Anyhow, we were greeted at 'Barbas' by Leanna, the daughter of the owner. She told us that Laura-the-agent was her favourite customer and Leanna made us feel like royalty (English, that is; not exiled Greek) just for knowing her.
|Recovering from my near death experience|
It was only when leaving the restaurant that Ged realised he must have lost his glasses when reaching over the cliff to drag me back up. The next day, we all had to make the treacherous journey once more and sure enough, there were Ged's specs lying amongst the tinder which I had clutched at on my way down. We could have started a forest fire! We could have gone to jail!
But back to the lemon cake. Don't bother grabbing your pens to write this recipe down as I am about to record a disaster.
|Recipe written when a bit drunk|
|Nearly half a pint of juice|
|Yoghurt and filo|
|Adding missing sugar to eggs and lemon|
|Adding flour in desperation|
|It should be ready by 7.25pm|
|In it goes, not looking good|
|Solid but unbrowned|
|William doing the honey|
Eventually it was plated and looked quite lovely, if nothing like the one we ate at Barbas. And the reaction of my guests? The adults were too sozzled to care and as for Joe, well he voted with his feet which pattered very quickly to the kitchen bin where he spat the cake out.
|Quite a pretty sight|
|Not such a pretty sight.|