Cooking on the fly is plenty of fun, albeit fraught with the danger of failure (a danger in who's face I laugh, incidently). Thus loitering handily in our fridge this evening was a spare housemate chook that wasn't looking too likely to fulfil its sandwich-esque destiny, so in the finest vultural (yeah I just made up a word - what of it?) traditions I picked that sucker dry.
A generous knob of butter helped me sautee a white mirepoix of leeks, onion and celery all finely chopped, with some fresh thyme in late into which I turfed (Aussie for throw for you international folk) some corn off the cobs, chicken stock and our flaked up chicken. Beauty.
It came to the boil very helpfully, and with a healthy pounding of seasoning (that's my term, by the way) I let my flavours simmer and marry into delicious oblivion. Crusty toast with - you guessed it, more butter, and a spoon of double cream stirred through the soup had me and the lady sittin' tight and cosy as the winter bite chewed at the plate glass.
Apple and raspberry crumble for dessert with Grand Marnier cream. Bangin'!