To Whinge or not to Whinge, That is the Question

Another writing class exercise, writing as therapy. Not sure if it has helped but I enjoyed writing it!

I enjoy cooking and especially trying new recipes. Television cookery programmes are addictive, everything on a bed of wilted spinach, delicious I am sure, if you can stomach spinach. Unfortunately to produce the desired result you need all sorts of equipment and skills, and an eye for the obscure. Picture Jackson Pollock with a touch of Andy Warhol and maybe a soupcon of Banksy, art on a plate is what is desired.

The latest offering was roasted prawn brains, now I have tried to cook and eat prawns and after they are deheaded and shelled you are left with something about the size of your thumb to eat. The mind boggles at how much you would get to eat and how many prawns would need to sacrifice their lives in order to provide you with even a taste of the sea. This morsel, on a plate the size and shape of an upturned dustbin lid, dusted with powdered caviar and a strategically placed dandelion leaf, is presented to the experts. The oohs and aahs, closed eyes, raised eyebrows and superlative descriptions inspire. The hushed and reverential tones make the occasion very special.

Now for dessert, the pinnacle of a great meal. An air foam of balsamic vinegar and maple syrup topping a Scottish raspberry poached in champagne and to complete it a sugar spiral. The judges are in an ecstasy, have never in their lives tasted anything so wonderful.

Once again I am inspired. Kitchen cupboards, fridge and freezer are inspected. The gourmet meal that results would no doubt win any elite cooking competition.

An armchair strategically placed in front of the TV, a tray on my lap. My favourite plate, slight chips in the edge I’m afraid, and artistically arranged on said plate, fish fingers, baked beans and mayonnaise, from a jar of course. And a glass of Aldi’s best red wine.

Now who is going to win this latest gourmet competition?