Capricorn friends

Goats' cheese is one of my desert island foods - assuming a refrigerator was one of my luxuries. I got in a conversation about it today with regard to the best use/favourite recipe and it is just endless; the suggestion of my companion was an open sandwich with apple and rocket, which sounds good. I countered with my multiple experiences of 'chevre chaud' (a name I love - 'hot goat') in Paris, like every single lunchtime for a week probably. The permutations are subtle from one establishment to another, but only in the degree that the gingham table cloths and cane/wicker chairs vary. All, however, especially when it is sunny and the view is of the Pantheon, are unbeatable. Another favourite is pinched from Pizza Express, an establishment with which I have a long association insofar as my 18th birthday, leaving London 'do' and a few others to boot were held in its branches. (Sadly they let me down on my last birthday outing and I am sad to say that the memory sticks and it may be a while before I return; depends how lasting is the memory of s****y service, rubbish food and indifference.) Their Bosco salad, or a version of it, often graces my kitchen still as it features many of my favourite foodstuffs and a great concept; warm salad. Mushrooms are fried slowly and lovingly in olive oil with garlic and maybe a herb of choice, and spooned over rocket, avocado, charred red pepper and goats cheese. The Pizza Express people serve it with their own dressing, but a really good vinaigrette or balsamic based concoction will also be good; they also add the infernal doughballs, which I cannot eat due to their very doughiness - same effect as wheaty, sugary stuff.
And goats! What finer animal to produce such a gracious food product. Long have I dreamed of owning a paddock and pen of lop-eared, gangly-legged friends who will eat all the leftovers and greet me of a morning with one of the finest smiles nature has to offer. Ah, one day...
Thinking of new paintings today; not doing any but conjuring images in my head to see how they look in there. Quite how they will translate once I get going is another thing, but it is fun to toy with them in the safety of my imagination. Portraying the human face is something I can never get enough of; I read that figurative art is of the past and lacking in relevance, but still I am drawn. The guys who really impress me are often, but not exclusively, those who can handle a full composition of figures, in the multi-plurals; Botticelli and Bruegel are two I have had a thing for over the past year. I am still toying with the idea of a trip to Vienna, not just to sing the Ultravox song upon landing, but to visit the Bruegel room at the History of Art Museum (its got a great name in translation, but I'll have to look it up). They have an oval room with around seven of the great, big Bruegels just sitting there looking at you - it is hard to imagine and unforgettable one seen I would guess.
Dinner tonight was not quite in the league of seven Bruegels, but still pretty memorable. Stu had marinated the chicken breasts from his butchery in some of that lovely soy sauce and roasted them nice and simply; the clever bit lay in the accompaniments today. Finding a tin of mango, it was diced tinily with equally tinily diced onion, garlic and ginger (raw) and wallowed with fish sauce, lime juice and finely choppped leaves from out herb bed, heavy on the Vietnamese coriander. This little salsa lifted the whole meal and was so fresh and light; we also had some confit peppers and onions - very slow cooked in olive oil - and the plainest steamed rice as a foil to all the flavours. Tomorrow we have swung a day off together so shopping list is at the ready for the final budget shop of the week, after which we will see what the day brings us. I will be starting a new pic for sure as I have had a couple of days off the brushwork and I feel deprived.