I came home tonight to my wife zipping around the kitchen making samosas for work tomorrow. Because she's a terrific cook, who also loves to cook (she really is and she really does) she approaches each meal fearless and without trepidation.
After investing more than two hours making the samosas (7 p.m. PST), carefully folding each meat-stuffed pastry into a tidy triangle, she was halfway to her goal. Next on the menu was some kind of stuffed potato and beef morsels.
... It is now past 8 p.m. and, upon stuffing a dozen taters, she decides to toss another dozen into the microwave because, she says, "This doesn't look like very many. I should make up some more."
Sooooo...... another hour passes, we enjoy a couple of glasses of red wine, and when The Office airs, she's still on the stuffed-tater train, finally finishing at about a quarter after nine.
Being the thoughtful hubby that I am - and I am - most of the time - I at least offer to do the dishes for her.
"Thanks, hun. You're helping me and it isn't even for you. "
Yes, that's true, but I felt like that was the least I could do, after she invested so much time making these wonderful dishes. I really hope her co-workers appreciate and enjoy them. If not, I've already offered for her to bring them home so we can eat them as leftovers, yummm!
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