Having recently landed my dream secondment – I’m now editing cookery books until the end of the summer – I’d hoped that I’d be more able than ever to indulge my food-related musings. How foolish. As much as I’m loving my new role, surrounded by cookbooks day and night (instead of just at night), I feel like I don’t have a spare moment to write. All my head space is taken up with indexes, jacket copy, serial commas, and recipe choosers, leaving very little for leisurely pondering. I’ve been cooking and thinking about food as much as ever, of course, and have been diligently taking photographs of restaurant dinners and home-baked cakes, always with the noble intention of writing about it ‘one day this week’… but there’s no excuse. I’ve definitely let my blog slip.

To get myself back on track, I think I need a new project. Inspired by Julie Powell’s plan to cook her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, I’ve come up with a more modern, less carniverous version. Any day now, my long-awaited copy of Ottolenghi’s Plenty will arrive, and I can think of no better aim for an Islington-based vegetarian but to attempt to cook my way through it. That’s the plan, so far – I imagine that I’ll create and rewrite rules for myself as I work my way through the book (not necessarily in order, and definitely interspersed with some sweet recipes from other books along the way – at heart, I’m a cakey sort of woman and I’ve no intention of repressing that urge).

Wish me luck…

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