The rough idea for this post came about a few weeks ago, I was horrendously hungover & that meant a warpath of fatty consumption.
Now, I’m not always diving head first into BBQ sauce but I have decided that food is definitely the closest thing I have to a soulmate.
Let me break it down for ya.
At the age of 10, going on holiday to Spain, a good 60% of my diary entries were detailed accounts of what I had eaten instead of what cute Spanish boy we spotted at the pool.
I think this damning review (circa 2004) of an airlines lunch options isn’t too far from what I would write about after a shitty tinder date now: for lunch there was a choice between a cheese and pickle or a ham and egg mayonnaise, I chose the ham and egg mayonnaise one. It was horrible. I didn’t eat it.
I involuntarily ooh, ahh & mmm when confronted with food on TV. Pointed out most recently by my mum whilst watch Eat, Pray, Love. (Curse Julia Roberts and her tiny jeans) Sounds of pure, indulgent pleasure my friends.
I quite literally earn a living buying sweets. ’nuff said.
If I’m not going to town on food, I’m usually making it. Just me, a mixing bowl & Bob Marley for weekends of baking and quite often a bit of interpretive dance too. Unadulterated bliss!
Clearly I eat, sleep & breathe food so have just given up on finding a man, this is more than enough of a relationship for me ❤