They say the first sign of insanity is talking to yourself, but for me it is a sign I’m cooking. I admit, there is a certain flair of insanity to my culinary methods. I defy measuring, exchange ingredients routinely, and follow recipes how I follow most advice – listening but rarely enacting. Cooking is a language for me. I’ve confessed and drank wine with Nigella, I’ve laughed and ranted with Ramsay, and I’ve questioned Oliver on many occasions. Cooking is a warm hello in the shape of tender meat and clouds of mash, it is an apology sweetened with strawberries, it is a declaration of love infused with chillies, and it is a get well soon in the shape of a bowl of garden vegetable soup. Continue reading Cooking and Conversation