You may have intuited from the lack of mentions of food on this blog that I don’t like cooking. You’d be right. I used to like cooking. When we had two teenagers and a toddler at home I was always trying different recipes. I even invited people here to eat. And some people think I’m a really good cook. But after so many years of being a mother, I have definitely shot through my cooking phase. Now I do the bare minimum.
Yesterday, though, I got home from a coffee with a friend and a visit to Zoe’s, both of which cheered me up so much that as I parked the car in the drive I thought – Hmm, there is some halloumi open in the fridge that needs using up, and I have some left-over (home made) red lentil dhal in the freezer, so if I whip up a potato and mushroom curry quickly and make cous–cous (a 2 minute job) I’ll have a really nice tea. Yes!
So I swept into the kitchen, side-stepping Dave’s requests for an extended update on my day, and launched into making the mushroom concoction. This was in full swing when I delved into the freezer and found NO red lentil dhal. Why had I thought I’d seen some there yesterday? I really must start labelling food in the freezer. The upshot was that I had to make something else to make up the meal.
Isn’t food boring? Why is it plastered all over the weekend magazines and all over the TV schedules? And is it any wonder that there is an obesity epidemic?
I love good food. I love eating other peoples’ cooking. I just don’t want to spend time making it myself when there are so many more interesting things to be doing – writing, playing the sax, photography, walking, cycling, playing with grandchildren, talking to friends, laughing, sewing, knitting, watching old episodes of Due South with Dave, reading articles about how to write a successful screenplay, etc etc etc.
And in the absence of an interesting photo of food, here’s one of my laburnum coming out.