When I’m home alone I don’t cook. I’m a “live off of soup, salad, and sandwiches” kind of girl. I just don’t see the point of cooking for one.<\/p>\n
When Drew’s home I don’t tend to cook either. Now, don’t assume that because I don’t cook that I can’t cook. I can. Drew’s come to my defence on that count many times.<\/p>\n
Many years ago I used to dream of growing up to be a gourmet chef. I changed my mind when I determined how repetitive some aspects of mass cooking can be. Food allergies also helped damper my enthusiam for cooking as a profession. Apparently, I’m working at the right place if I ever change my mind and decide to take cooking classes. My college is home to one of the best cooking schools in the country.<\/p>\n
Drew cooks and bakes. He enjoys it. I don’t.<\/p>\n
Many years ago – back when we were first married – Drew volunteered to cook a meal and told me to get out of his kitchen. I did and have rarely been back.<\/p>\n
I’ve been told I’m a good cook. I used to cook sauces from scratch. I have a talent for spicing dishes and still spice some of Drew’s concoctions on occassion.<\/p>\n
My dad taught me to cook one summer when my mom and sister were visiting family overseas. I’m sure it was an act of self-defence. If I couldn’t cook he’d have had to suffer a series of horrible meals for weeks on end. Dad cooked all the big meals when we were kids – hams, roasts, turkeys. Mom’s specialty was home made soup and deserts. On her last visit she taught Drew to make soup. Yum!<\/p>\n
Tonight I gave into the urge and put together a stir fry for dinner. Extra virgin olive oil. Red, yellow and green bell peppers. Sweet yellow onion. Mushrooms. Boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Secret spices for the sauce. I made enough so that I had some left over for tomorrow.<\/p>\n
If Drew manages to read this entry from the sandbox he might die of shock. No worries though. I think I’ve got the cooking bug out of my system for at least another decade. Back to soup, salad, and sandwiches for me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
When I’m home alone I don’t cook. I’m a “live off of soup, salad, and sandwiches” kind of girl. I just don’t see the point of cooking for one. When Drew’s home I don’t tend to cook either. Now, don’t assume that because I don’t cook that I can’t cook. I can. Drew’s come to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1104","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1104","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1104"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1104\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1109,"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1104\/revisions\/1109"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1104"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1104"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/screamingpages.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1104"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}