Call yourself a foodie?

I have often thought about including daily food diary posts on here. There’s a blog linky called What I Ate Wednesday dedicated to just that and I think they’re fascinating – I love to see what people are eating.

I’ve never worked up the nerve to do it though, and the main reason for this is the title of the blog which was invented on a whim without any real thought whatsoever. I made the mistake of referring to myself as a foodie. Which is probably giving a false impression.

I love to eat and I love to cook and I spend such an inordinate amount of time thinking about what goes in my gob that it is a wonder that I remain gainfully employed. But I’m not a foodie, as anyone would realise the second they actually saw my daily eats. Here are some very good reasons why:

I do not bake my own bread. I am quite frightened of the bread making process. This year, I successfully managed to bake pretzels and steamed buns but I have failed to use this success as a springboard into the further delights of the homemade loaf. (NB: I am going on a bread making course in November to try and combat this because it’s one of those things I really feel I should master).

Oh, pastry also scares me. When I successfully make pastry I get inordinately proud.

I eat ready meals. Or “prick and ping” as Peridot once so delightfully called them, which phrase I have shamelessly annexed. I think some of them are quite nice, especially if they come from M&S. Although M&S have a rather nasty habit of discontinuing my favourite things. The day they stop making my beloved turkey and pastrami flatbread we shall have a falling out.

I eat fast food. I eat in chain restaurants. I think a Big Mac is a thing of beauty, even if it does make me feel slightly dirty afterwards. When we lived in York, we regularly ordered pizza from Dominoes at my instigation. Whatever it is that Dominoes produce it is not pizza in any true sense of the word, but I scoffed it anyway and generally enjoyed it even though it was guaranteed to give me heartburn. Now we live in Leeds we have found a local takeaway firm that makes really rather nice pizza indeed. Sometimes though, I miss a stuffed crust.

When I lived on my own I ate an inordinate quantity of sandwiches and seldom cooked. Cooking for one seemed pointless and sad. My skin (and waistline) suffered.

I’m sorry, but I can’t taste the difference in organic produce.

I drink Diet Coke like it is going out of fashion. I know it is rotting my insides, but I can’t bring myself to give it up.

Other ridiculously processed items of food that I actually like include (but are not limited to): Babybels, Laughing Cow triangles, wafer thin turkey ham, Doritos (cool original, obviously), Haribo Tangfantastics and Dairylea Dunkers. Hmmm, apparently I have a penchant for pallid, rubbery imitations of cheese.

Sometimes, I don’t want to eat expensive 70% cocoa solids chocolate. Sometimes, I just want a bar of Dairy Milk.

Go on, make me feel better! Confess your foodie sins!