For 3 years I’ve had the fortune of eating home-cooked meals.
My wife cooks these simple dishes that are incredibly delicious.
I’m left wondering, sometimes, how such a healthy meal could be so scrumptious. It has been a kind of pattern-interrupt for me.
There is variety with what she cooks too.
With each meal, I can never recall the last time we had the same one. If I could recall, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. But the fact I cannot is amazing for me.
But I’m home alone for the week and I’ve got my own simple meal:
I absolutely love it:
- It’s quick to make.
- It’s delicious.
- It’s easy to eat.
- The texture is delightful.
- Clean-up is quick as a flash.
- Extras can be added for a little variety.
I’m kind of taking the piss out of myself here.
I do truly love mash potato. And I will keep eating it for most of the week. However, later in the year I plan to learn to make some new dishes.
I get heavy internal resistance with this:
I just can’t be bothered with cooking, is probably the most accurate summation.
I should be bothered, I know.
Simple is not always glamorous, though, and when you find the right kind just for you, it is charming.