A husband who cooks, is a treasure!
Honestly, when we first got together, Bob didn't venture much into the kitchen, except to do the dishes. Fair is fair, if one cooks the other one has to do the dishes. But ever so slowly he has and still is developing a taste for cooking.
It started on those occasions that I might have been ill. Like the darling he is, he made sure I had food. Once he phoned my Mum to ask her how to make my favourite soup. Brownie points all around! Of course, pizza is his forte and I make sure never to interfere as he has a tendency to say:
" Well, then you do it! "Gosh, I treasure my time watching the telly while someone else is chopping & stirring in the kitchen...men, why did you never let on how nice it is to just sit, watch and have a glass of wine?
Anyway, it was a cold and rainy day yesterday and I had a craving for a hearty meaty soup. One like my Dad makes. With proper and fatty meat simmering for hours, so that the meat falls apart as soon as the spoon comes near it and where you can see more than the odd globule of fat floating about. Yummy.
Of course I am not so happy handling raw meat as I don't like the look of it. Cunningly I made a plan. Sitting on the couch, I dangled the proverbial carrot:
" Oh, Bob, do you remember the yummy meat soup my Dad made last time he was here? "It didn't take more than that. Hook line & sinker! Bob took a minute to ponder and then took it a step further. He set off to the village shop and got two pieces of meat. Suitable for soup with some fat still on it. Nowadays, it is not so easy to find meat still with fat. This mad craze of everything being fat free, apart from not having much taste, is a nuisance.
When he came back from the shop, he was chopping away tout de suit, while I thanked my lucky stars that I have such a fabulous husband...one who likes to cook.
Of course, being fair, I did the dishes...