The vibrant colours, twisted gnarly shapes and intense flavours of Mediterranean vegetables are a long way off what I can get in leafy but not so sunny Hertfordshire. My mind drifts to Provence and Tuscany, to Palma and Greece. They do vegetables so well in those sunnier climes. I have to make do with what I can find in the supermarket. I do tend to buy the more expensive varieties out of gluttony, arrogance, experimentation and general adventure. Most of the time they fall short though.
Tonight I did a rare venture into pasta. And much to my surprise the tomatoes I used and slow cooked with shallot, garlic and basil last night had a wonderful flavour. A fine sweetness that comes of slow cooking tomatoes. I was quite pleased with the outcome.
My food ventures have gone well. My fest of game at the weekend. An accidental rib session with Sarah at Hakalok. A huge pork chop with baby roast potatoes and rosemary and garlic. And tonight's success. This is what keeps me going in the rocky waters I'm negotiating at the moment.
I have fought back from my Sunday despair. My feared outcome did not transpire. I still have heating and hot water. And my anxiety is much more in check. That said it has been an intense, busy and at times difficult week. It is so sad to see tormented young people battling things that make no sense. Such can be the cruelty of mental illness. I have a lot of people struggling at the moment.
Now in my warm flat I have escaped all that. Tonight's opera is Mithradate Re di Ponto. I have not had anything to drink except a glass of milk. No time for tea today. My instinct says pour a glass of white Rioja. Do I or don't I?
I can shut the world out tonight and once again indulge myself. Please do take care to do the same if you can. I will probably see you all again at the weekend.
I Heard a Voice.
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