They say time flies as you get older.
And, if the last month or so has been anything to go by, I’m certainly aging rapidly. Because I’m fairly certain that just yesterday I was ensconced in a pair of trackies and a hoodie celebrating a frosty birthday over ice-cream cake and swearing I wouldn’t last til Spring.
But here we are, and here I am well and truly in September (and having dated all of my filing for the last month with “April” – sorry Rob).
The days, they are getting shorter, and (as my shorts-in-10C-weather-wearing-friend would say) more “fresh”.
I prefer to term it “cold! Oh-so-cold!” myself.
And so it is, in these nippier climates, that thoughts turn to warming soups. Hearty stews. Butter-and-cream mashed potatoes and slow cooked joints of meat. And, of course, that dish that has so ubiquitously become known as “spag bol”.
(…or how I made peace with a fish.)
I get nervous about fish.
They don’t seem to like me.
Perhaps someone told them about the time I managed to kill ten goldfish in a single year. I didn’t mean to – they’d be swimming around happily one day, and then two weeks later…
(Interestingly, when I handed over the fish-rearing-reigns to my father, the pair we had at the time lived for ten years. Until I was left to watch them for two weeks.)
And perhaps, just maybe, my fish-rearing-skills have left me slightly damaged. Unable to cook much more than a fillet of salmon (sear skin side down, wait… wait… flip, sear, serve) or instant fish fingers (roll onto oven tray, bake, eat soggy fish fingers because-I-suck-at-instant-food).
Until now.
So, I had this post all typed out about fears in the kitchen and me overcoming the dreaded yeastiness that is required for all things fluffy and bready and risen (very inspirational etc etc)…
…and then I remembered why I ended up making this batch of pizza to start with.
This post is sponsored by Nuffnang (cos a girl’s gotta pay hosting fees somehow).
I’m a bit of a faux-foodie. Actually, scratch that. I’m a lot of a faux-foodie. I smile animatedly when told about developments in the preservation of cheeses I’ve never heard of and throw “insightful” comments into conversations about tomato varietals. I love a robustly flavoured, home cooked meal – but often don’t know how to balance herbs and spices so that it tastes the way I imagine it should.
But (and here’s my little bit of authority when it comes to writing this blog of mine) I love food. I love eating it. I love learning about it. And I love creating new (and sometimes exciting) things for people to eat.
