For the first time in my life I cooked a crab. Two actually, and this, after my first attempt at cooking crayfish last weekend.
I didn’t kill them myself; I got the fishmonger to help me kill them (memories of how my mother’s thumb was hurt after a particularly frisky crustacean used its pincers to pierce her digit still haunt me).
I love that I can try stuff out in the kitchen without fear now. It’s not that I never wanted to try and cook. But this is the first time I have been actively encouraged to do so, to do things that I know I can, but never did.
All credit to the SO. He’s been a driving force behind these culinary adventures. There have been failures, of course. I realise, for example, that I truly suck at baking. (Kudos, really, to the intuitive bakers out there who are able to dream of and execute sugary confections that are out of this world.) I cannot bake a souffle to save my life. But I will try now, because… well, no harm, right?
But seriously, all thanks to him. If not for him, I wouldn’t be having so much fun, nor have gotten more confident in this area.
In the past few months I have been playing nonstop – from beyond cooking what I was good at (chicken curry), I have experimented with carrot cake (the Chinese kind), cooking lamb (something I avoided in childhood – the gamy smell was too strong for me), and even tried to cook an apricot stew (from his description- my version was rather different from his mother’s when I tried it when we saw his folks over Christmas last year).
I have still so much to learn, and so much to do. I just wish I could eat without fear and that the calories don’t show.
Oh well; I’m happy.
