Mr. N has decided, with some gentle prodding from me, to improve his cooking skills. He's great at grilling. He is even more brilliant at opening up a box or can and dumping the contents into a pan and turning on the heat.
All of this means I do 99% of the cooking on non-bbq days, which amount to at least 300 of the 365 days. And if I do say so myself, I am quite the cook. Or shall I say I have become quite the cook over the years. In other words, Mr. N is very pampered in this regard.
At first he hesitated until I told him that if I could go from burning ramen noodles and pork chops to learning how to cook 7-8 course meals for 13 people, all on my own, (I actually did pull that off--twice--whereby I fell asleep during the meal but hey, I was told the food was outstanding), then he could expand on his cooking skills as well.
Tonight's meal was homemade pizza. A fairly good place to start. While I made the dough and pizza sauce, he gathered the rest of the ingredients together and put it all together. It went quite well, if you don't count the pornographic image that appeared as he rolled out the dough, giving him a good chuckle. And, well, there was also the moment where, for some reason beyond my own imagination (and the laws of physics) he somehow got pizza sauce all over his shirt, the stove, the countertop and wall, whereby he suddenly (after insisting he did not need my help) wanted my help (which at first I refused--in all my years of cooking no one else but myself has cleaned up my own cooking messes--but then caved and helped him remove his shirt and brought him a clean one, and ok, pointed out to him some of the spots of pizza splatter he missed).
Once the mess was cleaned, a new t-shirt put on and the pizza in the oven, I jokingly said now he was ready to move on to a 3 or 4 course meal. He said "No problem. It can't be that difficult."
Anyone else but me giggling in anticipation??