Lucy Tweed - Every Night of the Week: Sanity solutions for the daily dinner grind

Some days you want to cook; other days the goal is simply food in mouths. Welcome to Every Night Of The Week, a cookbook for people who dont like hard-and-fast recipes, by food and recipe writer, stylist and Instagram genie Lucy Tweed. Monday has potential. There are lists and ideas. The herbs are fresh and the fridge is full. Tuesday the week has begun.

Can we have efficient and beautifully delicious please? Wednesday we wonder what day it is. Cook with a dash of laziness; it tastes great. Thurs ... were not even typing the full day anymore. Whats in the freezer? What can we pimp? Friday is family fun. Decorate your own pizza, kids, or DIY san choy bau.

Time to exhale. Saturday is the flex day, time to stretch the repertoire. Hmm, whos around for lunch? Sunday is the secret day that will save your bacon TuesThurs. That extra day you wished for is brunch and linner; two leisurely meals, eaten in absolute comfort. My signature dish is Lucys recipe that she taught me in less than an hour. But dont tell anyone; I get a lot of compliments.

Wil Anderson

This book is for my family. Those I have created beautiful chaos with, then hugged
with all my heart Andrew, James, Beau & Winter. Those I have laughed with till I peed Charlotte, Alex & Toby. Those who ferociously guided me through life and
who I miss so much every day Mum & Dad. You are my favourite collection.

The week can be judged today. You know by now whether you are set for
a long haul or a sweet little wander. Looking forward is good on hump day, but looking back youll notice thats where ALL the missing socks are. Q&A day. Everyone wants the mystery of the universe (or at least the location of their socks) solved today. Exactly the same weight, different gravity pull.

A light and airy tumble into the weekend. Everybodys BFF, and getting away with it since forever. Max laze day, when nurturing your belly and mind is the top priority. All the minutes you manage to harvest during the week that add up to one whole day. One-sided icebreaker Everything I love, I love with saturating intensity. Food is not the exception; its the first passionate relationship I had.

When I was 4 I would relish eating warm buttery toast in bed at a way-too-early hour (thanks Dad for indulging me). Then Id climb into my parents bed and complain about pointy scraps in the sheets, earning me the title of Princess Fancy Crumb. At age 7 or so I had a play date who brought a tin of wonderfully artificial home-brand spaghetti. Lunch that day would be the stuff of dreams. No fig, ham and cheddar grazing plates, no garden herb omelette made from our own hens eggs, no Promite and sprouts on dark caraway rye that day, we would dine on something loaded with sugar and salt, yet completely bland and utterly without flair or emotion. My excitement was palpable.

The heartbreak set in the moment Mum delivered our plates to the table. She had lightly heated the food (unnecessary but acceptable) and then stirred through an equal quantity of roughly torn flat-leaf parsley that was so robust it had surely twice seeded. Fury and tears inevitably followed. Looking back, Im convinced the PTSD from this incident motivated me to become the curator of everything that goes into my mouth. By the time I was 9 I knew how to separate eggs to make mayonnaise and meringues, but also the perfect quantity of water + time on the stove + seasoning to get the most Shirley Temple tasty bounce out of a 2-minute noodle. Then there was the boscaiola period of 1995 (I still dont understand how something can be SO delicious and sickening at the same time).

As a teen, I had an unruly crew of friends who would seek munchie satisfaction in our Bondi kitchen when wed skip school, eating crushed summer tomato and garlic spaghetti. And in my first share flat, there was that roast chicken with basil and wine dish by Nigel Slater that changed my life. Food all food became an exciting journey. If I didnt like something, I wondered why, and tried cooking it in different ways. For this rather selfish reason I am the cook at home. Not necessarily to nourish my family or to indulge my friends with the gift of feasting; more so to play with the thing I love, to replicate something I have eaten out, to flex a new tool or try a new process.

I am just lucky that my obsession benefits those around me. Ive always found it incredibly satisfying to induce appreciative moans in people and so far, making incredible food has been one of the easiest ways for me to do that. Pair that with a weakness for laughter and big gatherings, and the generous facade is complete. We all win, although I often feel like its mostly me. There was a brief interlude when I was a bookkeeper in New York for a now insanely overpriced streetwear label. This pathway of conservatism was soon deemed too black-sheepish for me to maintain, and is now simply a capsule period of fond memories.

I have been a food, lifestyle and event stylist in Sydney for over 20 years, and have recently been able to add food writer and consultant to the bill. I began this illustrious career under the guidance of Donna Hay. Aside from teaching me to appreciate the beauty of seasonal food, she once said something during a heartbreaking time in my life that has forever made sense: You need to prioritise. We are making pretty pictures for a magazine. I am grateful because this sentiment has allowed me to drive my passion and profession, while keeping love and humour firmly at the top of the list. This books namesake is my Instagram account @EveryNightOfTheWeek, which was originally a space for me to document the dinners I made for my family.

Mild envy of people with a repetitive repertoire inspired a personalised visual menu board, so I didnt have to think what I was going to make. It also gave me an outlet to love, question and mildly mortify my family (until they began to follow along). It turns out that the daily struggle and juggle is real, and we are far better off enjoying it all together than alone. Leading neatly to this book. So while I transcribe the recipes from my mind, you will also get an insight into the energy of each day of the week, along with thoughts and memories. Monday, for instance, is a wonder of potential and good intentions, but by Thursday we are taking stock of the remaining food in the fridge and any burns weve collected along the way.

This momentum of the weekly cycle is actually a remedy in itself. I am very much an instinctual cook, possibly a genetic trait bequeathed to my entire overly creative family. I rely on my lizard brain to penetrate my consciousness at precisely the right second for me to shriek F*CK, the chicken! and retrieve it from the oven, perfectly cooked. Cooking times are just a guide and so much comes down to common sense. For example, dont walk away when frying or browning. Use your face to judge it eyes, ears and nose.

I taste marinades and sauces as I go, searching my palate for the missing seasoning and adjusting the ratios. I talk to my butcher and fishmonger a lot. Sometimes even about meat and fish. I respond to produce that smells and looks fantastic because its basically the same chemistry as dating; you just know when someone/thing is saying without saying, trust me, you want me, I am right for you. I do make a few conscious decisions with food and they are primarily to keep it as local and direct as possible and as clean as I can manage. I will turn to a packet shortcut with undisguised desperation, until I notice the ingredients resemble a periodic table.