In the kitchen

Making the most of my last week off work I appear to have begun writing and photographing my recipes and even written a table of contents. I say I appear to have, because I was sitting down to plan out an entirely differnent book and when I put pen to paper about sixty recipes reeled themselves off in what most definitely did not appear to be a children’s story. Children’s cookbook perhaps. Story, not really, no.

Currently feeling so unmotivated to write, when what I really most need to be doing now is writing. And lots of it, having just set up Lovely UK. And my writing blog – my memories blog, because I also need to write those down – the ones that happened in the thirty four odd years before I began writing here.

So as usual I have a load of different projects on the go, all being attended to as my mood desires. All having small amounts of time dedicated to them and eventually they are completed, bit by bit. That’s my way – my attention darting here and there, then drifting, perhaps stopping a while to complete something and then swimming in another direction entirely becoming immersed in something for weeks upon end.

Which is precisely how I have gone from a full week of intense focus on setting up Lovely UK, packing up and moving house, to now spending most of a week in the kitchen cooking, baking and photographing – making notes on the backs of postcards, remembering and re-inventing recipes for cake, figuring out how to shift ingredients over – what to swap, how to make things more delicious, how to bring out flavour in the simplest possible way and along the way rediscovering the wonderful taste of farm-fresh meat and vegetables. Which has of course led me to wonder about the authenticity of the organics in supermarkets – which, really, considering how cynical I am I can’t believe I’ve not figured this out beforehand. I read this comment on a guardian article with great interest – time to dig a little further.