Bart made a goal this year to make one meal a week. (I’ll pause for a moment here so you can all ooh and ahh over how cool he is).
A few people have asked if this is because he doesn’t know how to cook, but it’s not because of that. He does know how to cook, but his repertoire is quite small and his real reason for this goal was to develop a large set of recipes that he could make easily and quickly.
I prefer to believe that giving me a night off from cooking each week was his true motivation, but I digress.
The last two weeks he scored some serious wins with French bread pizza (complete with fresh tomatoes and ground beef) and spaghetti pie. Mmmm. (My mother’s rule that “everything tastes better when someone else cooks it” seems to apply in our household).
Today I had class until 8:30 p.m. and I didn’t get home until after nine (is there anything worse than when the freeway forces you to merge into one single tiny little lane? No). When I walked in the door, the table was set and dinner was on the table. Within three minutes of opening that door, we were eating delicious coconut chicken. Although he didn’t say so, I think he was pretty thrilled to have successfully made my crowning culinary achievement.
My real worry now is that he’ll have no need for me – if I am not necessary to produce coconut chicken, what am I good for around here? Fortunately, he hasn’t started vacuuming yet.