Dinner

I cooked dinner last night.
My beloved's back was still very sore, so I volunteered to buy food (our larder was getting low) and cook.
She graciously accepted, so I popped into the supermarket after work.  Now my beloved is a superb cook, in virtually any cooking style, but she excels in Chinese and most Far-Eastern styles, and while I love them, sometimes I would prefer something a bit simpler.  Something planer.  Something British.

So I bought some Lamb Steak, two bunches of Asparagus, a box of new (organic) potatoes from Oamaru and some baby carrots.

After I got home and tidyed up, I grilled the steaks, boiled the spuds and carrots, and used the microwave on the asparagus.  I made a garlic, olive oil, salt and rosemary paste in the mortar and pestle, and used that as a quick marinade for the lamb.  Everything else was cooked simply, and I just added butter to all the vegies just before serving.
I overdid the lamb a bit, and it was a bit tough, but I thought the vegies were great.

Too much butter?  Rubbish

My beloved did not agree.  I had used too much butter on the spuds (I ask you, is it possible to have TOO MUCH BUTTER on new potatoes or asparagus?  I don't think so) The asparagus had been overcooked she said.  I thought it still had a nice crunch, it wasn't overcooked until it was all wobbly.  The carrots were too watery.  I agree.  I hadn't given them time to steam off, nor had I added enough butter.

Oh, don't get me wrong, my beloved was not ungrateful, she was all smiles for my efforts.
Then she made the comment I knew was coming. 
She:  "I still haven't changed your way of looking at food, have I?"
Me:   "What do you mean"?
She:  "You still like these old foods"
Me:  "If you mean simple and plain, well sometimes. Yes"
She:  "I haven't made you think healthy"
Me:  "What"
She:  "You use too much butter"
Me:  (In slightly guilty tones) "Well, maybe.  But we don't do it very often" (ending in whine)
She:  (In an amazing mixture of benign condescension) "Someone has to worry about your health, Dear"
Me: (Defeated, and knowing it) "Yes Dear"
She: "I know you tried Dear, and it was so nice not to have to cook"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "I'll be fine by tomorrow, so I'll do the cooking then"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "Are you doing the washing up now?"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "You seem to have used a lot of pots and pans"
Me: (Through gritted teeth) "Yes Dear"
She: "Have you arranged any dessert?"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "That's nice, what will it be?"
Me: (mumbling) "Humble Pie Dear"
She: "What was that you said Dear?"
Me: "Apple Pie Dear, with Custard"
She: "Oh, that'll be nice, but we don't need the custard Dear, it's too high in fats and sugars.  Just pie on it's own will be fine"
Me: "Ffffffff.... Yes Dear"
She: "After you do the washing and drying will be fine Dear"
Me: "Yes Dear";  leaves, going to kitchen, feet dragging, a beaten man

Sometimes I really feel like going out, finding the guy who discovered Cholesterol and shooting him.
Right after I shoot the stupid bastard who invented marriage.