On Sunday I cooked a birthday dinner for my friend. Nothing epic. Simple food. An asparagus and cherry tomato tart, with snap peas as a side. With couscous stuffed tomato. It went down well. I'd been so worried. Not because my friend would be unhappy with what I'd cooked - but because I'd set myself a project of designing and constructing a meal. It has been so long since I'd made the effort. Over the last year or so I'd just been feeding myself as a matter of course - no real effort. Steamed veg and chops. Or even less. As I'd begun to chop and beat and stuff the anxiety dropped away and I began to feel confortable being domestic again. Its easier to care and make the effort for others than it is to take care of yourself. there are no expectations to set yourself against. No desire to impress.
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