I don’t cook.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy it. I’ve just never seen the point of doing it just for me when I can have a perfectly good bowl of Kix for dinner.
Now, I live with a boy. I get home from work before him, and he gets in about an hour and a half later, all sweaty from his work out.
It is a perfect scenario for me to … like … cook dinner.
I have a few really easy go-to meals — chicken and potatoes in the oven, tacos, pizza (not the frozen kind either, but, like, homemade [coughwithapremadecrustcough]) — but last week, I saw fit to think outside the smallest box of recipes ever.
I googled “easy healthy recipes for two” and found myself a site that suggested not one, not two, but three recipes I thought sounded yummy. I promptly marched my ass to the grocery store and bought things that required a Google image search, like “scallion” (oh, a teeny tiny onion) and “chives” (oh, green onion) and “chipotle chile in adobo sauce” (huh?).
My meals turned out pretty good, but the best part was the beau’s reaction to them. He said, more than once, how great it was to come home to dinner already being made.
At first, I thought he was mocking me, as I’m as domestic as a wild turkey.
“No, I’m serious,” he said, grinning like a sexy fool. “When you call me and say, ‘When will you be home?Dinner’s ready,’ I get all, ‘Oh boy, dinner’s ready! Better hurry up!”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” he said, and, without a hit of sarcasm, “It makes me feel like a grown up.”
((cue heart melt))
Here are those three recipes in order of yumminess: chicken breasts with mushroom cream sauce (also on the menu for tonight), barbecue portobello quesadillas for two (yes, I looove mushrooms) and spicy cioppino (read: Italian seafood stew. I used crab in leiu of tilapia, and it was a little bland).