My husband is a very fussy eater. I have a list going of all the foods he doesn’t like to eat (at time of print, it was fifty items long), some of them I’m sure he’s never actually tried before. Because I’m generally a pretty horrible wife, I tend to serve him whatever takes my fancy.
List be damned.
I grew up with parents who in no way encouraged being fussy. Food was put down in front of me and I had to eat it. I’m grateful for their no-nonsense approach to meal times (and just about everything else), because I will happily eat just about anything now.
I really, truly, love to eat; my whole day revolves around what my next meal will be. It’s how I mark time in my day; breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, dessert. Because of my sometimes single-minded focus on my stomach, I take a whole lot of pleasure in planning, cooking and eating.
London really is a foodies utopia. The best part about the city is you don’t need to book a table at a fancy restaurant to get good food…One only need to show up in front of a food van or at these night markets in Camden to partake in some of the loveliest gastronomical indulgences the city has to offer. For me, wandering around markets with every conceivable food option is a real excitement. While my husband tries to find something deep fried, I enjoy watching the chefs lovingly construct their offerings and it’s often quite a drawn out process to decide what booth I shall partake of.
I wish I had a picture of the amazing Duck Confit Burger I ate from The Frenchie. It was so good, it was devoured before my husband could whip out his camera.
Worth every kilometre I had to run the next day.
Top: Cue | Jeans: Sportsgirl | Shoes: Girl Express | Necklace: Babuble Bar | Belt: Review- Australia | Bag: Oroton