Just when you think your life has settled into a ‘new phase’, it becomes apparent that things aren’t clear cut. The kind of cooking that goes on in my kitchen these days varies. My sons ‘left home’ last year – supposedly – but come back often, sometimes with girlfriends in tow.
That means family meals at the weekend. The rest of the time I’m just cooking for myself, or me and a friend. I didn’t manage the empty nest situation very well at first.
In fact, a line drawing of me sitting at the kitchen table by myself (it can seat 10) was an image I couldn’t banish. I found myself blubbing down the phone to an old colleague one day because I couldn’t hold back the tears. I was sad more than depressed.
It took about six months to get used to this new state. Eventually I started asking friends over for supper. Supper for two is a specific kind of cooking.
It’s not like cooking for yourself but doubling the quantities. I know how I would feel if I travelled down the Northern Line and was served I had to and put flowers on the table. I started to make a list of dishes that would be a treat but that didn’t require too much work.
A bit of luxury – scallops, steak, wild mushrooms – was in order. A bowl of pasta, unless it was unusual (linguine with prawns, hot ’nduja and cooling chunks of ricotta, for example), wouldn’t cut the mustard. Before you tell me I clearly don’t have good enough friends, it isn’t just about the friend, it’s about what’s .
