An Open Letter to Supercook.

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Dear Supercook,

I can't cook.
It's a topic of shame in my family.
My mother is a great cook.
Like the best there has ever been.
(I might be biased, a little.)
She has tried (she claims) to teach me to cook.
But here's the problem - she doesn't use recipes.
She grabs a little of this, a little of that, throws it in the pot and it comes out looking like something Jamie Oliver would make.

I. Cannot. Do. This.

And when I say that, I can see it in her eyes, she doubts just a little that I'm related to her at all.

So then I moved halfway round the world, away from home cooked meals, and lasagne and broccoli(less) bake.
She was 100% sure I would die.
The whole world was.
I brought one recipe.
And that is where you came in.

You see, I can shop for groceries.
And me, I am awesome at following a recipe.
(As long as it is made for idiots to follow.)
So I go to your homepage, enter what we have in the fridge (often very little) and you spit out a recipe.
I have cooked real food, and you are to thank.

Without you, I might have starved.

Without you, #braveheart definitely would have starved.

Without you, I would eat pasta and cheese for every meal, instead of just half of them.

You have saved me, Supercook, and I am eternally grateful.

Love forever,
Sarah.

PS. Please find enclosed some photos of the food you have helped me make.

The dinner I first discovered your wonderfulness.

You even do desserts.


Tonight's dinner.

Look, I even had leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

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