One thing I look forward to, once I am retired, is getting back to home cooking. Pots of stews and soups, trays of buns and breads, roasts and the like. I am so excited about getting back to ‘real’ cooking, that every now and again I have to go for a trial run when I have an extra day off. Today is one of those days.
The only problem is, when I was last into home cooking, I was feeding my three teenagers (and their twelve closest friends at the best of times). I dice and slice, pour and stir into a pot that should hold the perfect amount of soup. Then I add a bit of this and a bit of that and I have to move up to a bigger pot.
This happens two or three times, until I have a cupboard full of pots to wash, my husband says “I told you your pot was too small”, and we have enough soup to feed a small crowd.
I can’t imagine how this happens – every time. I’m talking one onion, a couple of shallots, two carrots, a parsnip, a stalk of celery, a bit of cabbage, one small steak and one cup of barley. Mix them together with a couple of litres of broth and poof, we have gallons of soup to deal with.
I don’t have any proof but I am pretty sure Dan is sneaking into the kitchen and slipping things into the pot when I am not looking. 🤷