On from yesterdays blog to my own very domesticated housemates. Salma, in particular, has a knack for making a house a home. From bread baking, to colouring the walls with portraits and paintings, stitching a cloth spice rack, to a flourishing garden of herbs and veg - she towers above Nigella on the pyramid of home-bound deities.This evening, she was whipping up a risotto for a friend and gave me some instruction. Take home point: stir, stir, stir until your wrist feels like it's gonna fall off.
I watched in amusement as she plucked peas from a stalk on the terrace, harvesting a good handful of home-grown greens for the recipe. Each potted plant nurtured to perfection, while my shabby dried-out sunflower in a can - a birthday gift from Kat that was supposed to be fool-proof - limps in pathetic contrast in a shady corner.
I think I got the risotto down, but I'll leave the gardening to the green-thumbed domestic goddesses.
