I’ve heard plenty about the apparent nesting instincts of pregnant women. Now given that the closest I’ve ever come to pregnant, is a ‘pregnant pause’, I’m hardly in a position to comment on its veracity. What I do know is that, come 1 March, a switch is magically flipped and I start gearing up for full-on nesting.
After months of being interested in sorbets and chilled fruit and braaiing my little heart out, I suddenly start fantasizing about pies, stews, crumbles and cobblers. I repack cupboards (don’t ask), and I start eyeing my fireplace. I know it’s too early. Way too early. I’m writing this sitting in 27-degree heat, wearing shorts (it’s not pretty). But I just can’t help it. So… what to eat?
Salad comes to mind – but I want something richer, more filling and altogether more comforting than what I’ve been scoffing for the last five months. And then I had a ‘Scandinavian moment’.
This did not involve a six-foot blonde bloke named Sven. But it did involve gorgeous, rich mackerel, earthy beetroot, fresh dill and just a touch of sour cream – Sweden on a plate. I wolfed it down with some seriously dark rye and I was in Nordic heaven – sadly without Sven.