The best sign I saw in New York
2014 has been a very, very long year. 365 days. Many, many hours. Some quantity of minutes that I do not possess the mathematical ability or interest to calculate and oh my God, maths, I’ve already bored myself.
I find looking back on a whole year a bit of an impossibility, like trying to fit an entire packet of digestives in your mouth without taking the wrapping off first. Continue reading
All the veg. All of it.
If I absolutely have to, I will cook recipes with great, long lists of ingredients that require great, long trips to assorted shops.
But most of the time, I cannot be arsed. I want to cook, not go to bloody Mordor, and that requires recipes that give me maximum bang for at most 10 ingredients. Shepherds Pie. Risotto. That sort of thing. My recipes for Domestic Sluttery all seem to be along the “mum recipe” or “sod this, add condiments” line. A rut? You don’t say.
On Sunday night I cooked Maria Elia’s Slow-Roasted Paprika Chicken with Butternut Squash, Smashed Butter Beans and Tomatoes which I’d read about on Pip Cooks The Books ages ago, and looked simple and delicious. And oh dear God, it was. Apart from having to spatchcock the chicken. I swear: after the harrowing nightmare of figuring out which way is best to wrench a chicken’s bones off, I am writing to the Girl Guides to suggest that modern cookery techniques replace semaphore in Brownies. Continue reading