I was a little surprised by a comment I received on Instagram about "all my cooking," as if I did an enormous amount of it. When it arrived I was, as it happened, in the middle of cooking our Christmas dinner, and as I continued to stir this, chop that, and wash the other, my mind returned to a time when I didn't cook at all. In fact, until I had a family I really didn't do much cooking. I didn't enjoy it. But as my family grew, and their appetites grew (feeding two tween boys is a full-time job!), I began doing it – and actually enjoying it – more and more. Funny how that person who didn't care about cooking turned into someone who spends so much time in the kitchen, doing – and really caring about – "all my cooking"!
On Christmas morning, we were walking back to the house after a walk in the woods, when my boy asked, "What are we having for lunch?". True, it was almost 1 o'clock, but it seemed to me that we'd just finished eating our big Christmas breakfast of cinnamon rolls, panettone and gingerbread cookies. Which had come right after - or so it seemed to me - a big Christmas Eve dinner. Goodness, was it really time for lunch already?
"We have the walnut bread I baked yesterday, smoked salmon and a mixed salad," I replied.
"Is that the starter?" my boy asked hopeful.
When we got home, he sliced some onions, I beat some eggs, and we made a frittata, too.