I think after ten months of being offaltarian, I’ve hit the offal wall. Some may say it was inevitable, or indeed that it should have happened in March, but there, I’ve said it: my offal mojo is deflated. I’ve bought soya spread instead of lard.
So, Offal – like Ross and Rachel – we’re on a break. I am the Ross and am going to get into bed with chickpeas and lentils and hot photocopier ladies for a while; you, Offal, are the Rachel and will be cross with me when I return to you – especially when I’m honest about the roast chicken I ate at my Mum’s the other week. It was sexxxy. But I thought of you the whole time …
I’m not making a big deal of it – all relationships have their peaks and troughs – and our relationships with food are the same. Food fads, celebrity diets, Hugh F-W’s new series, we all like to suddenly embrace the novel. After this year, brassicas feel a bit novel. I’m a bit in love with my veg box.
For a while I blamed being SUPER BUSY – working away, doing yet more job applications – I’ve too much of a headache, Offal – it’s not you it’s me …
I love Offal long time. We will get back together. We just need a little time right now … besides there’s well loads of game at the butcher:
GET IN MY