I'll never never eat out again during festive occasions. Each time I forget and venture out, an unsatisfying meal ensues. We'll either cook and host dinner, or shamelessly appear in someone's kitchen to eat their food. It's potluck tonight and the man is contributing a beef stew and roast chicken.
I decided to help the man instead of letting the helper deal with it alone. Even though it's just two items on the menu, it's a fair bit of work on the stove, sink and oven. We popped in the concert dvd of Bruce Springsteen's 2009 gig (with The E Street Band) at Hyde Park and pulled out a bottle of easy champagne to occupy us while the man cooks and I wash.
The dishwasher hums quietly as we went about doing things in the kitchen. The beef stew was done yesterday and is now simmering for its final reduction on the stove. I didn't contribute anything to that chicken except to stuff it and sew up its ass. Those, I did really well. The chicken has been shoved into the oven, and the rest of the stuffing is being prepped as a side dish.
As the rain pours down in white sheets that blocks out the view of the horizon, the flat cools from the morning's heat. The air-conditioning is kept to the minimal and the temperature in the kitchen isn't too stiffling. The whistling and easy tunes of 'Working On A Dream' and 'Waitin' On A Sunny Day' fill the flat. Life is good.