I never in my life thought I’d get sick of takeaways.
That was until recently when we discovered that living without an oven/proper kitchen meant we could either:
- Eat out, get fat, and be skint.
- Order in, get fat, and be skint.
- Invest in a temporary oven, eat better, be skint.
Being skint seemed inevitable so we decided to invest in an oven – on the cheap. If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know that me and Joe did try for a short while to make do with what we had (microwave, George Foreman grill, and imagination) but I was personally getting super depressed, tired, moody, and just really really squishy. I missed my vegetables and I really missed cooking.
So, when Joe’s relatives, John and Barbara, called with a second hand oven they were shifting, we were over the moon. I absoutely love it. It may be old, but I’m choosing to think of it as retro. Sure, one day we will replace it when we get around to doing the kitchen properly, but for now, I can eat proper food again; boil veg, stir fry things, eat pasta. I never realised how much I use a hob before now. So I’m going to unpack my cookbooks this week, and get back to the gym to get rid of this takeaway podge.
(Let’s see how long it lasts. Yo Sushi! tonight Joe?)