Filled pasta is one of my favourite things to eat: Have you ever cooked lettuce?
I do not know what everyone else does with their time if they’re not planning meals, shopping for food, cooking meals, or eating them. I wish I understood what banalities these people filled their lives with.
Starfish chocolates decorate a beach of biscuit crumb and sugar sea glass. The beaches, in their little containers surround two cakes: one a mermaid, and one a Narwhal.
My mind keeps popping in the notion that this is somehow a new problem, a by-product of our new, over-connected technological age. But that’s nonsense.
I cook alone, because I like to be in control of all of the processes. To be helped by someone would require far too much explanation of the minutiae of what I am looking for, for it to be of any practical benefit.
Authenticity versus making a plate of food which gets your blood pumping. Yes, I am aiming for, and excited about, the latter; the problem is that my ego always wants me to go to the former.
I’ve been working on a dish without a name. For a while I didn’t even realise that I was working on it. Let me tell you about it.