I Don't Really Like Cooking

 

Last night I made dinner. This isn't it. I should have taken some pictures last night. The recipe involved a lot of mushrooms and other ingredients. (Including wine and garlic...usually a good sign.) The result was allegedly Mushroom Bourgignon. It took a long time. I wasn't terribly impressed.

I don't really mind chopping. The above picture is probably chopped chicken tenders, chopped broccoli, chopped carrots, chopped onion, and minced garlic. All in a bottled curry sauce. (Was yummy as I recall.) 

Since the Plague Times began I've poached eggs in the traditional way (in swirling hot water). expertly separated eggs for my husband's Caesar salad (and saved the whites for an egg-white forward omelet that was pretty expertly done). I've made wilted spinach salad similar to my mom's from the olden days. I've chopped all sorts of stuff for salads and curry (bottled sauce).  I don't bake. I take too many liberties with recipes to bake. (Which might explain my dissatisfaction with the recipe last night.) I never roast chicken or turkey. We don't make homemade pizza.

I love to eat out. Take out is harder and requires planning ahead and also often ends up with food that needs reheating. We've been doing a lot of it, however. We always get more than we can eat because if you have to reheat anyway you might as well not have to go out again. We got takeout greasy hamburgers the other day. In spite of driving them home and having to climb the stairs to our apartment because the fire alarm had taken out the elevators, they were delicious.