I really love Halloween. It's probably my favourite holiday - don't get me wrong, Christmas is fun but doesn't involve dressing up in the same way, and don't even get me started on how Easter makes no sense whatsoever. Luckily the Fleetch does too, and is happy to indulge my odd habits. A couple of weeks ago, I bought some facepaints, studied some of the zombie images Google provided and set to work on some of my friends during our 'zombie party' (which involved zombie video games, related food and for some reason, the Formula One qualifiers, because zombies and racecars go hand in hand)
I staggered out of my bedroom on Saturday morning. The Fleetch was waiting.
Me: (makes a moan that only vaguely resembles a greeting)
Fleetch: Uh huh. Hey, have you been in the kitchen yet?
Me: (fighting the retching instinct at the thought of going near any kind of food) No, why?
Fleetch: The vegetable box arrived. It's huge.
What she possibly should have said was "the vegetable crate", because good lord, the mass of produce we have amount to possibly more fruit and vegetables than I've ever eaten in my life. We stood around for a while, hungover, staring at the crate.
Fleetch: There's also meat in the fridge. The pack of beef we have is almost the size of my head.
Me: What the hell are we going to do with all of this?
There was a brief pause.
Fleetch: Let's put on zombie makeup tomorrow and get drunk and cook it.
And so we did.
As an ode to My Drunk Kitchen (if you've never seen it on YouTube, I recommend it highly - essentially the clue is in the name), we've named this night My Dead Drunk Kitchen. Long may it continue.