Can I let you in on a secret? I hate mushrooms.
No, I mean I really hate them.
From their slightly rubbery texture to their bland, mushroomy flavour – everything about them is pure, fungal wrongness.
They are evil.
And yet, dear reader, as a budding B&B host, it is my lot in life to fry up a batch whenever one of our guests orders them for breakfast.
Now, this is not quite the hardship you may think I’m making it out to be. I actually don’t mind handling them and I don’t mind pushing them around the griddle pan while they’re cooking. A mushroom is easier on the fingers than, say, a cold, clammy, uncooked chicken. No, I’m more than happy to cook them for other people, because at the end of the frying process I have the great pleasure of putting them on someone else’s plate and not eating them myself.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.