And let me assure you, my days are exceedingly full.
I have even photographed meals and sent them to small children.
And those small children, well, Alice of Eglinton Road, once, a while ago, have taken these photos to school for morning news.
It is not difficult to see why my cooking could light up morning news in a room filled with wide-eyed new entrants, for in cuisine, I am very much a colourist, and small children love colour.
If I don't have at least four primary colours raging in a meal, I throw it in the food bucket we keep for our friend's worm farm.
I consistently use bright red peppers for this reason, price notwithstanding.
And I am informed by kitchen pedants that red peppers are quite expensive at certain times of the year, though I never know that, as I don't see small print, and anyway, how can you tell in a supermarket if the prices relate to the items above or below the card? I swear different supermarkets run different systems just to make life in these cuisinary beer barns as torrid as possible.
And I also always use rosemary.
This is because we inherited a wall of rosemary when we moved to our new house, and as every restaurant I have ever read about claims to use only fresh produce grown in their area, I swear by this paradigm and march out to the wall for three sprigs every time it is my turn to cook.
Kitchen pedants have called me to order on my use of rosemary, saying rosemary does not in fact go with everything.
This is arrant pupplecock.
I even use rosemary with two-minute noodles.
Yes I use two-minute noodles, and quite often the flavour sachets as well, even though these sachets are palpably concocted from concentrated MSG, palm oil and sawdust from the new stadium.
In fact, my signature dish is Asian Fusion Noodle Rosemary Surprise, which is absolutely sublime.
I have pictures.
But the actual recipe will die with me, tightly enclosed in my fist.
I use the generic word Asian as I am not one of those kitchen pedants who think you can't use Thai curry paste in Chinese fried rice, or, indeed, Indian.
Yes I do Indian too.
As Oscar Wilde said, and I'm paraphrasing, a cook whose shoulders are not sagging beneath a full quiver of arrows is like aloo mataar without rosemary.
And I'll come clean on this Indian thing right from the start, my base is always Mrs Patak.
"You make your Indian meals from a JAR?" squawked one of my kitchen pedant friends.
Yes I do.
I garnish wisely, usually with salted cashews, except when they're on special, because they must have gone off if they're on special.
But yes, my base comes from a jar.
You treasure every minute of the day if you were born in 1949, and when I am cooking Indian, it has to be quicker than the time it takes to pick up takeaways from the Indian shop, or else there is no point.
Anyway, my Indian Fusion Rosemary Surprise can foot it with any takeaway in town.
Ask our friend's worms.
But I really hit my straps on dessert.
I don't care what food you cook, you need something cold and slithery afterwards.
Again I have faced the conundrum of homemade against bought, and again I have turned to the tried and trusted - in this case, that doyen of ice-creams, the trumpet.
This marvel of glucogenic engineering comes in many dazzling flavours, and with rosemary garnish, it is simply drop-dead devastating.
Forget your kitchen pedant arty farty date puddings and flame-thrown brulees, I'll put my Fusion Rosemary Trumpet Surprise up against anything.
