The cookbooks and other food related obsessions

I am an emotional eater. I know it sounds very freaky, but I perfectly remember the moment when I discovered most of my favourite flavours, where I was and who was with me. I greatly appreciate when someone cook for me with some care and enthusiasm. I can feel the love there and I greatly fall from it.

Of course I need to mention my grandmas here. Both amazing cooks. To be fair with the past, maybe one was better than the other, but I must say, to me all their meals tasted amazingly well. Further than their fragrant dishes, I could taste the dedication and love involved, either for their sophisticated feasts to their daily kitchen.

I find men in the kitchen really attractive. They don’t cook in the same way of grandmas, certainly, but I liked the fact that there is a lot of concentration going on, accuracy, technic and an occasional sip of wine. Absorption but in a relaxed, exhilarated way. At least my husband cooks this way. He enjoys to lock himself in the kitchen, where no one else is allowed. Please don’t try to help, there! No distractions or interruptions. Just he and his pans. I mean, if you are ready to follow orders, you are welcome. But don’t try to help in this kind of feminine way that involves suggestions or tips. No. No. You’ll be kick out in no time.

It’s printed in my memory, the first time that my date decided to cook for me, I found it so sweet and was greatly moved, mainly because the outcome was a real disaster. And how bad you need to be to mess up a tomato sauced spaghetti? Specially, when you are Italian!!! Bless him. My dear P.! Doesn’t matter, he was good at other stuff so, I totally forgive his terrible cooking. But, come on, let's not get distracted here...

Anyway, all this introduction is just to tell you that I was about to leave London and I knew I would be suffering badly, missing all my favourite recipes, scents, tastes and textures. From London’s top quality international cuisine to British comfort food. From savoury to sweet. From curries to pastries. From sushi to hummus. And I was right.

So, I prepared myself for that, and I bought just cook books, as my own farewell present. Seven in total. Over 2000 pages of mouth-watering pictures, through- out described technics and, unfortunately, impossible ingredients.  It kind of backfired, because thanks to them I started longing for my beloved Waitrose, the Chinese supermarkets and the popular farmers markets, so in these two years I barely have tried a recipe. But I still find a lot of comfort just going through the pages, looking at the pictures and using them as old family albums, reconnecting somehow with past gratification and friends long gone.

Never mind, I had other urges and greater dreams to heal my nostalgic needs. All I could think at the time was to bring The British pub to Spain. Best business idea ever. How come no one has thought about it yet?

But my British pub mania deserves another entry.