Still life with mushrooms and chillies. Oil painting by Paul Wilson

“You can cook me the venison for lunch.”

So says my son, temporarily Faith-less while she is away on a sculpture course.

Oh, I can, can I?

Any idea how he would like it cooked? Hmm, didn’t think so.

Of course, it could be a nice lean fillet or a whole ruddy haunch for all I know. I just have to cook it when I get there… hoping, of course, the right ingredients are in the house.

I collect some tiny mushrooms en route, on the general principle that I am probably going to need them.

Goujons of venison now brown gently in a pan with garlic and onions, the mushrooms softening in the juices and olive oil.

“Did I just see what I thought I saw???” There is, possibly, just a trace of panic in my son’s voice. A good dash of blackcurrant cordial just felt like the right thing to do…

Things are cooking away nicely. He has wine… I taste it and cringe… a sweet dessert red. Ah well…

“Are you sure that’s what it says in the recipe, Mum?” Several large glugs hit the pan along with a handful of fresh herbs from the garden.

“What recipe?”

“I thought this was some tried and tested thing?” I was right. That was panic.

“Nope.”

I smile sweetly and look around for possible ingredients. There is a pomegranate on the worktop. My mind goes back to the first my grandfather bought for me as a small girl, telling me the legend of Persephone and Hades, and Demeter’s search for her daughter. Telling me of life and death, dark and light and their relationship with the seasons.

Not the pomegranate. I resist the urge to chuckle, hearing the sharp intake of breath as a handful of his very dark chocolate hits the mix. A little seasoning and I can reduce the sauce…

He invites his brother over to share the repast, thinking, I am certain, that two will get through it better than one alone.

I remember a childhood book called Borrobil by William Croft Dickinson. It was about the time of that first pomegranate. Odd how the minds connects these seemingly random dots. The dark King of Winter and the White King of Summer fight at Beltane… there are knights, quests and a dragon. I loved adventure even then.

Crème fraiche to finish, and a bed of nice cheesy mashed potatoes. He heads warily for the table, with instructions to save half for his brother…

Silence.

Followed by surprise.. and disappointment that he now has to share. He hopes his brother won’t want feeding…

“It’s addictive! You should open a restaurant.” There is more along this line.

I preen. As much with relief as gratitude at the compliments. It had been a long shot, I admit.

I vaguely recall that venison and blackcurrant work well together. Wine and mushrooms go without saying. I know from experience that dark chocolate makes a rich and lustrous sauce. The combination? Heigh ho… that’s the adventure.

I absolutely adore cooking with good ingredients. I don’t do it often these days and I miss it. Not the eating of it, but the creative process and the sharing. There is something very special in sharing a meal with people you love.

My mother, grandparents and great grandparents taught me the basics. Not for nothing was great-grandad’s nickname ‘Grandad Doughnuts’. So I had a century of cooking skills across a wide economic scale to play with as I taught myself further. France was a joyous revelation. Ingredients in Yorkshire back in those days were basic. There were many things I had heard of but never tasted. Like peppers, for example, or garlic. I couldn’t cook without them these days!

Cooking is a creative adventure like any other. I don’t need to eat it to enjoy it.. as long as I can share it with others, I am happy. Which is just as well at present.

Trying something new is one of life’s delights. It doesn’t just apply to food. We can so easily get stuck in the normality we know and refuse the new, because we feel no need to step out of our comfort zones. Of course, unless we do, we’ll never know what we might be missing.

Tonight I am being equally adventurous and swapping my yoghurt for cheese on toast. Believe me, at present, that in itself is a leap of faith!