I wish I could be a food blogger; it looks so much fun, what with all the pictures, the laughter, the bon-homie amongst like-minded individuals and not to mention the food! The festival of colours and imagined smells are a treat for the senses. It makes me dream of a large, country kitchen with friends dropping by unannounced but as a domestic God it is OK because I’ve just made some mango and mint macaroons (I’m doing an alliteration month then, I would imagine). And we would be laughing. Always laughing.
But this aspirational image will never be matched by any experience of cooking that I’ve been through so far. Firstly, there is never any mention of mess and/or washing up. Is this just a localised problem that only I suffer? Or do other people just not see it as a problem worth mentioning, just a statement of the obvious?
Secondly is the expense. Food costs money. Good food costs good money. I don’t have good money. Therefore I don’t get good food. Life is tough.
Thirdly: time. I get home at 7:30 every night and the thought of spending a long while making a new recipe makes my soul tired, so I usually trot out the Greatest Hits. Also my girlfriend would be complaining louder than a buzz saw at how long everything was taking, so I relent.
Fourth and finally, my palate isn’t the most sophisticated in the world, it recognises key flavours of ‘chicken’, ‘tomato’ and ‘hot’ but sadly I lack the ability to work out which field a specific broccoli came from. I am not sure if this comes with time, or even with eating in a slightly different way, or maybe I have to chew more. But either way, the subtle flavours of most recipes worth trying would be lost on my neanderthal taste buds, so I don’t bother.
But apart from time, cost, and lack of skills, I would love to blog about food, so any tips as to how to do it, would be most welcome. But most of all, I am craving the laughter. Oh, the laughter.