The time has come for me to take back the kitchen. Time to put something in the pots rather than just wandering into the kitchen and lifting a lid out of curiosity. It has been eight weeks since I plunged (allow me a little melodrama please) off a curb and fractured my left wrist. Eight weeks that The Baker has done more than bake. He has done the grocery shopping, food preparation, most of the laundry, the gardening and, on occasion, listened to me complain.
The cast came off three weeks ago and the doctor released me this past Monday. No need for surgery. No need for any rehab. Whew! I'll miss him! We had little chats about books and food and cycling. He's a serious cyclist and corrected me when I called him a biker. There's a difference. We parted, agreeing to wave to one another on early Saturday mornings (really early)--he'll be on his bike and I'll be on the porch sipping coffee.
Last evening, The Baker made a dinner using up some odds and ends in the refrigerator. There was a bruschetta of goat cheese, Amish tomatoes from the farmers' market (tasteless, alas) and fresh basil from our garden. He served it right on the plate beside our dinner of Polish sausage and asparagus with mornay sauce. I've never had asparagus with mornay sauce but it worked for me. If you're wondering where the other half of my sausage is--well, there was one happy dog in the house!
Now I need to figure out what to have for dinner tomorrow!