How do you write a food blog post when the world is falling apart?
This week has been a week for hibernating. The moment the clocks going back feels almost Cinderella-esque to me: at the stroke of midnight, darkness descends like a blanket, and I want to run away and hide. My mornings are so early that I don’t feel the benefit of the brighter starts, but feel keenly the gloom of my journeys home, my dark grocery shops, and my tentative steps out of the house any time after about 4pm.
I made my first wedding cake this week. It was, without doubt, the most nerve-wracking bake I have ever done, and could probably even compete with some of my scarier criminal cases in the nail-biting stakes.
This week has seen our household knocked down by colds. Nothing actually serious, but instead that dreary, endless low-level poorliness that struggles to justify time off or desertion of duties. We have armed ourselves with lemsip and positive mental attitudes, as if we can think ourselves well. My desk is a graveyard of balsam tissues and vitamin blister packs. But there is only one thing that has made me really feel a bit better: porridge.
This soup was, to be frank, a catalogue of disasters. I am not sure that I’ve ever got into such a mess making such a simple dish. It is therefore testament to how fantastically satisfying and delicious it is that, rather than write off this weekend’s culinary escapades and do my very best to repress all memories of them, I’ve instead chosen to immortalise it in this blog post.
By the time you read this, I will have undergone and, I hope, survived, my first technical lecture, my first demonstration, and my first practical of the school year, and already have blithely moved on, and be up to my elbows in mousseline and crème pâtissière. But right now I am a wibbling wreck of nerves and inadequacy; right now I am just a girl standing in front of a patisserie course asking it not to burn her.
Two years ago, Sam and I visited Siena on holiday. And since then, Siena has been my favourite place in the world.
A couple of weeks ago I made blackberry vinegar, and since then I’ve been looking for just about any excuse to use it.
Last week was the wedding of two of my closest friends.
My salad-for-supper obsession continues apace. Partly because I seem to have about a hundred odd items in the freezer, that I froze in good faith far too long ago, and now need to find a way of using. Enter the salad, the perfect vehicle for a mismatch hotchpotch of freezer tombola. I love chicken livers, and they’re perfect flash fried with a splash of sherry vinegar; and the croutons and lardons turns this into a handsome supper.