I will let you in on a secret: I don´t like to cook. Some people might find it therapeutic, or creative, or even create whole blogs dedicated to that topic – to me it is just annoying. (I like eating though, I don´t disapprove of the whole concept)
But as I have kids and feel obliged to see that their nutrition is on point, and, though to a much lesser degree, because I know that my skin reacts horribly to junk food, that is a problem.
Because if you want home cooked meals full of fresh ingredients, you, well, need to cook them fresh at home.
Now I can´t complain, my mother does the cooking, and I am thankful for her whole wheat and vegetable obsession (didn´t feel that way when I was a teen, I can assure you).
Every once in a while though, my parents are away. Just like the last few weeks. And with Mr. Loca on a work trip (he insists I call it that, though he brought his snowboard and sent pictures of schnapps and the hot tub!) I was the only person left.
And I was kind of at loss. Dramatic much? Maybe, but just like it is with winged liner, the less you practice it, the more difficult cooking gets. See, I hadn´t meal planned and cooked for more than six months!
I do admit I was tempted to give into the kids request of having fries and ketchup more than once, but with the help of a few cookbooks and me dusting off my memory (I lived alone and cooked for several years, I am not as clueless as I claimed) everyone was fed and happy and I didn´t burn down the house.
And, because I am vain and that is important to me, with the exception of a flare up after Easter (can´t resist a brittle toffee) my skin stayed well behaved. Always a sign that the vegetable to chocolate ratio was balanced.
So I am pretty chuffed about my performance in the kitchen right now, and even more about the fact that my parents will return on Sunday, when I will happily pass on the kitchen duties to my mother.
Who, in fact, should totally start a cooking channel on You Tube.