Food has always been my favourite thing (after booze, obviously). And the two things are as tightly entwined as Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston.
(Oops. Scrap that last bit. Hiddleswift are, apparently, no more. They are Hiddleswhistory).
I remember when Mr SM and I walked into the flat that was going to become our first shared home.
It was the kitchen that sealed the deal. It had a beautiful, curved, floor to ceiling window looking out onto a large, shared garden. I had a vivid picture of myself standing at the range oven, preparing Sunday lunch for a group of friends, clutching a generous glass of red wine.
And, boy, did I make that dream a reality. Many, many glasses of red wine while cooking, while eating, while clearing up.
I do hold Keith Floyd partly responsible. He, you may remember, was the drunken TV chef who made you feel that if you weren't boozing while you were cooking you weren't properly throwing yourself into the whole experience.
(I did, in fact, spend some very memorable, drunken, time with Keith Floyd. To read more click here).
It's not just cooking that is a major trigger for me, it's eating too.
I've always loved restaurants. Mr SM and I have done the rounds of most of London's best (and worst) eateries over the years, spending hours over meals that became increasingly rowdy.
There'd be aperitifs, white wine with the fish, red wine with the meat, digestifs, raucous laughter and, sometimes, booze fuelled arguments.
I get many e-mails about food, from readers, like me, who can't imagine cooking, or going out for dinner, without alcohol.
My advice is to make life easy for yourself. It's just not possible, at least initially, to carry on life exactly as it was, only without the drink. You have to change your routines for a while, or it's too hard.
So, for about three months, I stopped cooking in the evening. I'd feed the children (and myself) early, and I'd leave Mr SM something in the fridge to re-heat when he got home.
I know it's not ideal, and I'm sure he missed our shared evening meals as much as I did, but it was the only way I could manage.
It took a while, but now my love of cooking is back. I'm just (well, almost) as happy dancing round the kitchen to great music and clutching a lime and soda as I was getting slowly sozzled on the vino.
(And I'm much less likely to forget a key ingredient or burn something to a crisp).
But restaurants I still find hard.
I still love eating out, it's just the waiting around that drives me crazy. Hours (it feels like), sitting at a table, toying with the cutlery, waiting for your food to arrive, or playing with an empty water glass while waiting for the bill.
These days I prefer to catch a quick meal before going to see a movie, or a play. Eat, pay, leave, do something else.
I find Chinese or Thai meals easier than western ones. Lots of little dishes to play with, and the fabulous ritual of pouring tea into those dinky china cups. Plenty of things to do with your hands (hurrah for chopsticks!), and less time spent staring at starched, white tablecloths.
I don't think this restaurant phobia is forever. It is, like everything else, getting easier. I can happily sit at a table for an hour now - it's just that by two hours I'm feeling really twitchy. By three hours I want to stick a fork in the waiter's eye.
Happy sober Saturday everyone.