My name is Ellen and yesterday I bought a deep fat fryer. There now you know my latest secret. I've never owned one and only used one once while I was the chef on a luxury motor yacht. It was stormy and the whole frying thing was presented some less-common challenges at the time.
In theory, I don't really do frying (except the stir variety in some fancy cold-pressed or flavoured oil).
However, The Panther of News is from Yorkshire which apparently is enough to explain a fried potato addiction and my bigger children have come to survive on chips or similar. I blogged about their dietary quirks here.
So I've come round to thinking that maybe real chips from real potatoes might be better than something impregnated in slimy stuff and put in the oven.
Why then is there something inside going "Nooooooooo"?
I sidle up to the thing in the kitchen like it's going to leap out and make me wear a tracksuit to Tesco. So far it hasn't set the kitchen on fire, given me acne or given me the urge to phone Jeremy Kyle.
Then someone said: "You could make churros, or that Japanese veg in batter stuff."
Now I'm beginning to see that the thing in the corner of the kitchen might become my friend. And the chips were pretty good too.