And yet despite all this, I am like so many people now who can't think of anything worse than cooking dinner. Except perhaps think about what to cook for dinner.
As a result for many years we have followed a fairly unstructured routine that consists of buying a random collection of all food groups in the hope that they will magically combine to form light, healthy and tasty foods in lightening time.
Phase two of the routine when we finally get around to cooking at 8pm is to throw together whatever will get us sitting in front of an episode of Homeland the quickest.
Once the sausages and wedges have been eaten and the rotten, uncooked vegetables thrown out, the whole process begins again. Badly.
It is into this environment that our first "My Food Bag" was delivered several weeks ago.
Although dubious about how people with our skill set and interest in preparing food could fit into the box of pre-packed set menus, I was keen to swallow the hype the rock star new food business was generating among our friends.
It's not often in life that expectations are met, especially around something other people have been talking up.
But seriously - we've been so excited about how fancy, tasty, healthy, easy and "OMG-it's-just-like-the-picture" our meals have been lately that our exuberance has been known to wake the baby.
When I met my husband he was such an inexperienced cook I literally had to teach him how to cut a tomato. Even five years on he still freaks out when I ask him to make a salad.
Yet last night while I read a book with a wine in hand, he whipped up a courgette, mushroom and truffle Pappardelle with a rocket, grape and almond salad.
I kid you not. It was as good as it sounds.
Being new parents we are still adjusting to the fact we can't dine out and socialise in quite the way we used to.
But now we set the table outside with candles and the best china and it feels like a fine-dining date night all the time.
The best thing is you no longer have to cook for your friends.
Because we're all eating the same meal at different locations, we simply invite them over for a wine after dinner and discuss the finer details of the grilled chicken with blueberry, lime and chilli salsa with sticky pumpkin we all just ate.
And for the record, the directors of My Food Bag did not sponsor the writer of this column.
But by crikey, they should have!