Which is not me.
Have you ever felt like this?
About 8 years ago I sat down at the table in the front garden and cranked out a children's book. I hadn't been planning on writing a children's book, it just came out, so I wrote it down. I've now decided that it's time to illustrate it and print up a couple copies.
It's sort of autobiographical, you know, about life here on the top of the mountain and what I do here. Today I started painting the page that makes reference to me being a chef. A chef? What was I thinking? As I was painting myself in a big, white puffy hat I started to feel a bit guilty. I don't really cook. I mean, I cook, just not all that well. Really, not well at all. I wonder if, on the day the book came out of me, I had had a go in the kitchen and it went well. Who knows why I called myself a chef. Maybe it was a premonition of things to come. Probably not.
Anyway, while I was painting I had this feeling of guilt and then a feeling of hunger, so I went to the kitchen where I ruined some perfectly good rice. See....
I won't bother with the recipe except to give you the ingredients:
wild asparagus (see below)
juice of a blood orange
Yep, it tastes just about how you'd imagine it to. I don't think there is a cookbook inside me waiting to come out any time soon.
I did however, during a rainy Sunday, make a lovely spring smock to keep myself clean whilst I ruin perfectly good rice. See...