I like food. I like eating. I like cooking. I like shopping for dinner. I like waking people up with scrambled eggs, or a fatly sliced watermelon and yoghurt. I like picking blackberries, spreading soft butter on hot toast, or stirring a big cauldron of soup. I like the juice to drip from a bright orange. I like white goat's cheese to crumble at my touch. I like my fruit swimming in thick cream.
But at least as much as I like preparing or scoffing food, I like talking about it, reading about it and thinking about it.
My friends and family know this only too well. Plenty of them routinely roll their eyes heavenwards as I begin to blab about the goodness of cholesterol, about why fat is great, but carbs and sugar are not. I think most of them stopped listening a while ago, bored of my bitching about ingredients lists, my rants against dirt-cheap supermarkets, or my fear or endless rows of corn.
Jambalaya with Shrimp and Sausage
Hace 1 semana