Sushi isn’t the only food to have come out of Japan. But it took sushi restaurants to show me that.
I suppose it started off as the thought of me being on some kind of competitive cookery show, where I am cooking at home and, unbeknownst to me, I am being monitored by a bunch of chefs from behind a bank of monitors.
I used to work as a chef in a chain Italian restaurant. I took the whole chef thing very seriously, and was very snooty about the whole thing.
I suppose that I see most food issues as childish, and that is probably less than fair. Probably.
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.
Inside the metal carton were ribs, and they were my introduction. In retrospect they were very probably very bad, but we loved them.
Having been brought up on mild, cornflour-based sauces, and freezer vegetables, I can always get a meal I enjoy. My partner, not so much: She seeks out things with claims of actual Chinese heritage.