Monday night Lizzy came by the house. I had no idea what I would be making for dinner, so we hung out in the kitchen while I threw together a red sauce. I even put some of the wine in the sauté. The whole thing was quite yummy, and the shitake mushrooms were just right to give the sauce some meaty flavor. I decided to pass the regular pasta up for gnocchi, hearty potato pasta that seemed to be more complimentary to the flavor the sauce settled on. The end result was met with yummy noises all round.
While I was letting the sauce stock simmer, Lizzy pointed out something that is probably obvious to anyone who has known me for five minutes, but that somehow I had never really thought of: Cooking makes me happy.
You would think that wouldn’t have been the Stunning Revelation of the Millenium. And yet it was.
So I’ve made a new year’s resolution in August: I’m going to cook good food for people I like on a regular basis. I deserve some happiness.
Last night was herb-sautéed chicken served with Alfredo risotto and green beans. There was shrimp as a side and hot chocolate as dessert. Again with the yummy noises and the soul-level feeling of content.
Graeme and I spent a fair amount of time talking about what he wanted on a farm when we have one again, and how he will design his tree house. He wants to put it in a black walnut tree near a creek. I think it sounds perfectly lovely.