You’ll notice that posting has been sporadic over the last six weeks or so. You know how it is; work gets hectic, life takes over, food becomes fuel. You start to rely on a couple of recipes without thinking, lunch is a grabbed sandwich from the bloke who comes round the office or with clients in a mass produced sushi joint. Even going out for dinner descends into a long procession of rare steaks, the thought of ordering anything particularly stretching seems too much of a chore and you need something very familiar and comfortable, like wearing an old worn dressing gown or trakkie bottoms. I’d just lost interest really and the thought of investing time and effort in anything new was very far from my mind.
It’s funny the things that bring you back into the fold. Sitting in a friend’s kitchen tasting the apricot jam she’s made. Sitting at a picnic in Fulham Palace on a hot sunny day eating food lovingly cooked by some serious cooks; a simple home made sausage roll, a seaweed wrapped rice ball studded with broad beans, a thin omelette wrapped around smoked salmon eaten from grease proof paper. At home some poached eggs on toast for breakfast, sunlight streaming in though the windows. A return to eating for pleasure. A realisation that you’ve been denying yourself what’s important and good.