That’s how this thing works right? If I do one post using three consecutive letters in the title I get to luxuriate in the gloriousness that is a whole two days off, surely? No? I really didn’t think the rules through when I wrote them right back at the beginning of this literary masterpiece. So clearly you can prepare yourselves not for an extravaganza of a bonanza that is an extended stanza of wonderment (I know, I did get just a tiny bit carried away there. But admit it, you had fun). In other words, this will be a regular length post rather than a lengthier one because I’m feeling far too lazy to keep up with the whole cranking one of these out every single damn day thing (do try to contain your joyfully animated anticipation now won’t you?).
Having decided to make a note of something that was decidedly perilous, my next hurdle was to determine precisely what it was that began with q that was in such danger. Or posing a danger? The fact that it’s all entirely fictional does make for some serious ambiguity. Then came the quiche, the eggy pie of almost certain doom. The eggs were a few weeks from being fresh, that was for sure, but that was only the beginning of it.
The chicken had been left out for so long that the chef decided against using it altogether. Which is a good thing because it was a quiche lorraine so such poultry would have been completely out of place. Unfortunately, he was so focussed on the triumph of his choice not to put the dodgy meat into the mix that he totally missed the fact that the double cream was well beyond the turning point of no return. The lesson of the day is, sniff a quiche before sampling it, try a slice at your own peril.