I had an inkling, a sneaking suspicion, that I would make a darn good housewife. This theory has been proved correct in the past couple of days, ever since the chap moved into the Nook. His move coincided with a few days off from work for me and we have been settling in to a new rhythm of life. It’s been a case of sharing out the chores, shifting boxes, building furniture and an epic amount of grocery shopping. Naturally, my favourite part of this whole process has been the food.
He has offered to cook, of course, but the kitchen is my realm for as long as I can hold onto it. And besides, cooking, and more than that, cooking for someone else too, is a joyful activity for me. I love chattering away whilst I’m chopping or stirring, and then comes that delightful moment of putting the plate on the table and bathing in the comments. My mister is very good, very forthcoming with his praise, although not afraid to suggest some improvements. Which is exactly what I need to improve my culinary skills.
Sitting down at the table is fast becoming a ritual for us and long may it continue. It’s so easy to seperate ourselves from the food we’re meant to be enjoying, normally due to an electrical distraction. But those devides have no place in our dining space and I urge you to remove them from yours. Eat. Laugh. Discuss. Interact like a proper human should. It makes the food that much tastier, honest.