A Bad Time to Be in Love
If you know me, Constant Lurker, I can cook. Rather, I enjoy cooking but I don't cook regularly for myself because single-serving meals are so exceedingly dreary to prepare. But I enjoy the opportunity to cook for other people and I tend to feel pressure to make it *good*... a pressure which is heightened when dealing with a new romantic partner. First impressions count. First meals count.
Wednesday night, a few drinks in me, three sheets to the wind, I promptly dragged my (girlfriend??) from a bar to a local supermarket and had her follow me as I dashed about acquiring ingredients for "spaghetti and meatballs"... a dish that I can't say that I'd ever actually made before. A dish I was determined to make from scratch. Nothing jarred or prepackaged. It takes a while to develop flavors for a decent gravy, not to mention what it takes to create a semi-serviceable meatball... and yet, I was determined to make this for her Wednesday night. From scratch. Without looking up recipes.
I'm not entirely sure how long it took. It was a blur of fiery pots and pans with my (girlfriend???) playfully distracting me as I endeavored to make a competent iteration of a classic. Wasn't my ideal "spaghetti and meatballs" creation. If I'd had more time to prepare, I would have put so much more thought into it. As it was, I was making certain compromises so that we wouldn't be spending half the night in the kitchen.
All that said....... she liked it.
She was genuinely impressed. She is not easily impressed. She is a pain-in-the-neck to impress, truth be told. Somehow, I managed to crank out a version of the dish that sated her. At the same time, she got to see how I get when I'm in TOP CHEF quickfire challenge mode.
And now, I've got more leftover spaghetti and meatballs than I know what to do with. Anybody want some, PM me.
I really would like a cigarette right about now. I am a non-smoker. I do not smoke.