kit ready. We pack the car and drive a few miles to the edge of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park to start our walk.
We head off from West Bretton towards Horbury and boson are walking alongside the Calder and Hebble Navigation, before turning off. It takes a dodgy under-track bridge, completely covered and so reeking of weed we’re almost flying by the time we get to the other end, to cross the river Wyke and then we follow the river for some distance.
At Horbury Bridge I insist on a quick unscheduled diversion to grab a photo of the old marshalling yard known as a Healey Mill. Although only a small part is visible from the road bridge it’s clear to see how fabulous this must have been in it’s time when there were 50 miles of track in 120 sidings occupying 140 acres. Back on route we head once again along the Navigation, but are suddenly thwarted when the tow-path is unexpectedly closed, and there is no alternative access. A hastily assessed plan-B hits the road and we cross country stopping for lunch before rejoining our route but no more canal this day.
We’re on the home run now and before long back at the car. At home we both do an hour’s work to check all is well, and then it’s G&T time, canapés and prep for dinner.
Tonight is really special as it’s been years since we had Bambi Wellington. Then the meat was truly Bambiesque with tiny fillets, today it’s from a more mature animal and much larger, so the build is different. Before that I whizz up an onion, mushrooms and sweat them in butter before adding chopped porcini and lots of Marsala to make my duxelles, the stuffing that surrounds the meat. Then I make a Parma ham sausage not unlike last night’s, although quite different, and wrap in a flaky pastry envelope, admittedly bought pastry on this occasion. As previously mentioned, pushing the skins off blanched tomatoes whilst keeping them on the vine is a proper labour of love, but worth the effort when balsamic roasted.
Of course such a fabulous menu requires a stonking wine and a 2010 Cyril Henschke is the perfect match.
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