I'm embracing my Inner Goddess again. Poor girl, she's been hideously neglected lately. I'd even heard rumours that she'd been mugged by my inner sloth, but I'm happy to report that she's back, and she's looking pretty darned impressive.
Two nights ago she gamely declared that we were having risotto funghi for tea and would I mind doing the honours.
Not at all, I declared. (I was even wearing an apron - seriously, it was that amazing!).
I have to say, I was a little apprehensive. Risotto recipes have often been my culinary Waterloo. I blame Jamie Oliver for burning one of my good pans, and I almost always seem to run out of stock long before the rice has softened.
But IG was confident. 'This time you have nothing to fear. This recipe's foolproof. Even you can't stuff up with this one.'
OK, less of the condescension, let's just get on with it, shall we?
But to be fair, IG was right. It was so good, Mr Slimma had to be banned from seconds so that we'd have enough for another night.
BIG mistake!
Last night as IG peered into the tupperware of fridge leftovers I could tell we had a situation.
'Call the fire brigade, your risotto is trapped!'
Trapped?
'Yes... look!'
Sure enough, over night my Italian masterpiece had welded itself to the sides and was clinging on for dear life.
To cut a long story short let's just say that power tools were not required but it took ages to get it into the pan. And even then it didn't yield to the flame (or my swearing).
Oh no, now the miserable Italian blob fought back, smothering my wooden spoon and morphing into what could only kindly be described as, well... GLUE!
As I said, it's my Waterloo.
Chinese, anyone?
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