Bosh Burrito Samosas
It’s been a while since I’ve had a quiet weekend at home and my fancy has been tickled to whip up a tasty dish while taking photos as I go. I eat three times a day, but rarely do my stars align in such a way as to blog about it. And today the reason for that became clear.
I'm not a food blogger, I’m a food eater. I want to eat the food more than I want to waste time taking photos of it. And the photos are kind of everything, when it comes to food blogging.
It started well. Got all my ingredients laid out nice, asked my husband really nicely to prepare my camera by pressing all the preparatory buttons he presses so that it looks good when I press the final one.
I had Radio 6 on, it was sunny but ruddy cold outside, so I felt smug about being inside.
I’d taken photos, I’d made the samosas. They were baking in the oven when Gaz comes back in. I was excited to show him my photos so far.
'Oh' he says. By which he means I have failed him.
He kindly offers to take the 'final' photo for me. The money shot. Please do, I say, because then I can pretend I did it and get all the glory.
Now, I'd like this photo to be done and dusted in about 7 seconds, on account of the fact the samosas are now cooked and my stomach is empty. He gets to work. I sit and watch him, curious fella that he is.
He faffs about, fiddling with buttons on the camera, turning the samosas, then the plate, this way and that. He takes a leaf off the parsley. See those two flakes of pastry? You think they just happen to be there? They have been moved 14,653 times.
I appreciate that he's giving me the gift of pretty photos, but what I really want is the gift of a samosa in my stomach.
What brought this photoshoot to a close? Did he suddenly declare his work here was done? No, my beloved camera came to my rescue by running out of battery. Surely now I can eat?
Nope. As if this whole hullabaloo hadn’t cooled our samosas down enough, he suggests editing the photos straight away. Before we eat! Is he high!?
In many ways, Gaz and I are so similar. We both like long walks up mountains. We both love the vegan crusade. We love the same films (well, I have a side line in rom-coms and he likes foreign documentaries, but we meet in the middle). We have the same sense of humour, the same hopes and dreams for our future. But in other ways, we could not be more different. Do opposites attract? I'm certainly (begrudgingly) attracted to the qualities of his that I lack: Attention to detail, creativity, patience, generosity. But in today’s scenario, I displayed such sexy beasts as impatience, frustration, exasperation, bewilderment and most sexy of all, I got really hangry.
Still, too late now, sucker. You married it.