One of the main reasons why I started Gourmet Worrier was so that I could have a place to write as my focus has always been on 'words' not 'pictures'. Yet, very early on I realised that in order to maintain an audience for any length of time I needed to scatter some enticing images throughout my posts, otherwise people would soon tire of my voice.

And so I hesitantly picked up my Nikon and began to take photos of food, food and more food. The reason why I say 'hesitantly' is because I have never considered myself much of a photographer. Sure, I have taken thousands of travel and family photos over the years but I'm just a person who enjoys documenting life through pictures.

One of the ways I deal with rejection is to busy myself with multiple tasks and numerous new ventures. Yes, some of the more enlightened ones among us would refer to this as 'denial' but hey, it's my denial so I guess I'm entitled to outwork it my way.

Cooking is yet another 'coping mechanism' that I employ so to avoid feelings of loss and despair. Hence, the last couple of weeks leading up to D-Day have been a bit of a baking blur for me. Again, the more highly evolved mothers out there will probably laugh at my efforts to cope with the inevitable, but I find that the process in itself takes my mind off the obvious and the end result gives me something tangible and warm to fall into.

Hence, it's currently 11am here in Melbourne and my house is devoid of children, calamity and clamour, yet I will still bake as if I have a cast of thousands to feed. Plus later this afternoon I know beyound a shadow of a doubt that I will have two ravenous school children clawing at the pantry door, so my efforts and this roasted cherry tomato pie with crispy pancetta will not go to waste.

Today is the day when most Australian children return to school and resume their studies. It also happens to be Hoovers very first day of school. To say that our little girl has been dreaming about this day for a very l-o-n-g time is a complete and utter understatement.

The little darling has had to sit back and watch her older brother skip through the school gate and amble off towards his schoolmates for years. She has also had to sit through countless school assemblies, watch her big brother receive umpteen awards and sit through numerous school concerts and swimming carnivals.

This day couldn't have come any sooner for the poor love!

A little part of me hoped that she would be tearful and clingy and that she may even protest or show some sign of distress. But no, not my girl! She confidently hung her backpack onto its designated hook, greeted her teacher with the cheesiest of grins and waved me off without even a backward glance.

 

The thing I loved most about being in Barcelona is that as you walk around the corner or further down the lane you are suddenly confronted by incredible history and immense beauty.

My first attempt at Violet Crumble was a dismal failure as the honeycomb refused to set and harden despite following the recipe to the letter. I poked and prodded at the gooey mass for a good half an hour before calling Stephen in desperation for advice.

'How long do I need to wait until this "whooshing cloud of aerated pale gold" turns hard'? I asked

'Anywhere between 20-30 minutes' he replied

'Well it's been that long and then some' I added in frustration 'and it's nothing but a billowing mass of goo'!

'Did you follow the recipe' ? he asked.

'Yes' I replied glibly.

'Was it Grandma's recipe'? he inquired.

'No' I replied 'I used whats-her-names recipe, you know the one with the convincing smile and TV series to match'. 

'OK why don't you go ahead and make the ice cream and I'll make Grandma Jean's honeycomb tonight when I get home from work'?

'Ok' I muttered, my pride barely in tact.

'You make the honeycomb and I'll make the ice cream'.

We were only in Nice for a couple of nights, but we were immediately won over by her beauty and charm. I was instantly smitten by the Promenade des Anglais as I have never seen a more lovely stretch of water. The Côte d'Azur at sunset is completely beguiling.

I love the way these big, beautiful pasta shells hold pesto and all sorts of other flavours inside their cavity. Each mouthful is hidden with surprise, bursting with texture, taste and crunch.

Even my most pernickety child loved this dish, so much so that he put down his knife and fork mid-meal and began to use his hands, so that he could neatly stuff the creamy goats cheese and crunchy garlicky chilli crumbs into the enormous shells.

Upon Fussy's insistence I decided to follow his lead, and so I too downed my cutlery, rolled up my sleeves and began to stuff the conchiglioni with goats cheese and chilli breadcrumbs.

It's simple moments like this that fill my heart with such delight!


 

The other day I put forward the question over on my Facebook wall 'What to do with all those frozen berries that are safely ensconced in my freezer drawer'? To my utter delight you came back with a whole list of interesting and diverse suggestions including smoothies, berry granita, coulis, cobbler, jam, jelly, sorbet, muffins and pie.

Despite a very strong urge to transform those luscious berries into a mound of sorbet, I decided to make a mixed berry crostata instead.
 
Besides, despite using up nearly a kilo of berries for this particular tart, I still have an easy two kilos of raspberries and blueberries left in my freezer. So if you thought that my ice cream escapades were finally coming to an end, think again!

I'm the type of person who feels like a complete failure unless there is a good loaf of bread in the pantry for my family to go nibble on and enjoy. So I endeavor to ensure that there is always a good loaf of bread in the house at all times.

I think you have heard me lament from time to time about the magnificence of Maltese bread? As a direct consequence I have consciously chosen to raise my kids on 'real' bread that has a definite crust, aroma and texture to it and that is free from preservatives and lurking nasties. Hence, I personally have a real issue with the over processed white sliced stuff that you see stocked on supermarket shelves, as its texture is more akin to fairy floss than bread.