I love eating. The way to my heart ( other than, of course, diamonds) is through my stomach. I love going out to eat, whether it be at a restaurant or a friend's house. I love the whole ritual of choice and surprise, of unusual and new flavours, of conversation, candles and crystal, of friendship, cosiness and comfort. Sadly, however, this eating experience is not one I enjoy terribly often.
I hate cooking. Not to say that I am a bad cook. In fact I would go as far as to say that I'm a pretty good cook. I make everything from scratch, choosing good ingredients and varied recipes. As a young mother I did the whole thing of freezing trays of organic sweet potato and I regularly made my own bread.
But, if I am to be completely honest? Nowadays I loathe the whole business of cooking. I hate having to cook for my family when I don't want to eat. I hate planning something and then finding that nobody is interested in eating it. The question that burns into my brain and fries my soul is "What's for dinnnneeeeeerrrr?" What is for dinner? Well, obviously something that one of you will hate, if not both of you, my darling boys!
One of my boys likes fish, the other doesn't. One likes curries, the other doesn't. One likes bacon, ham and pork, the other doesn't. This narrows down the range of dishes that they both will eat and it bores me to tears.
I find a recipe that I think everyone will enjoy and they eat it with no word of thanks or enjoyment. After a while it grinds you down.
Both my boys can cook. They often make their own lunches at the weekend. My eldest came first in a school cooking competition, making his own chicken pie from scratch at the age of 12. On Mother's Day I came home to find that my 17 year old had made a Victoria sponge for me, making butter cream and cleaning the kitchen after himself. Brilliant!
I am grateful for when they cook and I am lucky to have a husband who cooks too. But it still doesn't change the fact that I do the majority of the cooking. At the moment I have roast chicken in the oven with home made roast potatoes, cauliflower in a creamy cheesy sauce, more veg peeled and ready to steam. I will make my own gravy from the chicken juices and red wine... but its just bloody dull.
Do I sound very petulant and spoilt? I probably do. But this is my blog and if I want to have a good old moan about something petty, then I will. I suppose I'm lucky that any of them cook at all, ever. I suppose I'm lucky that I can afford nice food, that my mum taught me to bake and make sauces and follow recipes. I'm lucky in all sorts of ways, but right now, if I won the lottery I would never cook again
I hate cooking. Not to say that I am a bad cook. In fact I would go as far as to say that I'm a pretty good cook. I make everything from scratch, choosing good ingredients and varied recipes. As a young mother I did the whole thing of freezing trays of organic sweet potato and I regularly made my own bread.
But, if I am to be completely honest? Nowadays I loathe the whole business of cooking. I hate having to cook for my family when I don't want to eat. I hate planning something and then finding that nobody is interested in eating it. The question that burns into my brain and fries my soul is "What's for dinnnneeeeeerrrr?" What is for dinner? Well, obviously something that one of you will hate, if not both of you, my darling boys!
One of my boys likes fish, the other doesn't. One likes curries, the other doesn't. One likes bacon, ham and pork, the other doesn't. This narrows down the range of dishes that they both will eat and it bores me to tears.
I find a recipe that I think everyone will enjoy and they eat it with no word of thanks or enjoyment. After a while it grinds you down.
Both my boys can cook. They often make their own lunches at the weekend. My eldest came first in a school cooking competition, making his own chicken pie from scratch at the age of 12. On Mother's Day I came home to find that my 17 year old had made a Victoria sponge for me, making butter cream and cleaning the kitchen after himself. Brilliant!
I am grateful for when they cook and I am lucky to have a husband who cooks too. But it still doesn't change the fact that I do the majority of the cooking. At the moment I have roast chicken in the oven with home made roast potatoes, cauliflower in a creamy cheesy sauce, more veg peeled and ready to steam. I will make my own gravy from the chicken juices and red wine... but its just bloody dull.
Do I sound very petulant and spoilt? I probably do. But this is my blog and if I want to have a good old moan about something petty, then I will. I suppose I'm lucky that any of them cook at all, ever. I suppose I'm lucky that I can afford nice food, that my mum taught me to bake and make sauces and follow recipes. I'm lucky in all sorts of ways, but right now, if I won the lottery I would never cook again
