A perfectly lovely Mother’s Day doing practically nothing at home was enhanced considerably by the arrival of a new oven. The timing was coincidental, not some sick joke on the part of my family. It’s been three months since we moved in. Three months with a barely functioning oven. It’s probably not an exaggeration to say they were the worst three months of my life.
Dinner was nothing much to look at (even if I could be arsed make any kind of effort with food photography) but it was the first thing I’ve oven cooked in our new house that wasn’t burnt, thrown into the bin, or cried over. Now I just need to remember how to bake cakes.