So I’ve decided to start a blog. It’s not something entirely original and I’m a little late getting on the bandwagon here but the ever expanding library of cookbooks I own demands to be used and appreciated.
I love snuggling into my duvet to read my cookbooks just the same as reading a new mystery novel. Some have childhood stories interspersed between simple recipes, some are lusciously described decadent dishes fit for a feast, one tells of a new life on a country farm and one even has french songs interposed between rustic traditional recipes calling for pig’s trotters, calf’s head and marrow bones. I love them all the same. Actually, maybe not. I suppose there will emerge favourites from which I will gravitate to again and again but that remains to be seen. I am always inspired to try a certain dish after leafing through these books but somehow something always gets in the way. Like my arse on the couch in front of the telly.
I figure one recipe a week should be sufficient encouragement for me to cook and write more and yet not send me into fits of panic.
Wish me luck!