Master Chef, I am Not.

Here’s something you may not know about me – I am disgustingly lazy in the kitchen. This is probably the main reason why I eat so badly. I just don’t want to prepare food. Luckily for me, I have been blessed with a man who not only can cook, but doesn’t mind doing so. Phew.

Generally speaking, if I’m hungry, I’d rather shove down a piece of bread (yep, I mean a piece of bread, unadorned with, well, anything) than make myself a sandwich. Ok so that might be exaggerating a little, I do sometimes make myself a sandwich. Unless there’s crackers. Or nuts or something.

On the nights that I’m home alone (3 a week, at the moment), I usually succumb to something naughty. Stephen will bring me HJs on the way home from work, or something. On the rare occasion that I actually make myself some dinner (*gasp*), I feel disproportionately pleased with myself. Like tonight. Even if all I did was slap some tomato paste, ham, pineapple and cheese on a pizza base and chuck it in the oven. Who cares if it was a bit burnt around the edges? I cooked

I would like to add, in my defense, that my unwillingness to prepare food doesn’t extend to baking. I like to bake. Ok so I’m still lazy, but every now and then I get in a baking frenzy and go nuts. Banana choc chip muffins are my specialty. Place orders here.

Still, this is something I don’t like about myself. I’d love to be all Nigella Lawson in the kitchen, serving up fresh healthy meals to my family 3 times a day. I plan to, still, when things are a bit more settled. (By which I mean when Stephen has regular working hours and I don’t have to work at all. Ha.)

I already have the cookbooks, now if only I could get my hands on some o’ that wily motivation…