At least I haven’t broken my “no booze after midnight” rule.

The stresses of the week in combination with my own weakness compelled me to open my Friday Merlot (£4.79 a bottle at Sainsbury’s) at 6.48pm today. I’d finished the first by 9.30 and, for the first time in a while, opened a second. My sensible side took over for once and I restricted myself to just one glass from bottle 2 of 3.

It shouldn’t matter, but it does. It should matter. And it does.

But anyway (:@) I need to be up in the morning because I need to pay a visit to Kwik Fit so they can look at the exhaust on my new/old car. It was a bit blowy on the way to work this morning and on my way home it decided to go full throttle “I’ve got a fucking huge hole in me. No, this isn’t a Subaru you can hear from 400 yards, it’s a Nissan, and no, it’s not a Skyline”.

Sheesh. In all fairness, I did know that the exhaust needed some attention when I bought the thing, but I’d have hoped it would have lasted more than three weeks. Still, at least I’ll get it over and done with… until the next thing. I’m betting shock absorbers.

Caveat fucking emptor indeed.

The desperation of life
Sometimes I just sit here and shake my head, an expression of pure exasperation on my face as I think about stuff. Stuff like knowing I was going to go into the freezer and take out sausages to thaw overnight while I was downstairs, but forgot. As usual. And now I have get out of my comfortable bed, disturb the little dog of perpetual licking and venture into the cold dark depths of my kitchen. It’s no big deal, it really isn’t, but the daily realisations of my ability to get sidetracked make me want to punch myself in my head.

At least that’s sorted, I just need to remember to buy fresh basil tomorrow and then I’ll be fully prepared for one of my absolute favourite meals: Italian sausage pasta. Fuckindelish.

Comfort food
I find a lot of comfort in cooking. Not one for following recipes, I just stick what’s tried and tested and that brings me plenty of satisfaction. The whole process brings relief from my worries and the transformation of aromas from the raw, freshly prepared ingredient through the stages of cooking is something quite wonderful.

For this particular dish, I start with finely chopping an onion and slicing some fresh red chillis. Onions are onions, but the less obvious the better. The hot stuff commences with part-cooking the sausages in olive oil. This is a process that requires constant attention as the surfaces of the bags of mystery must brown evenly. Much splattering ensues as they release the essence of their ingredients into the atmosphere – garlic, fennel, rosemary. It’s usually at this point that I recall that I’ve changed the bedding and I have washing drying, so I run upstairs to close the doors.

With the sausages evenly browned, it’s time to remove them from the pan and start cooking the onions and chilli. To this, the handful of fresh basil leaves transforms the atmosphere of caramelising onion and sweetness of the basil fill the air.

I want it NOW! But this is only a fraction of this culinary journey. The sausages go back into the pan, along with tomatoes and water, salt and pepper. Over the next forty minutes, magic happens. I put aside science, this is magic.

The final scene is the cooking of the pasta itself. I wait until the water comes to the boil, add salt – the water fizzes in excitement – and oil – the water settles back down and I add the tubular pasta with its beautifully formed ridges. And wait. And wait. And wait. It’s always worth waiting until that moment when the pasta is cooked to perfection.

Condensation obscures my glasses as the whole kitchen becomes filled with steam as the pasta is drained and returned to the pan. It is mixed with just the correct amount of sauce and plated out into white porcelain; a little more sauce added to the top of the dish.

And there it is: happiness in a bowl.

Happiness in my tummy.

There are those who see cooking as something to be endured, and I’m inclined to agree with them on a work night when I’m tired and hungry and I just need food. But there’s something special about having that close relationship with your ingredients and your hob and your pan; knowing that what you start out with will not just bring you sustenance, but true happiness.

Cooking is a pretty good metaphor for life itself. We can look around us and see that we have just disparate things and bits of stuff and this will never bring satisfaction or joy. We need to look at we have available to us and see how they can be used together as simple ingredients that can transform into something pretty special. But it does take a little bit of thought, effort and patience.