Since I found myself crashing yesterday (no idea why, I'm still kind of crashed today. Listless, bleak and all blah. I diagnose lack of booze. Or lack of decency) Beloved decided to cook since I just didn't have the motivation to do anything other than stare soulfully into a corner trying to at least look romantic and gothic when feeling down.
And it was not bad! No, really, he didn't poison me. Pasta Carbonara was served and it was delic... acceptable.
He has, however, spilled flour in the kitchen and messed up the pasta maker. I'm not sure if this is because he tried to make pasta, failed and used shop-bought or because he's trying to convince me that it was home made.
Same goes for the amount of ingredients missing... I think this pasta sauce may have been his third attempt OR his third attempt failed and he went out and bought some. I haven't found the jar yet. Suspect there may have been a long and convoluted plan to hide it from me
Still, I didn't have to cook and I didn't get poisoned. This is of the good