Ultimate weakness- Delicious culinary delights
Without wanting to sound wildly narcissistic there are very few things I don’t like about myself. It’s not that I think I’m perfect, far from it. It’s that I’ve stopped trying to be.
I have (finally) settled comfortably into my 30s and I’m still far enough away from my forties to lose sleep worrying about them.
This coming of age-acceptance has had a few pleasing side-effects: I’m less concerned with love handles; satisfied with my slightly South American derriere; and panic free when poor planning sees me heading to work looking a touch more bohemian than business woman.
But the chink in my armour I refuse to ignore is in the kitchen.
I’m not going to tell you that I’m a ‘foodie’ because the word irritates me like nothing else.
Instead I shall tell you that I’m in love with food. Food is not about staying alive for me, it’s about being alive and when fork introduces new flavours to my palate, fireworks dance across my tongue and my body tingles.
Every time a crisp white napkin is lain across my lap, and a menu placed in my hands it’s party time as far as I’m concerned.
What I’d like is to be able to transfer this magic into my poor neglected kitchen at home. It’s not that I can’t cook, or won’t cook, it’s that I don’t cook and I’m not sure why.
Perhaps it’s because I don’t have a car and resent the extraordinary price hikes in the small supermarket within a walk-able distance.
Could it be that I work too late and don’t get home at an hour that’s conducive to doing much more than falling asleep on my kindle?
Or maybe it’s the knowledge that whatever happens in my kitchen anything short of a minor miracle will leave me longing for Jamie Oliver to come a knocking.
Whatever the reason it doesn’t matter now as thankfully I’ve found a solution courtesy of Ca’Sagredo Hotel in Venice.
The hotel does, I’ve discovered, a ‘Culinary Delights’ break during which one gets cooking classes, meals prepared by a pro AND dining at the chef’s table. So I can learn to cook while safe in the knowledge that fine food is coming – even if my plate of is fit only for flinging in the Grand Canal.