Diablo/Diabla is just a funky-sounding Spanish word that means 'devil'.
The rest of the sentence would now explain itself.
It's a pity and shame that I am a disaster in the kitchen.
This is my last attempt to record my own follies, my mistakes and my stupidities every day in the kitchen to remind myself of the disasters I've created and perhaps not to re-create them.
As the lesson goes, I would like to learn from my own mistakes (literally by burning my hand in the oil) :-/
For the record, I didn't cook at all for the first 22-23 years of my life. Maybe a mere Maggi here or a plain white rice there. I was too pampered to step in the kitchen, I imagine.
But each time that I did step in the kitchen, even if to fetch a spoon, I would create quite a mess, and perhaps my mom then decided to at least not let me create further damages in our home kitchen.
My experiments in the kitchen started in my studio in Paris. But still I was pretty lucky because I had friends around who would feed me all the time, and my contribution of rice was considered sufficient. Or maybe they weren't so kind to feed me, but perhaps they were protecting themselves of my very damaging experiments, and since they were friends they would have wanted to be polite.. so instead they made it look like, they are pampering me too!
Now that I finally moved into an apartment with two wonderful girls, who if I may say, are experts of quite an order. On top of it, they are French. This means that they have a special sense of everything food- smell, appearance, taste, color, flavor.. I am excited to learn stuff from them but I am also worried of making a fool of myself and taken pity upon.
So my final attempt to save my grace. I will keep notes on what am I doing right and wrong.
The rest of the sentence would now explain itself.
It's a pity and shame that I am a disaster in the kitchen.
This is my last attempt to record my own follies, my mistakes and my stupidities every day in the kitchen to remind myself of the disasters I've created and perhaps not to re-create them.
As the lesson goes, I would like to learn from my own mistakes (literally by burning my hand in the oil) :-/
For the record, I didn't cook at all for the first 22-23 years of my life. Maybe a mere Maggi here or a plain white rice there. I was too pampered to step in the kitchen, I imagine.
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| Being a brat in Sevilla, Spain |
But each time that I did step in the kitchen, even if to fetch a spoon, I would create quite a mess, and perhaps my mom then decided to at least not let me create further damages in our home kitchen.
My experiments in the kitchen started in my studio in Paris. But still I was pretty lucky because I had friends around who would feed me all the time, and my contribution of rice was considered sufficient. Or maybe they weren't so kind to feed me, but perhaps they were protecting themselves of my very damaging experiments, and since they were friends they would have wanted to be polite.. so instead they made it look like, they are pampering me too!
Now that I finally moved into an apartment with two wonderful girls, who if I may say, are experts of quite an order. On top of it, they are French. This means that they have a special sense of everything food- smell, appearance, taste, color, flavor.. I am excited to learn stuff from them but I am also worried of making a fool of myself and taken pity upon.
So my final attempt to save my grace. I will keep notes on what am I doing right and wrong.
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