I was gonna post my picture of the Chicken Chesapeake I made a couple weeks back. Before we sat down to eat it, I was so impressed with the tomato-wedge garnish presentation that I whipped out the camera, crouched in professional photo positions, peppered the corn cob just so, fussed with the green beans for a pleasing composition.
My poor family. The things they put up with.
"Come on, Mom. It's just food." says the tallest one.
"Zo, some of us are hungry??!" says the king of the manse.
"You gonna put this on your BLOG?" asks the Squirt.
And yes, that's my plan, I answer.
But when I uploaded the photo, with the slab of chicken smothered in glossy Swiss cheese and lumpy crab pieces and shiny mushroom slices, the first thought it my head was, "Gross! It looks like brain matter."
I was gonna post my recipe for it, but I'm not sure anyone really cares.
I was gonna enjoy a steak dinner at home with the family tonight, but Paul is at a business dinner instead, Stephen is at work, and that leaves a 2-man void at the table, which takes so much pleasure out of cooking. One thing I know about myself: I really would not enjoy cooking if there weren't people here to eat it with me. Maybe some people do it as a hobby, find it relaxing and creative, or don't mind the lack of "audience," but I have learned that I like to feed a full table's worth. If I can't feed at least four (appreciative) eaters at once, it really zaps my enthusiasm. Heaven help us when we're true empty nesters. We'll spend every evening at Panera sipping soup through our dentures.