In our house B is the cook. He’s very clever when it comes to such things and in comparison I’m a total looser. But then he did a degree in food development, so this isn’t really surprising.

B owns the kitchen. Sunday afternoons are spent cooking up a storm. The dining table is covered in his favourite cookbooks/recipes. The iTouch gets hooked up and the kitchen becomes a hive of activity. No-one rocks the Cooking Dance like B.

He has taught me a few tricks of the trade. Not many I admit, but that’s more to do with my utter happiness with having food cooked for me rather than his unwillingness to pass on the secrets of yummy food.

I whip up a mean garlic butter that gets slapped on some fresh bread if we’re starving and want a real treat. It basically rocks. And I make a wicked tomato soup. B taught me how to make it and now it’s my thing. He loves it. I love it. And it’s practically calorie free, making it a pretty tasty treat if I’m being weird and trying to “cut-down.” My next post is going to be a recipe for this awesome dish. It’s insanely easy and I urge you to try it. If I can make it, a monkey could make it. Not that you’re a monkey. Obviously.

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