I'm a recovering cookbook collecting addict

Let me tell you what I actually cook

It occurs to me that what you do for a job becomes your nemesis.

Like anything, if you’re forced to do it, like a performing monkey, for MONEY, well, it becomes a bind and a chore. Maybe even a bore.

Let’s take a little trip down memory lane to Boyfriends Past as evidence. Not a rigorous sampling strategy, agreed, but hey ho, we have to work with what we have.

• There was the banker who was so bad with money I had to pay for our flights to Mauritius. Seems spending hard on pink shirts had left him a bit short for the big ticket items.

• There was the radio producer. Super organised, chirpy, Mr Fun to his guests and colleagues. In private a depressive with a drug and alcohol problem who got a little bit aggressive when under the influence. Once pushed me into a park railing after accusing me of being a lesbian.

• There was the social worker. By day advocating for disabled and older people, organising funerals for those without relatives, sorting claims for benefits, being a saviour. A trustworthy and kind man if ever there was one. Privately, a prolific liar. A man who faked having cancer. His oncology appointments spent in the hospital chapel reading FHM. An English teacher these days. No wonder teenagers are going down the Adolescence path with role models like him. Poor buggers.

• There was the interior designer creating beautiful spaces for his clients. Carefully planned and executed. Drawn, measured, detailed. Loved. His own home? Unfinished, bare plaster walls (not in a cool way), pictures unhung, toilets unclean, a broken oven. Unloved. Lots of ‘uns’.

• There was the sales guy turned marine biologist student. Studying the wonders of the Ocean after years of attending dire training courses on Swindon industrial estates to swot up on NLP sales techniques. So very respectful of all the life the water had to offer, yet not in any way appreciative of his own, dying at the age of 28, free diving whilst hungover. Fool.

• And what about the wine buyer? His own company, supplying some of the finest pubs and restaurants London has to offer. A connoisseur… a bon viveur. Yet off the clock, in the pursuit of being drunk as a skunk, glugged whatever he could get his mitts on. Same for food. Ate utter crap. Mainly fuelled by Co-op marmalade and chips. Boarding school has a lot to answer for.

For more stories of the unfortunate mistakes I’ve made in my life, why not subscribe? Lots is free to read. Some of the juicier stuff is behind a paywall, because I get a bit shy when it comes to the REALLY bad stories.

I could go on. I’ve had a lot of boyfriends. But some of them are paid subscribers (hi!) so I think mining my love life further could bring exposing comments. Possibly that I was a dreadful girlfriend. (True).

What I do know for sure, is that I am a terrible judge of character. Or perhaps we’re all fatally flawed, and what we’re drawn to professionally is the exact thing we should leave well alone. Like moths and flames.

Enough of all this. What I really wanted to tell you is what a recovering cookbook addict and a woman who has spent the last decade or so making money from recipe writing, food blogging (Good Housekeeping’s best food blog one year don’t you know), food styling, selling brownies etc etc etc, makes for dinner. And spoiler, it’s a bit samey. Like the aforementioned exes, the day job can be hard to extend into real life. Ready?

(Excuse: This is beef and meat heavy I know. I have three sons, one is neurodiverse. It’s tricky keeping five of us happy at dinner time).

• Pizza. Margherita to be precise. Look, it’s homemade okay. The dough and the sauce. The cheese I buy. I’m not completely bonkers, nor an ex member of Blur.

• Ragu/Bolognese. Not authentic in any way for sure. But it’s pretty good. Loads of celery, carrot, onion, some garlic. Olive oil. Black pepper, salt, chopped bacon because pancetta is expensive. High fat minced beef. Milk. Yes you read the right. A dairy farmer at a Bake Off audition told me to always cook beef with milk. Don’t think about it too much or it feels a bit fetishy and wrong. Beef stock. Worcester sauce. Blended mushrooms. (KIDS!) Simmer for hours and hours low. Make in huge batches and freeze in portions. Oh and use to make lasagne too.

• Make your own burrito. AKA can’t be arsed to assemble dinner myself. Pulled pork/shredded chicken/dry fried beef mince in a dish. A big pot of rice, a slaw of raw carrots and onion (separate because in this house some food must not touch). A plate of something beany to be ignored by everyone but me. Tortilla wraps. Steamed corn on the cob. Sauces galore. Me policing each child to ensure they eat some veg.

• Chicken katsu curry with sticky rice. (Not authentic I know I know). Chicken breasts dipped in spiced flour, then egg wash, then panko breadcrumbs. Fried in olive oil until golden on each side, finished in the oven until cooked through. (I use a probe because chicken scares me). Served with a vat of sticky sushi rice and a quick curry sauce: carrots, onions, garlic and ginger simmered in chicken stock, miso paste, a dash of rice wine vinegar, soy sauce, tomato ketchup and curry powder until tender. Whizzed up with a little honey, but careful blending when hot. Exploding blenders etc.

• Burgers. Homemade okay? Beef for the boys (could be a good name for a play, no? or a musical?) Minced beef, very finely chopped onion, loads of ground black pepper, a bit of salt. Formed into patties with a dip in the centre to minimise doming. Dry fried. Served with round lettuce, cheese for some, pickle for others, in homemade brioche buns because I stupidly once made some and now my children demand them and I am their slave. Recipe: 600g strong flour, 2 tsp salt, 7g sachet yeast, 100mls warm milk, 2 eggs, 100g melted butter, 100g sugar. Warm water to a sticky mass. Then knead, prove, knead, shape. Brush with egg wash, cover in sesame seeds and bake at 180C until golden. Cool in the tin so that the steam makes them softer. Oh and I have started making the most amazing mushroom burgers for me and the boyfriend, hoping to convert the kids at some point, ha! The recipe is here if you want it. They’re delicious.

• Sausage roast. Self explanatory. This is actually roast chicken with a side of sausages but some don’t eat the chicken so we call it this. Always with Yorkshires cooked in lard. I feel like I could have been a good Northern house keeper of yesteryear given my penchant for beef and its by products. Maybe with a side hustle making tallow candles.

• Garlic steak and chips. Pan fried using the flip it every few seconds method, rested in garlic butter. Homemade oven baked chips (chip shaped roast potatoes). Corn/carrots/broccoli on the side. Same three veg on repeat, boring but what gets eaten.

• Teriyaki chicken skewers. Chicken chopped up and marinated in my version of teriyaki (soy sauce, mirin, brown sugar, ginger, garlic, honey, sesame oil, cornflour, water). Threaded onto metal skewers because I always forget to soak the wooden ones. Oven baked, precariously balanced over a deep baking tray to get the charred effect without messing up the toast grill tray. Served with rice/wraps/corn/carrots/broccoli. Oh and sometimes shredded white cabbage fried on a very high heat and then drizzled in sesame oil and chilli flakes.

Just me who eats the same meals on repeat? Come on, share! I want inspiration and reassurance please.

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