It is impossible to describe accurately the emotions felt following the completion of a long period of study. Incredulity, relief, elation, awe, a certain sense of pride. Most overwhelming in my case was a somewhat unexpected emptiness -- a space opened up in my brain that I forgot ever existed; a space that allowed for more thoughts and sensations than "mustworkmustworkmustwork." After the first couple of days of collateral fatigue were done with, it was as if the world opened up before me again -- there were places that could be visited, friends I could spend time with again, and meals to be made and savoured without the constant chorus of "hurryuphurryup" pounding in my head.
I discovered a new greengrocers', tucked away in a part of town that I had always considered too far for my usual crack of dawn Saturday shop (the only time in which the queues in Tesco did not reach halfway back down the aisles), and naturally instantly regretted not walking that extra five minutes for last 9 months. Laden down with punnets of summer fruits, bunches of herbs and double my usual quantity of tomatoes, I set off home contented and excited for my lunch for one.
While an undeniably huge part of the joy of cooking is that pleasure taken in providing food for others, I'll be the first to admit that there is an equally great joy in making food for yourself. Whether you're trying something new, or revisiting something old, it's hard to beat the feeling of satisfaction as you take the first bite and realise you got it right. Of course this is completely dependent on time -- cooking for yourself when you're feeling pressured can become extra pressure. Also, the food simply doesn't taste as good. So, being confronted with free time and fresh veggies, I was determined to make this meal a good one.
My inspiration came from Rachel Roddy's fantastic blog Racheleats, which captures perfectly the beautiful simplicity of Italian food. Reading her blog, I imagined myself in a tiny Roman kitchen, cooking with fresh ingredients from the mercato del quartiere. Fresh bread, garlic, tomatoes, basil, olive oil: bruschetta of champions. I sat and ate alone, absorbed in private ecstasy. It was so good I forgot I was in a drafty kitchen in the North of England, with no plans and no certainties. It was a moment of calm, of peace, filled with the hope of summer and an indescribable feeling of freedom.
I discovered a new greengrocers', tucked away in a part of town that I had always considered too far for my usual crack of dawn Saturday shop (the only time in which the queues in Tesco did not reach halfway back down the aisles), and naturally instantly regretted not walking that extra five minutes for last 9 months. Laden down with punnets of summer fruits, bunches of herbs and double my usual quantity of tomatoes, I set off home contented and excited for my lunch for one.
While an undeniably huge part of the joy of cooking is that pleasure taken in providing food for others, I'll be the first to admit that there is an equally great joy in making food for yourself. Whether you're trying something new, or revisiting something old, it's hard to beat the feeling of satisfaction as you take the first bite and realise you got it right. Of course this is completely dependent on time -- cooking for yourself when you're feeling pressured can become extra pressure. Also, the food simply doesn't taste as good. So, being confronted with free time and fresh veggies, I was determined to make this meal a good one.
My inspiration came from Rachel Roddy's fantastic blog Racheleats, which captures perfectly the beautiful simplicity of Italian food. Reading her blog, I imagined myself in a tiny Roman kitchen, cooking with fresh ingredients from the mercato del quartiere. Fresh bread, garlic, tomatoes, basil, olive oil: bruschetta of champions. I sat and ate alone, absorbed in private ecstasy. It was so good I forgot I was in a drafty kitchen in the North of England, with no plans and no certainties. It was a moment of calm, of peace, filled with the hope of summer and an indescribable feeling of freedom.
