I am lucky man number one, because SK is a wizard in the kitchen. She’s made more excellent, inventive dishes than I can count- watermelon salad with queso and jalapeno peppers soaked in gin, spinach lasagna in a white bechamel, bourbon ginger apple pie, etc.
When SK cooks I either play prep cook or guy who reads out funny things from the Internet (“Sweetie, it says here there’s a third-world country run by a cat!”) I have cooked her dinner on rare occasions, and each time my nerves were all a-jangle.
This weekend I made soba noodles with basil chicken sausage and peas in a creamy pesto sauce. Within an hour, SK was in the bathroom vomiting. I was totally fine, so I blamed the victim. “You may be a good cook but you’re terrible at eating!”