Sausage rolls, sandwiches, and soup

After today’s generously portioned lunch I didn’t think there was any way I would be hungry for supper, but one physio session later (which – hooray – gave me official permission to go to the loo unsupervised, thanks to my “textbook” demonstration of how I use my walking frame to transfer safely 😏), my stomach was audibly growling for sustenance.

Tonight’s supper special was warm sausage rolls, to which I will never say no: as a kid, on occasional nights when mum was out and it was just me, my sister, and my dad, and there was football on the telly, dad would buy cheap frozen cocktail sausage rolls (for him and me) and the cheese and onion equivalent (for my sister, who turned vegetarian at an early age), shove them on a baking tray in the oven, then pile the piping hot results in cereal bowls for us to munch while we watched the match. For that reason, given the choice between a properly made, farm-to-fork, artisinal sausage roll and the cheapest factory-produced equivalent, it’s the factory version that wins every time!

These were, I’m pleased to say, exactly what I want from a sausage roll: pastry so flaky most of it ends up on your top or the floor, and a filling of indeterminate pink goo, the origins of which you don’t want to think too hard about. Calling them ‘warm’ was generous – just about above room temperature would be more accurate – but with a generous puddle of hot sauce to dredge them through, and an appetite made even more acute by nostalgia, they rapidly vanished, leaving only the mess on the carpet to tell of their passing.

Delicious as they were, the sausage rolls barely dented my hunger, so when I was asked what I wanted from the supper trolley my answer was an enthusiastic “yes please – whatever you’ve got”. 🤤

Which produced what you see in the headline image at the top of this post: two quarters of ham and coleslaw sandwich (ham of the ‘wafer thin’ variety that’s so thin it’s barely there, but decent pre-sliced wholemeal bread and good supermarket / catering company own brand coleslaw) and a mug of soup of the flavour “I don’t know, I just serve it” (cream of tomato, I think, and very nice indeed). And a mug of coffee (decaff, as I want to sleep tonight), which, as when I was in hospital, I don’t even need to ask for anymore: it just arrives.

And that was it. I asked, Oliver Twist style, for more, and was told I had to wait until everyone else had had theirs, and then they would come back to me with the trolley.

They never came back. 😪

The physio asked during our session if I felt I was getting adequate nutrition here: even with the more generous than usual lunch, and my ever-diminishing pile of fruit, I have to admit that today my answer to that is “no”.

I’m not doing scores, because I’m tired and hungry and grumpy. Please feel free to provide your own, here or on Facebook.