Cooking up a storm...

      In recent weeks, where I am staying, I am the main cook, and bottle washer. No, thats not strictly true, because ' he, who cooks,' does not clean up, or, in my case, 'she.' It seems to work well, at least nobody died. Or, even got ill, that I know of. In fact, I had very appreciative eaters, with lots of nice comments, and clean plates. Mostly, I am guessing, because they were all tired, and hungry.  Anything edible would have worked. Food, though, it's such an emotive subject isn't it. It would hard for anyone to cook for me, I know. Mainly because my appetite fluctuates, and what I fancy does too. I like to snack a lot. To have things from the cabinet, as they say in cafes, or even entrees. The snackie end of the meal choices. I must admit too, by the time night comes, I am pretty much past big meals. That's been the big change here. Everyone eats late at night. Surprisingly, so do I!

        I haven't done that on a regular basis since I lived in Nashville, U.S.A. There, the whole household would go, en masse, to the all night supermarket at some time between midnight, and two a.m. After which, the shared meal would be cooked. I don't even remember going to bed. Although I suppose we must have done. We all began work again early the following day. I did enjoy the late night shopping, wandering the aisle, looking for nice things, or bargains. Being called Ma'am by the staff, such a nice habit. What nice American boys they were. It was so much easier to get through the checkout too. No such sessions here, although there are now 'all night' supermarkets. So, in theory, you could do exactly that. Thinking about it, it's the same mindset. People working hard all day, coming home at 6 or 7, or more, and needing some time to change, have a drink, and relax before eating.

       Never mind, you gradually get used to any change, except if you're dead.

       That's funny, second mention of death in relation to food. Now, what would Freud make of that? Well, I do have a sensitive digestive system. I know, I know. Too much information. These people that can eat anything though, how lucky is that. I have a Mother like that. Nothing upsets her. She can eat anything, even though she is knocking on a bit now. Her ability to digest anything with no ill effects, remains.

       Speaking of people who are able to eat anything, brings to mind dieting. Well, almost everything brings that to mind. As someone who has battled that particular battle for years, I can tell you...nothing ticks you off worse than someone saying 'I can eat anything, and never put on a pound'. Hate them with a passion, no really, I could. Then, there's me, who eats like a sparrow, peck, peck, hop hop, and still have to do without things I love, or normal sized meals. My doctor said once, "but you would be one of the fortunate ones in a starvation situation. Your body would outlast most of the others." Sorry? Is that supposed to be an asset?

         Not fair when you love good food. Bear in mind, I said good food! None of this McDonald's, Chicken hut, or mr curly white beard, whatever it's name is chicken, and chips.

        I'm not very fond of chicken. Nasty scrappy creatures they are. That thing about the pecking order of chickens is true you know. They really do peck, and abuse the weaker, and will kill the weakest, no sweat. I know, I've seen it. It was gang warfare, and bullying at its worst. Assassination really. Not a good society to be part of, chickens. Be glad you are not of that race. I am, very glad, I wouldn't make a good victim, too much bullying as a child perhaps. Seeing that, left me with an aversion to the nasty fowl. This often means, even though a chicken dish looks, and sound wonderful on a menu, I can't eat it. I don't want to eat it,  I just can't. Turns the stomach. See, told you I have a delicate digestive system.

        Kinda lost my way here, talking of those raggedy, scratchy, bug eyed chickens. Ugggg.

        Back to cooking, I'm not a recipe kind of person to follow a careful plan. I'm more the 'I liked that dish we had in...., what was in it?' So I add a bit of this, a bit of that, taste, try some more, and there you are. Why, I don't even give it a fancy name. Me, who loves words, never try to think of something inventive as a handle for it. I say, it's a pork surprise, or a mystery spicy lamb. Or, it's an, all sorts dish, leaving the food to speak for itself. Neither can I ever do it exactly the same again. Not that it matters, because no one remembers exactly what it was like the time before. 

          A very laxidaisical way of cooking isn't it. I don't remember the last time I weighed anything. It doesn't matter does it, food should be fun shouldn't it? For the cook as well, surely. If I was a drinker, I could easily be one of those people you see in films. Pottering around a gleaming kitchen. With no shoes on, and a glass of wine in their hand. As they whip up a gourmet dish. There is never any mess going on is there? No bits of wrapping, or vegetable peelings, or bits on the floor. Mine are not up to that standard anyway. I am just lucky that the extremely hungry seem to gravitate to my circle. People who eat everything with great gusto, even the dishes that don't quite turn out as I hope.

          You see, all you need in life, is confidence, and a bit of luck, and Bob's your uncle! Well, he was actually. Uncle Bob, I mean. He was a farmer, like my maternal grandfather, another Bob. Now, those meals, cooked by the quintessential farmers wives, when I was growing up, were large. I mean really large. Those were ladies who knew how to stretch food. They could feed any number of people without batting an eyelid. A bit like I prefer to appear to the diners around me at the moment. A lady writer, of leisure, who whips up tasty dinners in time for them to appear....

          Now, you writers out there, have the lie to that don't you? Of course you do, but we can spin a good yarn can't we.. 

          After all, aren't we supposed to create a believable illusion, yep....that's exactly what I do.

          You're coming to dinner when......oh how wondeful. No, no trouble, no trouble at all....