A Pinch of Stress and a Dob of Disaster

In bed last night, I was thinking about stock cubes – don’t judge me. Actually, it was more about the stock cube adverts that we have on the TV here in the UK (stop judging me). You know if you’ve seen them: a calm kitchen all flowing around, a cool, collected chef mixing up fresh ingredients before he sensually caresses the stock cube into the mixture. Every movement elegant. Every move graceful. A flourish and masterpiece culminating in the most delicious of meals. Use these stock cubes. Use them and cook like me. Like a master.

All I can think is That’s not how I bloody cook!

Nigella Lawson I am not.

 

I like eating. A lot. I want to eat good food every time I open my mouth (or chocolate/cake) and I don’t always like things the way other people make them. By necessity, this means I need to know how to cook. 

I like cooking. When I can turn a handful of ingredients into something that tastes good, I could bounce off the walls like some hyperactive child after pixie sticks. It’s astonishing every time I make something that is edible, let alone delicious. Moving out has accelerated my need to be able to cook and it seems I have taken on the role of head cook in the house. But that’s great. I get to experiment, try new recipes and, most importantly of all, I am in charge of what we eat so I always get something I like. The more I do it, the more I enjoy cooking.

Let me insert my big fat HOWEVER now.

People say cooking is relaxing. I want to know who these people are, what kind of magic they have and if they will give me it. Cooking isn’t relaxing. Things are beeping and boiling and falling on the floor (every time). When I use a stock cube, I plunk it in. That’s right. I plunk. I’ve got other shit to do than be gentle with a stock cube. I don’t have time to be relaxed.

Sitting on the beach is relaxing. Reading a book is relaxing. Not cooking.

Cooking for me is like an exercise class. I like it. I feel better after I’m finished. But it ain’t relaxing.

Especially when I have to clean up the smearing, explosive and never-ending pile of mess that seems to crawl out from its hiding place every time I cook anything like a monster hiding in my cupboard.

However, that is the beauty of my relationship. I have a man who will eat anything and clean up the whole-lotta-mess that creates itself as well.  

Give me a like or a comment if you enjoyed this post. How do you find cooking? Any good recipes to share? I have about three and would love to share 🙂

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