There are so many reasons I am a writer and not a recipe writer. Living alone means buying lots of ingredients and realising you have to cook with them until they run out, so there’s a lot of repeat dishes. Is it a ritual? Perhaps. It’s mainly eggs and toast every morning with a black coffee. A big kale and cabbage salad with whatever vegetables and beans are lying about and the same lime miso vinaigrette for lunch (if it ain’t broke etc). For dinner it’s either daal (when there’s nothing in the fridge) or pantry pasta (with everything that’s in the fridge) or an everything salad (see previous parentheses). So I apologise it’s been two weeks since I delivered a recipe.
It’s raining here and there’s a dog on my sofa looking forlorn and like he could take or leave a walk, even though I know as soon as I get the lead out he’ll be bouncing around. I’ve booked a pilates class at the awkward time of 9.30am, which means I’m hungry but won’t eat until I get home, and I’d really prefer to lie on the sofa all day and never leave but dogs and humans means I must be present in the world.
Instead of frantically scroll through my photo albums to find a recipe I haven’t butchered on here, I’ve put together a list of things you can make from the archive over the long weekend. Things to impress your friends with but also meals that are just for you (we must savour these). I promise I’ll cook something new soon.