ILLUSTRATION: ISTOCK/GETTY IMAGES
A good rant.
I’ve just started cooking dinner and I’m sloshing some olive oil into a pan when my husband yells: “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” in the sort of tone you’d adopt if you saw someone reversing towards a tree.
“You’re using that Spanish arbequina olive oil?” he asks, incredulously. “The cold pressed extra-virgin Sicilian olive oil would be better suited to this dish.” Later in the process I’ve turned away from the hob for a few seconds to chop some herbs when I hear the ominous clang of the pan lid being lifted. I whizz around and there he is, peering into the pan, scrutinising its contents critically.