Jamie and I have a bit of a problem.
Well, OK, it's actually my problem but I've decided to share it with him - even though there's absolutely nothing he can do to help. Indeed, if he decides to be restless when we're at the shops tomorrow, he's only going to make matters worse.
For some time now - I'm talking years - I've promised and promised and promised that one day I'll cook Vanessa a meal from scratch. Please don't think that I never "do" meals for I do, all the time. In fact, I "do" breakfast every morning, plus dinner most weekend nights and even the odd lunch. But putting cereal in a bowl or grilling a steak or roasting a chicken in the oven isn't proper, creative cooking. Is it? It's arguable both ways I suppose.
No, what I'm talking about is getting several ingredients - like in Ready, Steady, Cook with big Ainsley Harriott - putting them all together in some wonderful fashion and, crucially, not killing the individuals tasked to eat it. I think you've got me.
A few weeks ago I designated Valentine's night - i.e. tomorrow - as the night when I finally have a go. And with little more than 24 hours to go, I've bought nothing, haven't looked at a recipe and basically have no idea whatsoever where I'm going with this.
Vanessa's due to get her hair done tomorrow morning so Jamie and I are off to the shops to get what we decide we need. But as I say, having not yet looked at a recipe, we've no clue what that might be.
I'm due to get him ready for bed shortly before settling down this evening with a Tiger beer and a selection of cookery books. And, in the morning, I'll tell Jamie what I think we need, get his views and then we'll go seek prey like our hunter-gathering forebears. Sort of.
I'll bet they never had to choose - sorry, make - a salad.
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