I’m typing this with one hand, as I stuff Ukrainian garlic bread in my face with the other.
I bought Mamushka online, back in January while lying on the sofa, heavily pregnant and fed up. I needed escapism. I needed to fantasise about the days ahead when I’d be able to stand and cook without developing elephant sized cankles, and my appetite would demand more than just ice cubes and Love Hearts.
Three months on, and emerging from the newborn baby fog of sleepness nights and reheated food from the freezer, I’ve finally been able to indulge and give this book a go. Continue reading