Mid-way through consuming my segment of the tart I did end up thinking that cooking dinner for four other people was something I always think would be a nice thing to do but always turns out to be a slightly stressful experience instead.
Not because of the warm potato salad which ended up being mashed near-cold mashed potato, nor the lack of salt in the filling.
In fact, I shouldn’t really complain. Everyone else seemed to like it. Everyone except me went back for seconds. There wasn’t very much left. That’s surely a good sign.
What’s stressful is the moment when you find yourself hoping like hell it’s turned out OK, hanging on the guests’ every word, analysing the feedback.
Cooking’s meant to be a relaxing experience. It is usually. Why should eating take all of that pleasure away?