I’m not a chef. I can cook. I can follow a recipe. I can even tell you how I’ve always made – whatever it is. But I couldn’t create a recipe. My brain doesn’t work that way. Scintillating domestic suspense with some emotional depth, heaps of sarcasm and jokes about batteries, but I couldn’t guess at flavour-combinations with any level of certainty.
I’m making vol au vents for my book launch – tomorrow.
Huge excitement at Binney HQ right now, except… I can’t find vol au vent cases for love nor money. I’m from a different time. In the eighties, you couldn’t move for vol au vents. They were everywhere. It was an epidemic. But now.. I’d have an easier time finding all manner of illicit whatnot.
So, I’m going to have to make them. Actually. From scratch.
I think it’ll be quite a long day, but fingers crossed for the book.