A few years ago, I made a resolution not to make New Year’s resolutions because a) they were always the same (lose weight, spend less, call Mum more); and b) I never kept them. Taking stock of the year therefore always had a sense of failure attached to it, and I thought the best route was to let go of the tradition entirely.
But it turns out you don’t need a resolution to have a sense of failure – that just happens, anyway – so I’m back to planning a new me for the new year. This new me, apart from being thinner, wealthier and more in tune with the hot gossip of Mum’s knitting group, will also become a fine cook and wield a soft power in the flatshare because of it.
This is tricky in my flat, which doesn’t have space for the kind of sophisticated supper club my new self would create. You simply can’t do “fancy” (ie, hugely impractical food things) if people are eating from laps. What even is a fancy meal without a sauce? (And we all know saucy food is the nemesis of a lap dinner.)
A hostess with the mostest ought to have somewhere as dramatic as this five-bed overlooking the river Ouse, known locally as The Rusty House for its weathered steel coating. The dining space here isn’t hidden away; it’s front and centre. In fact, it’s such a feat of architecture, it was even on Grand Designs. And if it’s good enough for Kevin McCloud, it’s sure to impress a home cooking-starved housemate or two.
