Thursday 7 May
Barbara had been in the garden all day long, grubbing and planting and pruning and encouraging. Holt came home and had an inspiration based on the garden tarragon: chicken breasts stuffed with butter and herbs under the skin (sort of Kiev: so Orange Revolution Chicken?), roasted in the oven, with fresh, plump asparagus from the Lisianthus Lady at Findlay Markey; and then tarragon cream, made from the pan juices and shallots, flamed with a bit of raki, and sopped in cream; and boiled pink potatoes to soak some of it up. We ate out on the terrace, and it was IDYLLIC.
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