Rob and I, we like to cook.
I have always liked to think of us as foodies, in fact, and if that label sounds just a little bit smug then...well...guilty as charged.
From the time he was about six months of age I have watched Graham with no small amount of pride, imagining he was following in our footsteps as he gobbled down every gourmet morsel I set in front of him.
Sea bass? Check. Wilted spinach? Check. Sweet potatoes roasted in duck fat? Check.
Then a few months ago Graham made a discovery that changed everything.
And now it seems my pride, along with everything that passes his lips, has been quite completely and thoroughly doused with gobs and gobs and gobs of cheap, mass-produced ketchup.
At least I can stop worrying about saving tuition for the Cordon Bleu.
