Yesterday I made a lovely cottage pie, with sweet potato topping, instead of normal potatoes. After that I made 10 lemon drizzle cupcakes (see a later blog post for the recipe) they were absolutely delicious and lasted not much longer than the 40 minutes it took to make them.
Today, with two lovely kitchen assitants in the form of my husband and father-in-law I made a roast pork belly with fluffy roast potatoes, four kinds of vegetables, stuffing (packet mix, in fairness) and homemade gravy. It fed 7 and every body marvelled at how delicious it was- they had never tasted my late grandmother's Sunday dinner (served at lunchtime- Welsh dinnertime) which would have made mine taste like wet slop.
I know what you're thinking. Where's the proof? Where are the dozens of artistically fuzzy Instagram photos of cheerful looking, plated-up cakes; of sizzling pork and crackling dripping with gravy.
Where the f*k is the #foodporn??
Every self-respecting blogger worth her crust is supposed to provide #foodporn for her fellow opinionated internet users to amuse themselves with on lazy afternoon.
Well, the truth is that largely I forget. It doesn't enter my head to take a snap every time I find myself alone with a piece of nicely buttered toast. I'm not sure who started the 'taking pictures of your food' revolution, but I'd bet you any money that person had too much time on their hands.
That person definitely spent too much time using social media- and now we all feel slightly inferior if we don't document every well presented morcel to pass our lips.
So until I find myself insanely bored- or until I start cooking for the purpose of my blog, you'll just have to believe that my food was effing tasty.
Here's a picture of a squirrel-
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