- I am alone, it is late, and I am hungry. I make boxed mac and cheese, or maybe a chick'n patty with tomato sauce and mozzarella. I might even make some pasta or salad.
- Jonathan is at home, I decide I want to make a recently discovered recipe. I stress out, and sweat, and he swoops in at some point to calmly help out and remind me to taste what I'm making.
- Laziness.
- Fear.
As for the fear... this relates more to my inability to taste food as I cook it. I often worry that I will somehow become ill because I tasted my tomato sauce before it was well and truly done. I fear that unwashed vegetables may kill me based on some parasitic monster hiding in their flesh. I approach left-overs with the kind of paranoia that government conspiracy loons experience on a daily basis.
In other words, when it comes to food I am sick, sick, sick.
But I love food! I love eating out, I love talking about food, I love reading about food. I buy cookbooks and cooking magazine and cooking gear. I have a kitchen full of exciting gadgets (all of which benefit Jonathan more than myself), and I obsess over buying more! Yogurt maker, anyone? I even work in a delightful cookware store, where I live vicariously through my co-workers wonderful culinary tales and cooking prowess. Dear readers, it is confounding!
All of that said: Dinner. I made grilled cheese (on potato bread, with packaged American cheese) and tomato soup. I also cut up some lovely seasonal radishes and carrots, and doctored up some dressing for them. Jonathan made mixed drinks (frozen strawberries, apple juice, vodka, and triple-sec -- delicious).
We ate. No one died. It was simple, and low-stress, and not gourmet. Maybe that's a good place to start?