The story according to The Husband; Gatz phoned him and said that he would like to have a BBQ, but at our house.Â
{I’m in charge}
The Husband loved this idea. Gatz was buying all the meat, so that would mean all that we would have to do was turn on the grill, cook the meat, and voila, instant BBQ.
Uh, no.
Some men (particularly my man) can be so clueless when it comes to things like this. What do they think, we’re just going to tear into slabs of meat, on paper plates, with our bare hands? (well, probably, yeah).Â
What about side dishes?Â
What about drinks?Â
And who is going to clean up?Â
(Just a few of the thoughts going though my head as I waved goodbye to my Saturday morning).
Merci Gatz.
What about drinks?Â
And who is going to clean up?Â
(Just a few of the thoughts going though my head as I waved goodbye to my Saturday morning).
Merci Gatz.
So as I was running around cleaning and making tabbouleh, Gatz showed up with all these paper packages…Â
(that really, if they were tied up with string, they could have been some of my favorite things, except they weren’t brown)
(that really, if they were tied up with string, they could have been some of my favorite things, except they weren’t brown)
Which when unwrapped, looked like this…
{meat}
Honey Jr manned the grill…
(This is Honey Jr working the BBQ in his back yard. I took the photo from my back yard. This is how close our houses are. It’s snuggly).
And this guy supervised…
{I’m in charge}
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
We ate Merguez, sausages, Andouille, Figatelli, back bacon, and chicken. It was a meat fest. I think I was the only one who had the tabbouleh. I think I was the only one who used a fork. So yeah, it turns out that it’s true, all they wanted was to tear into meat, with their bare hands.
Fine. Good to know. Next time I won’t go to any trouble. Because I’m pretty sure none of them noticed how clean the floor was or how nicely set the table was anyway.Â
But luckily, I didn’t have to make any dessert, because Honey Jr brought this…
{drunk fruit}
Melon drowned in Porto, yummy stuff. And since it’s fruit. It’s good for you.
And then, just as we finished our last bite of melon, Gatz stood up, said he had to go play Pétanque, and left. Poof! Just like that. No coffee. No digestif.Â
He came,Â
He ate,
He left.
bisou
It's Me, Sara Louise 
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