Stew on the Floor.

When I was in China I ate Over the Bridge soup. It was a local Kunming speciality, you get a bowl of boiling broth, then add all this stuff (including quails eggs, noodles, thinly sliced meat), and then eat it. It was really good, amazing hangover/comfort food. An excellent cure for an evening spent downing baijiao and singing karaoke.

This evening we had a slightly less glamourous version. I've called it stew-on-the-floor.

I spent yesterday cooking a stew. Just a beef stew, it was a cold day, so I whacked the oven on low, and stuck it in for a few hours. It was duly declared done, allowed to cool and placed in a plastic container. All that remained was to transport it too the fridge.

I left this task to hubby.

I was just walking through the laundry when I heard a splat and quite a bit of muttered swearing (the kids were in bed or it would've been louder). And there was my stew, all over the kitchen floor.

After rolling around laughing for a while (minding the stew), and in my quest for being positive and (oh god) cheerful, I chose laughing over sobbing. I scraped it up, back into the container and into the fridge.

We just ate it.

Few bits of grit in mine, but otherwise fine.

Well I wasn't going to bloody waste it!