I want a word with the chef

The other day I was busily preparing some supper for myself and I have to say I was having a whale of a time. It led me to think about when it was that cooking went from being a chore to something I truly love doing, a hobby as well as an essential part of life.

It was not always something I enjoyed, or indeed had the remotest skill in. During childhood I never really got into it as a fun thing to do, although I do recall 'helping' on occasion (generally only on times when some spoon and bowl-licking would be involved). Indeed, I think I was into my teens before I learned how to boil a kettle and make hot drinks (note to self - learned? or was given permission to use said dangerous item?), not as easy as it sounds as the kettle was a stove topper from memory. At university I survived on a diet of kit kats and ready salted crisps with occasional visits to the canteen between liquid intakes, so even here I did not really utilise much cuisinery. For anyone who knew me in those halcyon days, I dimly recall drunken misadventures with omelettes, Smash mashed potato and cubes of steak the Dog would have turned its nose up at. In my defence, I was and remain, a legend.

After University and twixt periods of pampering at the parental home, I rented/shared. Now, as any of my sharers will tell you (this means you, Tacon) I was not threatening to break into the world of TV cheffery then either - I had learned Cooking 101: basic vegetable boiling, and could do pasket pasta 'n sauce like a pro. Indeed, one such packet pasta and some washed and prepped Sainsbury salad alongside some leftover chicken from a Mum roast got me into the exes good books. Not exactly Delia-esque though. I did, however, become the 'go to' guy for a fry up the morning after the night before. This, I think, was where the love of cooking actually began. Around the same time I also picked up the interesting habit of sleeping in the communal kitchen of a friend I would visit still at Reading Uni (that's you, S Bear, if you read this :D) - bizarre, but seems tenuously relevant.

Fast forward to the purchase of the chateau and life chez moi is all about the cooking. From perfecting Moules recipes to cooking myself into curry heaven, baking soda bread, cakes, casseroles, roasting game, I want to do it all. It's not just the cooking, it's how I use what I have in the eternal quest to fill one belly and one belly alone that gets me excited. I am just not sure when it became such a wonderful way to spend my time. I think it may have been when I gave up on following recipes slavishly. Once you know how to 'do' things, you can work it all out for yourself. It's my supper, I should put what I want in it, after all! Living on my own probably helps too, if something doesn't work, I am the only one that suffers for it. I do cook for others, too, of course.

So, that's where I am, in love with cooking from nowhere, entirely self-taught and, I should add, a cuisine maverick. I really wish I had discovered it as a passion sooner, and done something with it, but, to be fair, I'll settle for a belly full of the good stuff when I want it.