As is well known, Bev is the main cook in the household. However, on Christmas Eve, Bev wasn't feeling great, and collapsed in front of Maeve O'Meara's Food Safari and instructed the non-cook from there.
So the chunks were exactly the right size just like I like 'em.
There were two bits that didn't get photographed. One was setting the duck-breast fat on fire (ah, the joys of gas ~ no I didn't panic) and the second was the expression of deep concern on the dog's face. Clearly Toby was convinced that the wrong big-dog was cooking and would clearly screw it up. I didn't, and it was good. So this one is for Bev, who does most of the cooking, and still makes the one other night 'so simple a man can do it!'
Meanwhile in the Block Arcade, the Australian Girl's Choir were singing about figgy pudding. (Very nice, but figgy pudding was the last thing I think you'd want at 30 degrees...) The location of the view I had wasn't bad, either...
Mmm. Chocolates. We had lunch next-door at the Duomo Cafe, and Bev noted that 80% of the people walking away from Haigh's were bearing chocolate packets. The guy with the trolley was either working for others or going to be very sick. Bev's about to find out that I joined the 80% too...