Lazy

It's hot. On days like this, Sloth is not only one of the seven deadly sins, it's a valid lifestyle.  But I live on Cape Cod, so that means summer guests, which we honestly love.  We joke that Hotel H-C is open for the season.  The house is filled coffee, wine, Hendricks, limes, and conviviality. (RoseofAcademe, when are you visiting?)

But guests need to eat.  And Bunny, being a baby, does make elaborate feasts difficult.  This post is about hospitality in the form of the path of least resistance.  I leave food, a jug of limeade, and red wine (I don't need to fuss with keeping it cool) on the table.  Folks drift in and out, helping themselves.  Here is what I do to keep everyone fed. . .

Divided by Common Language

Oxford, a photo by Snowlet on Flickr.

As I mentioned earlier, I had a misspent youth in England.  Although the prospect of voluntarily signing up for years of institutional British food was initially horrifying, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the town of Bovine Crossing.

There is the something to be said about drinking where J. R. R. Tokien had his cups.  Looking at the misty Isis before early morning rowing practice, you could pretty much accept the existence of Middle Earth as fact.  The industrial kitchens of some of the colleges looked like Gormenghast.  And, it amuses me to no end that that I went to graduate school at Hogwarts.