Sunday feedings

To you this is just a picture of young people being civilized around a table where cutlery and placemats are being used instead of fingers and laps. But to me this the most competitive day of the week: Sunday night feeding.

The triple D’s house hold is not just a three man digs. It’s at least a five man digs but every Sunday our house is more of an 8 person situation. You see, on a Sunday we have a dinner where a few of our friends come through and we feed them. Ooh my spidey senses tingle even when I write it.

I’ve been called what is termed a ‘feeder’. It’s not my fault though; it’s in my genes from both sides! Porra-Jew genes are particularly lethal. After a friendly ‘please stop feeding us’ intervention the extra flatmates or house dwellers have placed me on standby and instead have decided to take turns to be the feeders every Sunday.

So they cook, and the original three flatmates invite. It’s an excellent compromise!

So Sunday’s are a lively experience that have ultimately become one of the most enticing days of the week. Last week the resident ladies man began and topped the weeks before him by a) buying his groceries from Woolies (a student treat) and b) cooking from scratch (no just add meat). So the 6 of us there that night took it upon ourselves to be the master chef judges. We picked our characters and judged his meal on presentation, texture and flavour. So we ate a “delicious, although slightly overcooked, chicken stir-fry with crunchy fresh veggies. Its coconut twang was explosive especially added with the balsamic toasted sunflower seeds that were sprinkled on top for presentation and added texture.”

The best part of this meal is that my Robyn is a vegetarian and in true gentlemanly style the ladies man tried to keep the poultry and veg separate; he even cooked them in different pans. Brilliantly though when it came time to judge the meal he got so excited and cocky, as men do, that he mixed all of it together anyway. So My Robyn spent her night picking chicken bits out her dish.

A solid 6 but a +1 for effort. Cue the polite golf clap please

This past Sunday my flatmate that lives on my couch decided to top Dixie’s dish by feeding an extra two people (+1 point) and she made desert (+1).

Hmmm, I can’t wait for this Sunday.