I like to cook. There’s something mildly therapeutic about setting everything up and producing a dish that you’ll – hopefully – be sharing with someone. Trouble is, I’m just not very good at it.
In part, this is due to being easily distracted. That means I often start later than I should. I was cooking one of Delia’s Dishes, pork and caramalised apples, for Emma. She had to walk around the park for 30 minutes while I finished it off. I did the same dish for Charmaine, but by the time I’d driven to her’s picked her up and driven back, the apples were more singed than caramalised.
Then there was the time I did salmon for Emma. I bought the salmon fresh that morning (well, fresh from Sainsbury’s fish counter), trimmed it to fit in the over dish, wrapped it up and cooked it, perfectly. It wasn’t until Emma pointed out that there was rather a lot of it that I realised that the dish was for four, not the two of us. Plus I don’t like salmon that much.
And so to today, where I decided to have an omlette for lunch. I haven’t cooked an omlette for years, which is why I did two (the first was for practice). With bacon. Actually, the second was more like a crepe. Anyway: once my tummy had recovered, I thought I’d assemble a lasagne to stick in the fridge and cook later in the week. The mince was fine but I’ve never been great at cheese sauce, even out of a packet. It was too runny, plus I ran out of sauce for the top layer (and there was only room for two layers anyway). And because my timings were off – as usual – I had to just drop the sheets in; I usually like to soak them first, rather than just let them lay on top of the mince.
Basically, if I’m off work on Wednesday, we shall know the reason why. Apple pie on the menu next Sunday…