The kitchen and the bookself

It’s not that I couldn’t cook before.  I managed to feed myself for 10 years without starving to death.

I walk around plenty of foodie markets, numerous delis and farm shops.  I watched a million cooking shows – often buying the book to go with the series – and I even went to (and got very drunk at) the BBC Good Food show one year… then when dinnertime struck I pretty much cooked the following meals:

  • Spaghetti Bolognaise
  • Fresh Stuffed Pasta (from the shop ready to cook in two minutes)
  • Shop bought pie with oven chips and peas
  • Oven-made fish and chips
  • Pizza
  • Chilli and various casseroles from the Coleman’s packs

And lots of takeaways.

It’s as if my brain dribbled out of my ear when I entered a shop to buy food.

All the while I was thinking I was a foodie because I had cookbooks and had been to the cheese room in Wholefoods.

But anyway.  I stayed with my mother for a few months, and then my mother-in-law for a few months more and I decided I had to start cooking for myself when we moved into our new flat.

And here I am:

My little kitchen.  There is one draw and the freezer is the top part of the fridge.  The three cupboards hold all the crockery and food.  Also, the light isn’t brilliant so I don’t think I’ll be doing Martha-style pieces to camera just yet.

The cookery books.  I’d imagine nearly half of them are baking books; my friend said I should post the pictures of my baking disasters on here too – I will, but not too often.

I’ve got a few weeks’ worth of new recipes to type up and post, and then I shall post every Friday.

PS. Ooo apparently this is surprising:  I don’t have a microwave.


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