M-N can cook

When I was staying home with the boy (I feel like I'm saying that too often... like crotchedy old man - "When I was your age..."), anyway, it took me about 5 or 6 months to figure out how to cook some elaborate dinner while keeping him occupied before M-N got home from work.

She seems to have that figured out already. Granted, she was always a better cook than me. She taught me how to read a cookbook, after all.

She's been on a tear over the last couple of weeks. She's made red beans and rice, chicken divan, some chicken/rice/saffron dish, a spaghetti-based stovetop lasagna, and several more. Everything's been awesome. Last night, I made spaghetti and meatballs, as though the meatball recipe I have (via my mother, via my father's grandmother, via Italy), is somehow unique and special. It's really just 6 ingredients. (The sauce, when I take time to make it, though, is something else.)

But I realized last night how nice it's been to come home and smell onions or green peppers frying. We decided last week that we should keep a pan with some olive oil and chopped onions on the stove all the time. There's nothing quite as nice, unless you add some fresh garlic.

I take my bike to the backyard via an enclosed walkway that runs behind our kitchen. So far, I've been able to identify onions, peppers, and pasta -- I think she was a bit surprised that I picked up the smell of pasta, but it definitely has a smell.

Tonight it's leftovers. I don't remember being as excited to eat leftovers.