What will I cook tonight?

A silly question to ask really, thinking about it. I do all the cooking at home, but yet I always ask this question when I am on my own. My wife leaves this morning to visit her parents. Her father has been in hospital for nearly six weeks. She needs to see him in the flesh as getting progress reports on the telephone are never satisfactory. Are they edited highlights, so as Anne and I don’t worry living in Scotland? We probably worry more, especially since he is 79, with acute medical problems anyway.

So having worked for almost ten hours, cooking just for me, seems a chore. The temptation for a takeaway is great. Yet, however good it appears, I regret it almost as soon as I start eating it.  “Why didn’t I just cook and be done with it?”, I say.

The problem is being used to cooking for two, I cook the same quantities for myself, and then I have the prospect of eating the remainder tomorrow. A roast or curry might well be lovely the first night but on the next night less appealing.

I suppose I could concoct something from the leftovers, had I any leftovers. Anne and I were doing a pre-record at the local radio station. We ate early and returned home at eleven and we had the remainder of the roast chicken with chips and sweetcorn. 

What will I cook? I have all day to decide, doing a tedious monotonous job.

I will tell you this evening. It will be interesting and tasty;I can’t do boring, even for me.


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