I am a very messy cook. I cook for the sheer enjoyment of it, not for precision or neatness or pretentiousness. Of course sometimes the mess is caused by the rush job of getting supper on the table (and by table I mean laps, but that’s a story for another post).
And I love the mess 🙂
Floury handprints all over my apron = bread baking in the oven.
Sticky goo on the sleeves of my top = fresh, warm brownies after supper.
Red splashes all over the work surface and stove top = Jamie’s meatballs and tomato sauce recipe tonight.
Sugar crunching on the floor = 5 dozen choc-chip cookies in the process of being rolled, squashed flat with a fork and baked till golden.
That is great mess, don’t you think?
I am, however, a stickler for getting it cleaned up quickly afterwards… to be honest, I’ve been labelled a Monica (FRIENDS reference) in the past, but I’m definitely not that bad. Sure, I have some, erm, ‘guidelines’ (that Love Of My Life has had to learn quickly), but I don’t think they’re over the top.
I like neatness and don’t like the thought of coming back to dried-on muck that requires scrubbing later on. So before I crack on with devouring the brownies or making short work of the first dozen cookies, I like to get the worktop-wiping and dish-washing out of the way.
I can then fully savour the splendour of food, knowing that instead of having to tackle the Vesuvius-like aftermath in the kitchen, I can get on with the truly hard task – chilling on the sofa nursing my full tummy.