B and I are amateur food snobs. We’ve eaten at Le Gavroche, Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley, The River Cafe and Benares at the top end of London dining, and Wahaca, Toku and Salt Yard at the very good but more affordable end.
We both like to cook and I could count the number of times we’ve ordered takeaway on one hand, since we moved in a year ago. We watch Great British Menu, Master Chef (in all of its incarnations), The Great British Bake Off, and anything starring the delightful Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.
Our shelves are crammed with Nigella, Jamie, Gordon Ramsay, Angela Hartnett, Donna Hay and several incomprehensible (to me) German cookbooks, in which the recipes give instructions on what to do in minute-by-minute intervals (ah, those Germans).
So it’s going to take a lot more than a brain tumour to interrupt the quality of the cuisine around here. Since B came home from hospital mum and I have made roasted sage and pancetta mushrooms, warm mackerel and beetroot salad, thai chicken san choy bau and salmon jungle curry.
B’s appetite is undaunted. There was one day after surgery when he was fed intravenously, and one day when he didn’t feel very hungry, but apart from that he’s remained in ‘bring on the celeriac dauphinoise’ mode.
One thing I don’t do a lot is baking. My sister Melissa recently pointed out ‘you’re not the baking type’. I’ve no patience for it, and once ruined a sponge B was making for lamingtons by insisting he take it out of the oven. Way before it was ready. I can be quite annoying (I know it’s hard to believe).
Biscuits can’t be that difficult though, so I’m going to try my hand at peanut and rosemary cookies tomorrow.