Chicken Shop

Free range chicken from the spit

Once the remnants of the three birds had repaired to their doggy bags, talk at the table turned to the subject of very worst meal the three minors among us had eaten. I’ve no idea why, because generally this chat garnishes only a hideous meal. But after a heated debate the laurels went to “Dad’s pea risotto”. It’s no picnic, this parenting lark, is it? You slave your guts out so that you can treat them to high tea in history’s most happening fast-food joint, and your only reward is derision.

The dishes come within minutes, so it was not long before the puddings arrived to dispel painful memories of that catastrophic risotto. A vast apple pie served in a farmhousey dish was nutmeggy, cinnamony and sensational. A huge slab of chocolate brownie, with vanilla ice cream, was generously studded with hazelnuts.

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