As you may have guessed I am a great lover of food, considering all the coffee shops I know and love, and am intimately acquainted with every cookery program known to man. Then you would suspect that I can actually cook, well, cooking is akin to my driving skills, limited and dangerous. The trouble started from a very early age with a large bowl of gooseberries, (small green furry things you make jam with), I asked, no begged to be allowed to wash them, after my mother, aunt and grandmother had spent the best part of the afternoon topping and tailing them. Of course how much damage could a five year old do, I took the term wash them to a new level by including washing up liquid in the process, plenty of lovely bubbles and three pounds of inedible gooseberries later. Over the years things just went from crackpot to crazy, tried melting chocolate in a basin over hot water, only no one told me not to use a plastic bowl, one wrecked saucepan and melted mess later. Have on more than one occasion nearly blown up the microwave, the first instance it was only out of the box. I do have one special trait when cooking pastry that it is completely raw inside and cremated on the outside, don’t ask, still not sure how I do it. The kicker is that when my parents would go away even just for a day, my sister was left strict instructions not to leave me unsupervised in the kitchen, I was eighteen at the time, such trust. Mind you I have gotten better over the last few years but the damage has been done, family members keep the doctor on speed dial just in case of food poisoning and my mother still insists on standing guard when I am let loose in her kitchen, even if only making toast. What makes all this all the more funny is that my mom is a brilliant trained chef, and my sister and dad can cook very well, in my case, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, it was on a completely different one, on another continent. Mind you I can wire a plug and know which end of a power drill to use. Ya just can’t be good at everything.