Melinda Haunton is unwell*

 Ugh. Had a bit of a week, stomach-wise. It has turned me into a person who unenthusiastically contemplates a piece of toast for lunch, and has two (usefully anti-nausea) ginger biscuits for breakfast, unable to face a third. In a word, tedious. It made me realise how bloody lucky I've been all pandemic to have access to two of my three major hobbies (cooking and yoga, and even Being A Cultural Going Out Type Person has been partly possible with some great digital content). Without menus to think about, life got dull. Luckily, I felt too bloody to care, and have done a lot of going to bed at 9.30. 

Anyway. I am mending. Enough to contemplate cooking up some stuff that got delivered right at the peak of the Unwell, to make sure it lasts. 

I made a chervil soup on Tuesday, because dagnabbit I love that herb enough to manage almost anything, especially when I've had it delivered specially for Jacobin Day.

 

It's the most basically soupy soup, onion, potato, chervil, stock. 

 

But it's a useful thing to eat, cautiously, when you're low. 

Today, as I am definitely better, I have made a wildly unsuitable lemon and blood orange posset, which is now my most lethally reliable pudding indulgence. I am vaguely hopeful of being able to eat it by the weekend, and it'll definitely help the fancy cream from that delivery to last. I feel most prudent and housewifely... Also, it's ridiculously pretty. 

Mixing in a blood orange to eke out the lemon juice from the original recipe makes for this palest pink joy. I did admittedly pour a hefty quantity onto the counter while sieving out the peel and pips, but since the remaining mix precisely fitted the four small containers I had handy, let's call it an efficiency move. 

Anyway. I hope to be back in consumption mood shortly. And I hope you've had a better food week.

*Not that sort of unwell. Neither covid nor being massively Jeffrey Bernardlike drunk. Just a depressingly predictable IBS flare, which I've been lucky to avoid all lockdown.