|The bread rolls are dancing|
October 1, 2018
Standing in the centre of the kitchen shop, flute music drifted across the metal charged air, a crash of symbols and then the orchestra bloomed into a haunting tune. Pans slid off the shelf and danced on the heatproof handles while the spatulas bounced on their rubber heads. And I
was full into a Disney movie …
There is something cathartic about a shop full of the most awesome cookware and crockery. Inspiration flows and, if a person does not check the price tags, the most amazing kitchen materialises right where the old one huddles, in a much-used corner of the house.
But what sadly lacks is the naked chef, jumping, no wait, that’s an image that can't be unseen. Let's face it, girl, what has been coming out of my kitchen over the years is a heart attack and little molecules marching to conquer cells, owning them, transforming them into unwanted ….. fat cells.
To put words into harsh cold reality, I wanted to be healthier, but my culinary skills were in hiding. So I embarked on a self-taught cooking course, learning a new skill each week. Damn it was hard. Why do onions need to be caramelised before adding them to a casserole that was going to linger in the oven a few hours? Why do I need to learn how to make cauliflower rice when the real stuff is so much tastier? It was not working.
So, I started with Poke bowls. The first was deconstructed sushi (love of my life) Eventually I moved from white rice to the more flavourful nutty black rice and now am proud to say I can eat spiralised pickled courgettes which, btw, can still never replace those tiny grains of heavenly starch.
Today crispy pork belly Asian salad is on the menu. I so hate doing macros because that freshly baked bread roll is now dancing in my imagination.