My Mother comes from a generation who watched their own mothers cook, bake, sew, knit, grow veg, and if you were lucky, keep chickens.  So, I suppose my lack of interest of all things domestic was born out of laziness.  It really was a case of Mam does all that.  I could always cook, having watched my Mother, but was not taught in any way.  Just observing, and taking it all in, without even realising it.

About a week before I was married, my Mother gave me the gift of a cookbook.  This cookbook was to start me on a journey I am still on today.

Now, I am just obsessed with cookbooks.  They are all around my house.  They are on the coffee table, they are on the kitchen floor, there are some in the attic.  I just don’t have room for any more, but I just can’t help myself.  And, after a conversation on Twitter one evening, it seems I am not alone!

I have a myriad of titles, by Chefs, Home Cooks and reference books, books relating to TV series, you name it, I probably have it.

But there is one book which I have identified as the root of it all.  One book to which I constantly refer.  One book which, literally, taught me how to cook. There are also two ladies to thank for starting me on this journey.