Why, hello. This is my blog. It’s the last thing the world needs: another blasted food blog.

But tell me: Do you know what you’re having for supper?

If you don’t, the pressure, come four o’clock in the afternoon, very likely makes you feel like you’re going to buckle and collapse, cracking your head on the floor like a coconut – and you will pick up the two halves and shout into them, “What the frick am I gonna eat tonight?!”

There will be no answer. The exertion will only make you hungrier.

Supper ought to be the best part of the day – work done, feet stuffed in fur slippers, the face of your contented amour inches away, just across the table  – but it is savage in its sheer relentlessness. It is never going to stop rearing up with its great, ravenous jaws. And I don’t want to be left howling on the forest floor. I want to strike back with enthusiasm! There is no other choice.

And that’s how I landed here.

Supper came panting a few weeks ago, and I had half an idea – a fantastic Asian coleslaw I like to make that honestly takes two minutes to prepare and turns boring old smelly cabbage into something sexy. So I sent the recipe around to my pals, in hope that they would try it and love it, and also in hope that they would write me back and tell me what to serve with it.

And as I typed, I could see myself becoming addicted. I could see myself wanting to include in that same email the recipe for the pumpkin-and-chickpea soup I’d tried in October. And the recipe for my mother Norma’s classic banana-bran chocolate-chip muffins. (Everybody needs to eat those.)

And there it was.

Rather than bombard my poor, hungry, busy girlfriends with emails, I figured I should place these thoughts in a blog and hope that whenever they, or anyone else, had a hankering to unleash something new and fast and wicked on their kitchen, they’d come here and find it. Or whenever they had delicious instructions for me, they’d do the same.

Long and short:  I have delicious instructions. I know you do too. Gimme a mouthful.