I just made Toad in the Hole with red wine and onion sauce for the beaux parents. I thought it was yum (thank you Nigel Slater). The Monster thought it was yum (phew, there is some English in there somewhere...). My beau père thought it was yum (but then he's a bit like his son, I could serve him marmite coated banana skins and he'd say it was delicious). My belle maman... hmmm, said it was very filling. In the same way that papa and fils will happily scoff down anything I make with delight I get the impression that I will never make anything that is altogether pleasing to the belle maman. Especially if it is pleasing to papa and fils. Am I being over-sensitive? Probably. But I think there is a lot of truth to that old adage about the stomach being the way to a man's heart, the natural consequence of which is that the kitchen becomes the unacknowledged battleground for the male stomach/heart between any females hoping to stake a claim there.
How old-fashioned does that sound? Sometimes instinct laughs in the face of feminism.
I didn't get a picture of my toad. So here's another toad I like just as much.