Eggs ‘n ‘Maters. Who Knew?
I bet you thought that I don’t cook anymore, just because Justin’s beachin’ it in Afghanistan.
What? There aren’t any beaches in Afghanistan?
Then what the f*ck is he doing there?
ahem.
Anyway, if you thought I don’t cook anymore just because my man’s not around to eat it, you’d mostly be right.
Mostly.
See, back when he was gone for only weeks at a time versus months at a time, it was easy for me to wax on about Dinners for One and why it’s important to prepare decent meals for yourself like rustic pasta carbonara or even just a simple microwaved artichoke antipasti platter. (It sounds fancy because I used the word “antipasti,” but really it’s just a microwaved artichoke served with cheese and crackers and maybe olives, if you’re feeling extra indulgent.)
And I still believe this to be true.
Even so, I just don’t cook as often. See, I still like to eat well. But as many of you singletons have been telling me over the years, I’m learning that it’s hard to stay motivated when you come home to an empty house. It’s hard to want to cook, when you’re the only one there to enjoy it.
But then, when I stop to think about it, I realize — one of my favorite foods is a hot dog. A thick, juicy, grill-marked, real meat dog on a crisp toasted bun.
Or one of these Wellington Dogs wrapped in puff pastry from our trip to Biker Jim’s in Denver.