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Ya know, when I started this post I had three full paragraphs about how crappy I’ve been sleeping, how overwhelmed I feel - despite the weekend off, and about my head hurting today. Well, poo! Who freakin’ cares? I’m not even sure I do. So instead I’ll tell you about last night’s dinner.
I got home about an hour late last night from work. D and I spent some time chatting about our days and then I slipped off to my office/craft room to wind down a bit before starting dinner. I got pretty engrossed in what I was doing and a lot of time passed. Gradually, though, I became aware of a sizzling noise coming from the kitchen and the smell of something cooking. “Are you cooking something?” I yelled and got no answer. So, I rushed to the kitchen to find out for myself. Yes, rushed, and in a mild panic too.
For the last seven years I’ve been the only cook in the house. D is limited to frozen pizzas and carry out, and even that I do most of the time. I’m fine with it, mostly because early in our dating he cooked for me twice ... the same thing, and it’s a wonder I lived to tell the tale. D survived most of his bachelor years on broiled chicken, which is arguably better than the Raman noodles, canned tuna and hot sauce my brother survives on, but its not the method I have an issue with – it’s the production. D’s version of broiled chicken is heavily dusted with cinnamon, and then covered with ketchup before being cooked within an nanosecond of jerky dryness. Sure, balance the spices a little, upgrade the ketchup to tomato paste and pop it into a tangine and you’re well on your way to Moroccan fare - but you’ll have to take my word for it, he’s a long, long way from Morocco.
When I hit the kitchen he had three Bubba Burgers going in a skillet, leftover potato salad already on the plates with chips and dip and not a jar of cinnamon* in site. Bless his heart, he’d even fixed me a rum and coke. Dinner was late and a little over done, but in all honestly it was one of the nicest I’ve had in a while!
*Probably because there are three varieties in the house and he’s not sure which one he likes - heh.