Thursday, January 31, 2008
Every once in a while Andrew cooks dinner. Not because he only wants to cook every once in a while, but because I am only willing to relinquish control every once in a while. Tonight was one of those once in a whiles. I had another early morning, then a shoot, and then prepping for tomorrow’s shoot, so I was definitely primed and ready to abandon my issues and let him be in charge of dinner. I will say that I was a bit worried. Although armed with the best of intentions, he does tend to, well, overcook things. Timing is a difficult thing to master when it comes to cooking. I know that. I have problems with it, too. So I forgive him, and I fill my mouth with a forkful of leathery steak, a swig of wine and swallow the whole thing down with a smile. Then I look up at Andrew, reassuringly, and say, “It’s delicious, honey.” He never believes me. Most of the time I actually mean it, but when it comes to leathery meat, I’m lying. Bygones. After tonight that meat is a distant memory. All I can think of is rack of lamb, (something I didn’t eat until I married an Australian) roasted to perfection, rosemary potatoes, arugula salad and a special green bean recipe he found on the internet (very resourceful). We sat down for this lovely meal that I can take absolutely no credit for, and I was a bit apprehensive. The potatoes looked like they might be undercooked, and the meat looked like it might have been overcooked. But let me tell you, neither was the case. It was all cooked to perfection. After sampling a bit of everything on my plate, I looked up at him and announced, “It’s all perfect. Can you believe it? It is all cooked perfectly!” He beamed with pride. He knew it was a huge success, and then I figured it out. “You’re trying to get on my blog, aren’t you?” He smiled a very guilty smile, but denied my accusation. “Well,” I said, “I’m putting you on.” And I think that made him quite happy, although he said, “I don’t want to be on that blog of yours.” I certainly don’t make a habit of listening to Andrew, and he’d be the first to tell you that. So Andrew, honey, if you’re reading. I couldn’t help myself. Sorry. Sorry I had to tell everyone about the burnt meat. I love you. What’s for dinner tomorrow?