As I write this I am watching Nigella Lawson pout at the camera before lowering her enviable lashes to a misty close-up of goujons of sole. Earlier I actually cooked something, a risotto out of my "Cook Yourself Thin" book, which went down well with the housemates. Before that I was reading the New Urban Gardener's blog at Times Online. At the weekend I watched Saturday Cooks, as Saturday Kitchen wasn't on, and missed Sweet Baby James while Anthony Worral-Thompson gurned at me.Yesterday I made the boyf not one but two homemade meals, just for coming to see me, one of which was a full roast chicken. He ate well, and I sat proudly looking on like a Stepford Wife, or, more horrifically even than that, Anthea Turner. Something strange is definitely happening to me.
I think its some kind of nesting syndrome. Having finished uni I've got kind of fed up of moving around, living in virtual squats, and being content with packet soup on pasta serving for a gastronomic delight. So now I feel all old and graduated I want to learn to do it properly. Plus, the boyf had just driven quite a long way so I felt that was a legitimate excuse to exercise my UKTV Food gleanings. I feel like I should be eating take-out sushi whilst wearing Prada and living in a stainless steel and faux fur bubble. Instead, all I want to do is get a dog and a sofa, and live with the boyf whilst cooking things. Is this a natural urge? Its not one of the ones they warn you about in pre-prubescent lessons. Perhaps I will write to Gordie and suggest that domestic urges be taught about in schools, because in today's world of high powered females it's a lot more scary to feel like you're going backwards in the Delorean than to find hair in places you didn't expect.
1 comment:
It all sounds perfectly sensible. That's what everyone wants isn't it... Oh no! It's happening to me too.
Not the Anthea bit though, I'd still happily behead her.
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