Joey don’t cook. Those that know me know that I simply don’t have the talent or skill for it.
Colin thinks that maybe that somewhere I have a loose wire or malfunction in my brain that can be attributed to my lack of desire to cook. I think its because I just like people to cook for me. Is it wrong to want to be waited on hand and foot? J
Anyways, I had this brilliant idea early in the day I would make spaghetti for Colin for dinner.
Colin loves spaghetti, and we don’t make it very often.
Actually, the infrequency of the spaghetti making could be credited to the fact that I hate spaghetti. It is the food that I detest most above all others, combined with my other nemesis – tomatoes – you have a ‘recipe’ for disaster for me and any sort of culinary enjoyment.
I’m doing the “Lemon Cleanse” detox right now, so given that I would not be joining my husband for his feast, I figured there would be no better time to make him spaghetti. No ulterior motive, just doing something nice for the man I love.
I rushed home after work with my quick and simple guideline recipe I printed from online. To the grocery store I went to pick up the additional supplies and meat needed to make a secret newly developed power sauce. After the grocery store marathon I went home to quickly assemble the meal so it would have time to simmer.
I added a pinch of that, a smidge of this, a handful of the other. . . . I rolled meatballs, stirred sauce and chopped vegetables. I worked with speedy precision, and quickly the house filled with the aromas of an Italian Grandmother’s kitchen. I tidied up the kitchen, and went back to the pot to marvel at my work. It was an impressive sight! It looked edible, smelled edible, it simply had to be edible.
I took a box of harvest wheat spaghetti, and tied a ribbon on it and headed off to the train station to pick up Colin. On the ride home I presented Colin with the box of spaghetti, and told him I had made him dinner just because I love him.
He looked surprised, and a little relieved that he didn’t have to cook, then the fear took over, with nightmares of the numerous occasions been guinea pig to my cooking experiments. (Think garlic eggs of 2006).
With a glare, one eye thinning into an ‘evil eye’, head titled, he asks. . . .”What’s your motive? What did you do? How much is this going to cost?”
I actually had not thought what my gesture of kindness looked like. . . .perhaps I did look guilty about something. . . . .
We got home, boiled up the spaghetti noodles, and I proceeded to watch him twirl the noodles around his fork. He dipped it in the sauce, and then moved the fork slowly to his mouth. His pupils large and dark, unsure of what to expect.
The room was quiet as I waited for the verdict.
“Its good. Its really, really good” he said half relieved, half shocked.
“Gee thanks, he of little faith” I said back. . . .
The spaghetti was a hit, and there is enough sauce for another 10 bowls (at least!)
I’m off to think of a motive, after the fact. . . .
(Grumpy Minou with the card)
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