How can I write 800 beautiful words about a single bottle of wine, but I struggle to string a few clumsy sentences together about myself? Surely I should know my own individual characteristics, flaws, victories, unique selling points and tasting notes off by heart? I guess that’s exactly why. Because I am so full of heart that I wouldn’t know where to start.
I’ve had a complex love-affair with food for as long as I can remember. Pretty plates. Coffee art. Artisinal breads. Cocktails with dramatically elaborate garnishes. Daintily pleated dim-sums and perfectly cooked eggs benedict than when you cut into it, coat your breakfast in bright yellow sunshine. Gooey, chewy pistachio macarons and hand-crafted chocolate bars with just the perfect amount of snap. The smell of bacon in the morning and the taste of a cup of chamomile tea at night. The almost-holy, closed-eye experience of eating a good burger with all the trimmings. The simple pleasure of tearing into a spinach and feta croissant with the sea breeze in your face. The warm promises of red wine when you stick your nose in the glass. Lamb cooked on an open fire. Bunches of fresh herbs that remind you of Mediterranean landscapes you’ve never visited. Lemon on grilled fish. Sharing a pizza. Gorgeously plump olives.
And then…after many, many years, I finally discovered that I’m a writer at the core of my heart. After many, many years of hesitant mock-charges only to lose my confidence at the edge of the cliff that is our own self-doubt, I finally took the leap and trusted the fall. I fell straight out of my own uncertain skin into the apron of The Little Hedonist.
It seemed like the obvious thing to do – to put my passion for food into words. Because as we all know by now, I simply can’t write about myself.
Want to work with me? Send me a little something-something to review? Maybe do a collaboration – your photos, my words? My photos, your words? Invite me somewhere?