It has been a long time since I last posted. But here’s a post now – of my delicate little farfalle pieces, each one different than the last.
I read a book that talked about cooking being a form of therapy – a chance to escape all the worries of the future and the regrets of the past. And as I shaped each delicate little butterfly I did just that. I savoured every part of it – the texture of the dough, the clicking sound of the pasta wheel, the scent of flour in the air, the colour of the board peeking through the thin sheets.
For an hour in my little kitchen bathed in autumn sunlight, I was me.