A Careless Cook
I am a careless cook. Really. I am the girl who gets drunk at her own dinner party and serves a cake for dessert - flourless orange and coconut - all the while merrily forgetting to put the eggs in. An entire table of people will happily eat this disaster warm with cream and it is only in the morning when I taste the cooled cake that its egglessness becomes obvious. You know, when there's no flour in a cake, you really can't go leaving out another ingredient. Not eggs anyway.
And yet, I am bewildered by how many people find me intimidating, culinarily speaking. A dear friend told me recently "Oh, I couldn't have you over for dinner. I'd be too embarrassed to cook for you." I was stunned. The last time I'd entertained this friend, it had been an assembly job afternoon tea - fresh berries, double cream and a shop-bought chocolate cake. I didn't make a thing. Since the Plumbaby arrived in our world, my cooking has simplified as a matter of necessity - I don't have the time for elaborate creations or all day cooking-fests. But somehow, the stigma is still attached to me.
If only these people knew the truth. Take this morning for example. I looked at the loaf of white bread on the kitchen counter and thought "no, I must eat something healthier than that". So I got out the chopping board and diced some onion and zucchinis. I sauteed the onions and then added the zucchini for a quick fry. Then (I have a VERY low boredom threshold) I wandered off to check some sites and only went back to the kitchen when I smelled burning. My wonderful mix of golden onions and green zucchinis was unsalvagable.
So I sat down and had a bowl of icecream for breakfast.
Do you see what I'm saying here?