Food you long for.

7/11/2009 06:01:00 pm

I've been in bed for a while now. I have a chest infection. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it, so just..get out of my face ok.

In my trawling through the internets over the last many months, something has become very clear to me. I love food, I love blogging: it all makes sense to me now. The link lists of Tuesdays with Dorie and Daring Bakers are an absolute goldmine of procrastination and food porn. Also, I just love Bakerella and Pioneer Woman. I love them and I want to go and make sweet pastry love with them right now.

The sad thing about all this internet traversing is that it reminds me constantly that I love to cook, but live in a horrid sharehouse where the hotplates are rusty and the cupboards don't close. Add to it, for reasons totally beyond my comprehension, the total lack of counter-space because everything lives outside the cupboards (plates, cutlery, pots, pans, food) and you have a kitchen not fit for cooking.

Also, I still do not own one of these:
Come to think of it, I don't own one of these either.

But now is not the time for my plaintive wailing about how much I hate renting in Sydney and sharehousing in general. You know me: I'm not one to complain...*

Today I was reading a Swedish food blog, because I am cool and that's how I spend my spare time, and I came across this post. It's about a cookbook called "Längtans Mat". It means the food you long for (though the title of the translated book is Very Swedish).

Reading about it made me long for oven-baked salmon with dill and new potatos. I longed for lingon-berry jam. I longed for mulled wine and pepparkakor. For rosehip soup. And most definitely crayfish with crusty bread and hard cheese. And pea soup with pancakes on Thursday. Meat-balls with brown sauce. Salmon. Sandwich cake. Salmon. Princess tart. Salmon. Jansson's temptation. Salmon. Pearl sugar. Salmon.

I longed.

But most of all I longed for a better kitchen that isn't in a horrid sharehouse, because I own this lovely cookbook, and never, not once, have I cooked anything from it.

*Obviously the time for my plaintive wailing was in the previous paragraph. Pay attention.

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