This evening I had the bright idea of trying to cook something a bit more adventurous than of late. You can get so tired of 1001 ways with pasta. So I thought I'd try a recipe for meatballs, cooked in Chianti, smothered in a tomato and parmesan sauce.

It started off really promising - despite the fact that I had no Chianti and no breadcrumbs. But they were only two of the main ingredients and I made it as far as adding the seasoning without drama. Then I shook what I thought was a jar of dried oregano into the mix, only to see a cloud of brown powder, not the green flakes I was expecting. Turns out the meatballs will be cinnamon flavoured. Oh well. That will certainly make a change.

Anyway, I rolled them into a ball shape and fried them as instructed. And at that point they all disintegrated into a mush shape. All except one, but sadly I dropped that whilst trying to put it into the dish.

So they are now cooking in the oven and I am drinking a glass of red wine to get over the fact that the kitchen looks like a massacre has taken place within it and that I burned my hand putting the meatballs into the oven.

They'd better be good. Or maybe I'd better have another glass of wine so I won't be able to tell.