Big Chef. Little Chef.

The sauce for the gnocchi is simmering; the potatoes are steaming to make the gnocchi themselves. All is good in the world.

I enjoy cooking, something my ex years back never let me do. She never liked the mess in the kitchen, even though I then cleaned it up. Being a bloke, of course, I have to use every pan in the kitchen.

Over time I'd got into the "I can't cook" frame of mind, which is rubbish, no-one is in that position. A little bit of time, a little bit of effort, a little bit of practice. And a good few cookery books. Mel was having nothing to do with me saying I couldn't cook, and it's paid off. I'm still nowhere near her standard, but I have a little repertoire developed.

And I love baking. There's something therapeutic in kneading the dough, and a birthday present of a book all about bread has been an eye opener. Homemade brioche and stotties followed. Oh, and I already made the best brownies in the world. Trust me.

Anyway, better go and check on the potatoes.

Ta ra.