Good Friday has been a wonderfully quiet day here. Sean slept for hours and I watched the final two episodes of the 1990s BBC adaptation of Jane Austen's Mansfield Park, wondering all the while just why people loathe Fanny Price so much. Austenites everywhere write her off as a mousy and generally distasteful.
If she is such a doormat, how come she manages to stand up for herself and save herself from certain misery in an unhappy marriage? Wouldn't a doormat say yes Uncle, I'll marry that shitty snot of a drip, Henry Crawford and condemn myself from a loveless marriage in which my husband will cheat on me forever?
I don't think so. I love Fanny Price and have done since I had read Mansfield Park for the HSC. I won't hear a word against her, or the novel.
Sorry, I digress and I may be just a little drunk. Apologies to readers who don't know Jane Austen or Fanny Price.
Anyway, onto what we did/ate for Good Friday because the only knitting I did was on Tangled Yoke and it's only slightly bigger than it was yesterday. Two hundred and fifty stitches in garter rib is a bit slow. For me, anyway.
So instead I can show you what we had for Good Friday brunch, not that we are overly observant of such things in our house, but never let it be said I allow even a significant religious day go by without some sort of culinary acknowledgment. Of course, true acknowledgement would have included eating fish, I'm sure, but, you know, atheists don't have to eat fish on Good Friday, I'm sure. We're no doubt exempt.
We don't like Hot Cross Buns. We find them tacky and just a little bit pointless. The fact that they show up in the shops almost months ahead of Easter doesn't help their cause, in my view. So we avoid them and this year, I bought, on a whim, some brioche.
For the uninitiated, brioche is a vaguely sweet and soft, buttery French bread. We hadn't had it before. We just knew about it and this morning, when we toasted this heavenly delight under the grill and slathered it in butter, we were in heaven. Apparently you can freeze it quite successfully but I don't think that's going to happen. I don't think this stuff is going to see the weekend out, frankly.
Then we piled it high with ham and creamy scrambled eggs and we knew at once we'd never succumb to tacky hot cross buns at Easter again. From now on, it's brioche for us.
Three more days to go before we have to rejoin the world.
Bliss.
Bells
|