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Baby, it's cold outside
Gosh. It's cold.
Yesterday morning, the car thermometer was reading -8.
At Christmas, the fridge in the family house is not equal to chilling the vast quantity of food which has been laid in. The turkey, in particular, never manages to squeeze into the fridge. Instead it lives in a box in the outside shed, and the mother worries constantly that it won't be cold enough and we will all contract some hitherto unknown turkey-variant salmonella.
We never have.
Her fears were somewhat allayed this year at breakfast time on Christmas Eve. ChrisC, opening a new carton of orange juice recently imported from the shed, was observed shaking his head and peering perplexedly into the carton. It was open, the seal appeared to have been broken, but no OJ appeared when poured. A close examination revealed that the entire 1.5 litre carton had, in fact, frozen solid.
A similarly humorous experience was had later in the day with a pint of milk. Fortunately that hadn't done the extruding thing, although apparently that has also been seen again recently round these parts.
So, yesterday we were forewarned, bringing the bottle of fizzy wine into the house to chambré (by which I mean warm up to merely "chilled") in plenty of time. The red was promoted from the kitchen to the dining room, and all was well. The traditional late-evening pint of beer turned out a little nippier than expected, having been standing in the customary cool of the utility room, but leaving it on a table nearish the fire rescued it nicely.
Brr. Not going out there.
Yesterday morning, the car thermometer was reading -8.
At Christmas, the fridge in the family house is not equal to chilling the vast quantity of food which has been laid in. The turkey, in particular, never manages to squeeze into the fridge. Instead it lives in a box in the outside shed, and the mother worries constantly that it won't be cold enough and we will all contract some hitherto unknown turkey-variant salmonella.
We never have.
Her fears were somewhat allayed this year at breakfast time on Christmas Eve. ChrisC, opening a new carton of orange juice recently imported from the shed, was observed shaking his head and peering perplexedly into the carton. It was open, the seal appeared to have been broken, but no OJ appeared when poured. A close examination revealed that the entire 1.5 litre carton had, in fact, frozen solid.
A similarly humorous experience was had later in the day with a pint of milk. Fortunately that hadn't done the extruding thing, although apparently that has also been seen again recently round these parts.
So, yesterday we were forewarned, bringing the bottle of fizzy wine into the house to chambré (by which I mean warm up to merely "chilled") in plenty of time. The red was promoted from the kitchen to the dining room, and all was well. The traditional late-evening pint of beer turned out a little nippier than expected, having been standing in the customary cool of the utility room, but leaving it on a table nearish the fire rescued it nicely.
Brr. Not going out there.
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The soft drinks in this house are kept in the cupboard under the stairs, which has a window in it, although it is sort-of also in the very warm living room. The cans are coming out colder than if they'd been in the fridge, but just the right side of ice. Lovely. :D
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