I, little old me, of innumerable a culinary incapability, have become a PROPER CHEF, who follows actual real life recipes and that. And uses spices and stuff. And herbs. See. Proper.
Watching, wholly intimidated, as Dave nonchalantly wazzes in a pinch of this and a slosh of that and it magically turning out tasting sublime... I decided I had to up my game. I'm a wife. A mother for God's sake. I should be able to chuck some stuff together. It's just the rules.
So now, after all my years of churning out beans on toast, scrambled egg on toast, even rice pudding on toast (bloody Blumenthal) I have thrown my incompetencies to one side, stepped away from the bread bin and into the limelight. No more bushel modesty for this little Nigella. MY SCRAN HAS LANDED.
You can stick your Cordon Bleu and your Gourmet Nouveau, that stuff's for wimps. I've never been one for delicate presentation; all that seven chips stacked up in a little tower, or being able to tell where the meat ends and the mash starts. First bite is with the eye some say. I can CATEGORICALLY CONFIRM that is not true. Biting with your eye hurts. Especially if you go for a dead sharp chip.
I've never been one for exquisite flavour. Is that a hint of vanilla or a slight undertone of WD40? Who bloody cares? Just holler if it isn't edible.
I'm a fan of volume. Quantity. Vastness; that's my bag. If there's a lot, it must be good, so I'll eat it. All. Amen. Okay, so it might be bland and you can't really make out what the Hell it is, but don't go getting all upset and hoity toity cause it's been doled out with an ice cream scoop - if anything they've done you a favour. Saves chewing. It's going to look and taste worse where it's going anyway. In fact, if you're going to keep whinging I'll eat yours an' all. Now shut up and get it down yer.
Not your typical cuisinier, granted. But finally, finally, I have found my niche.
BABY FOOD. It's unfussy, it's flavourless - it's sole taste aim is blandness - hello!
It is to be pureed into a paste like, unchewable, God awful looking mess - kerching!
And most INGENIUSLY - the consumer doesn't have the tastebuds/breadth of experience or indeed the necessary vocal chords to register any form of dislike - WAAHOO! Get in!
I'm finally at home in the kitchen.