For three glorious days my husband cooked for me. Why? I don't know. He is happy. But o how I love that feeling of walking up the stairs on a chilly winter afternoon, smelling something wonderful, and realizing it is coming from my house! On Saturday night there was fresh wild tuna grilled with fennel and a divine marinade, accompanied by white beans, spinach, lemon sauce. YUM! For dessert there was chocolate cake with butter frosting, decorated with a million raspberries--applied by hungry, chocolate-faced boys. Cooking is love. I fell asleep with all my clothes on in Benji's bed and never woke up until morning. Not a single dream.
On Sunday there was grilled steak, fried potatoes, whole wheat bread, and creamed spinach--which does not taste the way it tastes at Musso and Frank's (the only place I have ever had it) in case you were wondering. We had an Australian wine, candelight, and more cake. YUM!
Then Monday night we had a big pot of Brazilian stew, with pearl onions, black beans, carne asada, and assorted spices. We decided it tasted like the inside of a burrito. Tonight I will add the outside of a burrito.
The way to my heart is through my stomach.
I am dreaming of three perfect meals, cooked and cleaned and served to me for three perfect nights.
When someone cooks for me, when they chop and dice and chop and fry and saute and fill the house with fragrances and spices, and invite me in for tastes, but let me lie on the couch and smell while they cook--that is heaven. That makes me feel loved.
What makes you feel loved?
December 10
8 years ago
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