I don't know about you, but I love to eat.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
I am eternally grateful to God for creating me capable of tasting and appreciating thousands of delicious flavours. I only need to catch our dog Buster munching on blowflies to realise we humans have quite a discerning sense of taste.
Luckily, my love of eating is matched with a passion for cooking, baking and feeding people in general.
My 40s have found me fluffing about in the kitchen, following some fads and finding a few favourites to feed the family.
Taking along treats to committee meetings has seen my love of entertaining lead to some rather unexpected and exciting opportunities, including the chance to cater for the recent Rotary East Art Fair Gala.
When the offer arose to delight the 180 ticket holders with an appetising evening, I could have responded with my first thought - by laughing out loud and declining.
But when the chance to raise funds for a fabulous cause is at stake, I tend to accept the impossible challenge first and then think it through and give it my best shot later.
Imagine the groans from my girls as they spent a month getting their fingers slapped when they reached for a delectable looking savoury cooling on an oven tray, only to be told it was not for them.
Imagine the groans from my girls as they spent a month getting their fingers slapped when they reached for a delectable looking savoury cooling on an oven tray, only to be told it was not for them.
This is how one ends up delivering 1600 pieces of finger food to the Town Hall kitchen, and how ones' amazing Operation 19:14 team add more than 1000 bite-sized sweet treats to the table for the art-loving attendees.
My seven-seater was stacked to the ceiling and I nearly had to travel with an Esky on my lap.
It's the first time I've strapped food in with the seatbelt. But even now, when I consider how much time I invested in those quince, apple and pork turnovers, I think it was a good decision.
I found I couldn't stick around to watch the food being served, though ... I think I was too emotionally attached to every morsel.
You'd think years of motherhood would have thickened my skin, along with my waistline, as my children endlessly tell me exactly how each meal I serve could be improved.
I notice that Buster never complains.
