Yesterday's cooking was just about the kind of experience you'd expect on a day when your son walks out the door without telling you he's going. He went where he was supposed to go and came back right on time, but it's still a little unsettling. Am I such a scary old nag that I can't even be trusted with the tiniest of information? Of course, since he did exactly what I'd told him to do, why did I think I needed an announcement?
Then I:
- Had to wash and pick over twice as much spinach as I needed.
- Exploded a sweet potato in the microwave.
- Used up all the eggs and had to fix two cans of salmon with only one egg and a splash of egg whites.
- Spilled at least 1/2 c of the spinach feta quiche on the floor. Zack cleaned most of it up.
- Opened a can of mushrooms by accident -- it was between two cans of salmon so naturally, I thought it was salmon.
- And to top it all, slit open my left index finger on a can lid.
At least Cookus Interruptus would be happy with my endeavors. Everything was a whole food. Except possibly the mustard--I know there is a plant called mustard and it has yellow flowers, but of a bottle of prepared mustard bears no conceivable resemblance to its origins. It might as well be a test tube of chemicals stirred into a semi-solid slurry.
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