Bad habits and holiday food

So technically I haven't blogged since the 8th of January. And by technically I of course mean that you can technically remove the word 'technically' from that sentence. Confused? Good, hopefully that means you'll forget about my disgraceful blogging habits and we can all move on quickly with our lives onto better and more delicious things.

In all honestly though, I do apologise. I would blame it on an ever-increasing, stress-inducing, time-consuming university workload, a loss of enthusiasm for cooking for one, and a general lack of inspiration/ motivation- a combination of writer's block and cooking block, if you will (although the latter term just makes me fantasise about huge rustic slabs of olive wood on which I can both prepare and serve food, Jamie Oliver-style- just me? Ok then...), but that's really just me making excuses. 

In the past few months I've actually had a few things that I could have blogged about, or 'blog-worthy' (if that's not already a term then it should be and I am now creating it as one), the main one of is that I went for my first proper holiday in a few years (and by 'proper' I mean one that didn't involve dressing up as a dalmatian and drinking cartons of warm sangria with the rest of the country's university sports teams in Salou), and spent the first week of my Easter holidays in Malta. And of course I explored the place I'd never been before, through the food. Something I'm pretty sure I inherited from my parents, and one that I didn't even realise that I did until I noticed that a large proportion of all my holiday photos were either of food or me eating said food, and that the memories I have of childhood holidays are mainly concerned with platefuls of paella with a cacophony (my new favourite word) of seafood, much of which I had no idea of what it was; crispy, tender fried squid drowned in lemon juice and enough aioli to ensure that the rest of humanity avoids you for the rest of the evening; French baguettes- fresh and warm from the oven, and always with one end missing- and pastries- fruit, frangipan, chocolate, etc etc (I'm not fussy when it comes to cake, especially good cake). I have now completely come to a point of acceptance with my food obsession and very knowingly spent the whole week eating super thin-based, crispy pizzas; freshly caught fish; pastizzi-warm little filo pasties stuffed with ricotta (the eating of which I was informed by one random local man would make me happy); and bread and pastries to rival the French- all washed down with pints suitably feminine sized glasses of the local brew, Cisk. I could keep rambling on for ages about all the delicious things my holiday consisted of, but I'm in danger of running out of adjectives (that, and I have made myself hungry just thinking about it, so now need to go and find some food-and eat it with the full knowledge that it will not be as good as what I had in Malta, and that makes me sad), so I am going to leave you now with two things.

The first is this picture of a sandwich. 

There was goat's cheese involved; there were sundried tomatoes and pickled onions; there was a caramel frappe latte on the side. You're welcome.

The second is the promise to not be such a pathetic excuse for a blogger in the future. Pinky-swear and everything.