A Most Convivial and Pleasing Set of Culinary Circumstances

I am becoming a foodie. Slowly, but surely, I am turning into a frightful corduroy-jacketed parody of people who have handy-dandy little microcomputer smart-phones with built-in cameras run by software and hardware complex enough that it could have (in an earlier age) been enough to send nukes spiralling into cloud-pocked skies towards some unwanted (and soon to be charcoaled) neighbour. Luckily, I only have a reflective (if banged up) old Nokia, which more than suffices. And it does enough of what this gentleman needs, including possessing the ability to take pictures. Of food. Which I then send to a co-worker for a handy-dandy game of “guess what I’m cooking now!”

It used to be, once upon a time, that I hated cooking. Loathed it, even. Passionately. Absolutely had no interest in the subject. But then something magical happened: I had a friend who said: “hey, go wild in my kitchen”. And I did. Except with blue-cheese chicken. That will never happen again. Because I am rubbish at blue-cheese chicken. I think I may have almost killed my (future) flatmate with that recipe. I hope she’ll forgive me one day.

But now, oh, well now it’s just fun. I made fish today. But not just plain old fish, because who wants that? Surely the fish would have liked to be remembered as having been a remarkable fish. And it was. The recipe I found suggesting coating it with a sauce that included flour, egg, bread-crumbs, sweet soy sauce, and a dash of sesame seed sauce. And thus the fish was coated with said sauce, and surrounded with some chips, and a nice side dish of steamed veggies. And a bit of honey Dijon mustard, for that extra whammo of flavour. And whilst it may not have been photogenic enough to ever be anyone’s poisson du jour, it certainly had no trouble flying the Flavour Country flag.

And of course there are pictures of it. Because once upon a time, I could not cook. Noodles even, were a challenge. Using tomato sauce in lieu of proper tomato paste? Oh absolutely. And all it took, finally, in the end, was that one lovely friend who could, absolutely free of judgement, say: “Go crazy in the kitchen; I’ll happily eat whatever you make”.

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