That I am a bit of a glutton is no secret. I spend entirely disproportionate amounts of time thinking about my next meal, I trawl a million food blogs every week, I’m constantly craving the next awesome cooking eat-out, planning my weekend cooking sessions way too much in advance and on top of all that I eat out at least three times a week. One would wonder how I get anything else done, keep a steady job and make time for life.
But as fate would have it, there’s this husband I found, who is no less a foodie than I am. And it doesn’t get foodier than the two of us put together. If you don’t believe me, see our food blog. I mean we get our kicks from planning our weekends around what we’re going to eat, for chrissakes. Whether we choose to cook, go to an old haunt, or check out a new joint. And then sometimes we cook. And it becomes an event. We painstakingly take pictures, write about it, and share with the world this embarrassing truth about how food is so close to our hearts. Like we’re on some sort of mission to eat all we can. (Its a mission I take very seriously. Life is too short to diet.)
Some one even told us to make some babies and put our time to better use. I’d prefer to choose a preoccupation like travel, reading or generally, you know, life maybe?
And then there was dessert.
And also, a post-siesta refresher.
Mangoes and vanilla ice cream. So classic. So versatile. So good.
Yeah we’re behaving like mangoes are going out of style. But in my defense, I’d just like to say, they kind of are.