When I planned to make strawberry and rhubarb pudding on the weekend, a minor mix-up meant that Michael and I simultaneously and separately bought big bunches of rhubarb. With nine crimson stalks left over, I embarked on a mega-quantity of rhubarb compote. An opportunity to share it around arose within days - my friend and colleague Emily (who we visited in London last June) stopped by our lab to present the last seminar of the year.
I took the low-fuss route, buying four boxes of single-serving shortcrust pastry cases and a small tub of already-dollopable cream. (I figure that home-made shortcrust and freshly-whipped pure cream are privileges reserved for eating in my home, not from the office kitchen.) As I stood in front of the seminar audience and introduced Emily, it was all I could do not to giggle as a dozen or more pairs of eyes looked not at me but at the plates of tartlets in front of them; no-one was game to pluck their portion until I gave the go-ahead. They made short work of these once I did.