Some of you may be aware of a discernable dip in output of late, certainly in comparison to the voracity with which I was churning out culinary tales over the summer months. This is not due to a waning interest in matters gastronomic nor a declining desire to write. On the contrary, it is precisely for this reason that I’ve had a little less time to craft the various food stories that grace these electronic pages.
As much as I adore welcoming you into my metaphorical bosom and telling tales of pheasants, pigs’ ears, delis and other such delights, the remuneration package is not particularly attractive. I dare say that I might be able to earn more money stitching Nike footballs in a Singaporean sweatshop.
As a result I’ve had to partake in a little moonlighting. Not only have I started tutoring again but I’ve also had my head down working on a collection of short stories as well as making a start on a novel and, sadly, I only have so many hours in my day. The short stories should be finished within the next couple of months, the novel will take considerably longer but they will come. And you wonderful people will be the first to know.
I have been cooking, I promise. There is a beef, onion and porcini pie baking in the oven and two fresh loaves cooling temptingly in the kitchen as I write these very words (pictorial proof supplied above). I’m off to meet some pig farmers and spend a couple of hours on a turkey farm tomorrow and with a (hopefully) crisp autumn and winter ahead of us there should be plenty of opportunity to both eat and write about some hearty comfort food.
But in the mean time, please bear with me whilst I get my head down, adopt the saddened tone and gaunt features of an impoverished writer and try, desperately, to make this work so that we can afford to heat the house this winter (cue violins).