Coo(k)ing spree

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach... I, however, conquered his heart with a severe inability to cook anything but scrambled eggs (In fact, I mastered scrambling at the age of 10 ;)). When we met, he was the one to cook... well, only pizza and tagliatelle but still… I couldn’t even boil pasta properly ;/ (No, I wasn’t 5 when we met. I was 21 :O and excuse meeeeee, but they put instructions at the back, and it is written in very small print). Anyway, he took me as I was, the act of which I treat as a real love :) and never asked me to prove my cooking skills. More concerned with heart-shaped toasts than a duck in plum sauce, he must have accepted that till the end of his life he would be fed with French breakfast (and here I mean food, not sex)… secretly frying a chicken breast when I sleep or staying till late at work just because his boss offered a dinner at an Italian restaurant.

But here I come! Reborn from the dust of ashes and black burnt toasts ;)
I welcomed England with a strange bent for cooking. And I did not start with an ordinary pork chop or minced meat balls (ordinary... my mum would kill me!). It is not that I don’t like it, but everybody knows it and I cannot kick off with everybody-knows-it food. So I went for a puff pastry plait stuffed with spinach and feta cheese, with a bit of ham as the base and a bit of an egg-yolk shiny gloss finish on top. I deliberately made it long so that you can get the impression that the difficulty level is proportional to the length of the name. That’s the way we roll! :P

Her name is plaît'... s'il vous plaît' ;)

                           

Actually, it WAS difficult:

• to come up with an idea (Agnieszka* had planted that a few months before, but digging my messy brain to get to that was hell of a task)

• to harmonise the time I had to prepare it with the time Christopher had to come back home from work – You can’t tell spinach to cook faster, if you know what I mean ;)

• to steal some seasoning from flat mates ;) (we didn’t even have proper towels at that time!)

• not to mess that up with an old oven (which took years to ignite, btw), a burnt to death frying pan (if a frying pan can actually die), two plates only and a load of will-it-work-out stress.

The only easy part was to pick up wine… as it goes with everything :)

So this is how my cooking spree started. All of a sudden, I felt like an experienced cook who can make anything out of nothing. A casserole from leftovers... spaghetti with broccoli and self-made sauce... shish kebabs with what-the-hell-there-is-in-the-fridge... jacket potatoes with what was left after all that you have just read about (i.e. spinach and grated Parmesan). And I must admit, I was quite good at it, wasn’t I?

A bit of Poland. Winiary!

                           

Mrs Jacket Potatoes half undressed

Yet, my passion did not last long as my working hours killed it. Then, came the new flat, where we are literally left with a frying pan and a £1 baking tray. I cannot even pop kernel corns without the fear that a plate, which I use as a lid, will explode under the heat.

Welcome to our small Africa. Creative Every Day Challenge!
A paper lid made by Kellogg's (limited edition).

Thus, for some time we limited ourselves to frozen pizzas and wedges, pre-cooked rice (the mere thought of which makes me want to cry and blush for shame), ready-made sauces and tortillas… Kończ waść, wstydu oszczędź! I'd better stop this madness. Yes, need to pop out to the shop, see if they have something I can cook with little that I have (meaning money, cooking utensils, time, and spirit).

Cooking makes me write, and writing makes me wanna cook... "and that's the way the cookie crumbles!"

* Cziczerona; my mentor in many fields