I love food. You may not have noticed, but cooking is one of my passions. We have a friend who says that everyone should have a hobby that they could practice wherever they lived and whatever their age. His is fishing. The Vicar’s is photography (and golf I guess) and mine is completely definitely and utterly cooking (and eating).
Anyway, living in our multicultural neighbourhood has pros and cons for the practise of my hobby. The many positives include:
- A vast selection of spices available in bulk at the local corner shop
- A fab butcher (for chicken, lamb, mutton and fish only) who will chop my meat as I want it for no extra cost
- Cheap cheap cheap onions (in 10kg bags), garlic, fresh ginger and coriander. And milk.
- Exotic fruit and veg available too (big boxes of mangos are a fave)
- Cookery advice from local friends of all cultures

Mine didn't look as fancy as this
On the minus side, yesterday I was in search of couscous. I’d bought my ‘chopped for curry’ chicken on the bone and was looking forward to cooking a Moroccan tagine. But not enough couscous was available in the Vicarage pantry and I didn’t want to trek into town. It’s not like couscous is a matter of life or death or anything. It’s just right with tagine.
So I tried our local Indian supermarket. Because it’s a multicultural area I sort of expect all sorts of interesting foodstuffs to be available easily. But there was no couscous. Not much call for it in our neck of the woods. We have Punjabis, Pakistanis, Kenyans, Jamaicans, Somalis and Polish folk plus many others. But not enough North Africans for the right selection at the shops yet. And they don’t stock parsley either, so if I’m making tabouleh or kedgeree I have to think ahead a bit. Oh the trials.
Maybe it’s not multicultural enough here.