Capers

(Aileen)
The Oxford English Dictionary defines a caper as:

Noun
- a flower bud of a southern European shrub, pickled for use in cooking
- an illicit or ridiculous activity or escapade

Today we had both – a nice tasty serving of the pickled shrub kind, and a £265 boo-boo.

Ed’s off for Chicago tomorrow so we decided to do a Saturday-on-Sunday i.e. booze, food and not much else (vs. Saturday booze, food and some activity or other).

After a lazy Starbucks cappuccino, Ed haircut, and stops at Blockbuster (to stock up on movies for tonight) and the dry cleaners, we set off for an excursion to Harrods, the venerable London shopping institution, with a renowned food hall.

First stop was the luxury accessories section for some hand-bag window shopping. At the moment I’m leaning towards a nice staid allrounder Mulberry Bayswater, but am deferring judgment until I see the duty free prices at Heathrow.

From there we headed to the Oyster bar for a mid-day treat – half a dozen Fin De Claire and half a dozen French Belons, accompanied by a bottle of white Burgundy. The oysters whet but did not satiate the appetite so we capped off with a shared plate of Scottish smoked salmon served with salad and a delicious mound of capers (love capers!).

Caper of the shrub variety


With satisfied bellies and a wine buzz, we left the oyster bar and headed to the butchers to pick up 2 nice looking dry-aged sirloins a.k.a strip steaks. At the fruit and veg hall we picked up the trimmings - a variety of mushrooms (chanterelle, cepes, girollo, and some french blue mushrooms), white asparagus, oakleaf lettuce, and 2 roasting potatoes.

Next stop was the wine cellar i.e. where the ridiculous escapade took place. I accidentally bought a £265 bottle of wine. That’s right folks - $500 worth of grape juice. The operative word here is “accidentally”. For whatever reason I thought I was buying a £45 bottle. I paid no attention at the till when Ed was paying, and it wasn’t until we were outside that Ed asked if I meant to buy a £265 bottle of wine. I almost had a heart attack. We had a minor debate on which was the less of the evils – the shame of returning the bottle vs. walking home with a ridiculously expensive 1990 Chateau Troplong Mondot St Emillion. I gamely walked back to the wine cellar (as Ed lingered around the the Krispy Crème donut stand) and confessed my boo-boo to the cashier (and then manager who had to approve the refund). Thankfully they refunded the bottle. As a concession (and probably to alleviate the sense of shame) I bought a perfectly respectable 1998 Chateaux Margeaux (in addition to a half bottle of champagne).

The mistake


We passed by Laduree on the way out to pick some macaroons (2 pistachio, 2 caramel, 2 coffee and 1 rose) – crisp on the outside, soft chewy and sweet on the inside.

We’re now planted on the couch enjoying a half-bottle of Veuve Clicquot, perusing through iTunes videos, building up at an appetite for our Harrods goodies.