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6 July 2003

Sometimes I am pure wickedness and self-indulgence. As today, when I had half a dozen scallops for lunch, only because I could. I've always fried scallops hitherto (except my first-ever scallop, which was baked in its shell and tasted just amazing, with that specific aroma of slightly-burnt seashell to add to the experience; it was such a one-off, I've never tried to repeat it), but this time I wanted to go for the pure flavour without that caramel sweetness that comes from frying. So I poached them in double cream with a little garlic, a little parsley, a hint of salt and pepper. And set them on rounds of toast with a squeeze of lemon, and beat a lump of butter into the sauce for added glossy richness (mounting is the technical term, and it's always worth doing with a cream or a wine sauce), and added a sprinkle of chives and left nothing but the plate for Misha to lick after. Brute that I am.

And while she licked, I finished reading Pattern Recognition by William Gibson, which is purely sensational. He has a way of writing about this here-and-now world that makes it read like science fiction; I adore that. SF without the info-dumps, but it's still alien and strange, and still you learn stuff.

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© Chaz Brenchley 2003
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.