when you love food

It's what I do. I cook, I look, I taste and I then I get so excited by the combination I want to capture it on a little flat disc-picture screen. Then it's gobbled, shared, ohh and ahhed over. Meals here, much to what I'd prefer to the contrary are very rarely peaceful. There's no time to savour things overly long. Or spend time poetically grasping for the word that fits the moment/mood/food. It's gone. Or rather I have; back to the kitchen: ketchup, extra cutlery, drinks (no not *that* cup!). With babes in arms my dh and I ate in shifts passing the baby to each other in turns so we'd have hands free. Now it's still a pandemonium of a million different needs and wants all crammed around the table. And amongst the hustle and outcry's and squeals and annoyance there is also a lot of smiling and laughter and sometimes a compliment or two to the mama-chef. Sometimes. But usually, mostly, they are over the beans on toast and not the artfully coloured, hearty stew or delicate latticed veggies with sauce. Eeek.



Even when I don't eat it I admire.



Samphire (above there at the top), from the fish market, so delicious and salty tender that nothing more was required than an egg, oil and fresh summer garlic: the little bulbs popped helpfully out from their purple jackets, most willing to be eaten. Does summer really taste so good?





Sometimes we don't make it to the table.