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annwfynSo, this weekend has, so far, been all about the glorious food.
I went into Chinatown yesterday withpierot, ksirafai and housemonkeytm. First, there was lovely tasty dim sum in Chinatown, followed by a wander around Chinatown where I found cherries and Jon found strange green stuff that you use to make sushi. We also found a Place of Cake Heaven (but bought nothing, although we gazed) and very strange spikey vegetables.
When we were done there, we wandered to Bar Ciao, and ate incredible and mind blowing ice cream. Both Ginnie and I rather proved that our eyes were bigger than our stomachs, but thankfully Jon and jez were there for us, like the large bellied saints that they are.
And today has been a day of pottering and a day in which I have decided I need to cook more. I am, therefore, going to try and set Thursday evening aside for cooking. And not just randomly throwing together some pasta and sauce, but rather looking through cook books, getting proper ingredients and cooking properly from scratch. This Thursday I think I am going to try and cook spiced lamb kofta. And it will be good.
And if at the end of this I am fatter than I was before, it will all be from good food and not from crap and take out. And that will be lovely and glorious.
It's also making me ponder. Why don't I cook more? I mean, I claim that I can't cook, but that's mostly a lie. When I'm on holiday in Cornwall, I cook. Admittedly, I'm nowhere as good as eitherpierot or molez, who have traditionally been the cooks of our cottage holidays, but I can cook a decent spaghetti bolognaise, and I used to do a really good mushroom risotto, not to mention my cheese souffle. So why don't I cook?
I should cook more. I will cook more. Even if I just start by picking out a random recipe from a cook book on Thursdays and actually taking my time over it. And I will learn to cook properly. I swear.
I went into Chinatown yesterday with
pierot, ksirafai and housemonkeytm. First, there was lovely tasty dim sum in Chinatown, followed by a wander around Chinatown where I found cherries and Jon found strange green stuff that you use to make sushi. We also found a Place of Cake Heaven (but bought nothing, although we gazed) and very strange spikey vegetables.When we were done there, we wandered to Bar Ciao, and ate incredible and mind blowing ice cream. Both Ginnie and I rather proved that our eyes were bigger than our stomachs, but thankfully Jon and jez were there for us, like the large bellied saints that they are.
And today has been a day of pottering and a day in which I have decided I need to cook more. I am, therefore, going to try and set Thursday evening aside for cooking. And not just randomly throwing together some pasta and sauce, but rather looking through cook books, getting proper ingredients and cooking properly from scratch. This Thursday I think I am going to try and cook spiced lamb kofta. And it will be good.
And if at the end of this I am fatter than I was before, it will all be from good food and not from crap and take out. And that will be lovely and glorious.
It's also making me ponder. Why don't I cook more? I mean, I claim that I can't cook, but that's mostly a lie. When I'm on holiday in Cornwall, I cook. Admittedly, I'm nowhere as good as either
pierot or molez, who have traditionally been the cooks of our cottage holidays, but I can cook a decent spaghetti bolognaise, and I used to do a really good mushroom risotto, not to mention my cheese souffle. So why don't I cook?I should cook more. I will cook more. Even if I just start by picking out a random recipe from a cook book on Thursdays and actually taking my time over it. And I will learn to cook properly. I swear.
