There I was, sat there glumly swooshing my spoon back and forth through the pale white sludge. It was somewhere between mashed potatoes and parsnip soup and was the consistency of slurry. This was proof, as if I needed any, that I’d lost my cooking mojo.
I searched for it high and low, far and wide. I set a course for the heat and aromas of SE Asia with an aubergine and coconut curry. But it failed to excite. I stayed in the east – usually the source of so much inspiration – with some spicy prawn cakes. But they were only so much salty rubber. Continue reading
