Kitchen Tango

About sevenish as I walked through the door from boxing. My senses alerted me that Shane had something cooking in the oven. It was beets! My favorite. As promised, he was supposed to get groceries while I was gone exerting my irritants. Rather, he did the dishes. As any normal wife would begin sassing, I've learned to curb my low blood sugar episodes.

Guys, one important advice from a former low blood sugar victim. If your just schlepping on the couch watching your usual sport and suddenly the head on your lady friend starts to spin and spastically spurt into a hogwash tirade about how the sky being gray is your fault. Suddenly, your the patsy and they're foaming at the mouth. It's not PMS, it's low blood sugar! They're hungry, but careful these creatures are persnickety. Very feisty those low blood sugar animals. So before the LBS starts to lacerate on the jugular of your kindness, retaliate and carry the right ammunition: healthy snack and quickly cram it into their mouths.

As Shane loathes Whole Foods we made way to Safeway. Safeway known for it's stale fish, I swiftly made haste to the meat section grabbed a tray of pork chops and beef rib eye. I was content with a beet salad, but my dear husband was out for blood. Lately, the sight of raw meat churns my guts, but enough about me. So we shoot back home and start the dinner ritual. Shane turns on the baseball game and takes a gander in the kitchen. Sir Inspector Kitchen traipses into my world of gastric, prying on the status of reductions and ingredients and how it will be incorporated in the meal.

Shellie's Proverb: One lobster's death can keep one family alive.

By eight, we've started on a lightly tossed micro greens and arugula salad topped with balsamic beets, hazelnuts and trifle of gorgonzola. In exchange for the meal, Shane hands me a simple chilled glass of lemon water. A mouthful of salad, Shane praises the glory of the salad. I head back into the kitchen to begin the final course and Shane joins me by rinsing the plates. We weave in unrehearsed synchronized movements. It's beautiful. He gives me the heads up on his golf schedule or the likes, and I update him on the upcoming dinners and events. He assists in the plating of the pork chop and swiss chard as I finish by drizzling apple brandy reduction. Like a broken record, he questions as to his portion is larger. Most days, I gently ignore him. Today, I remind him that his occupation is labor intensive. He chuckles. We sit and enjoy the meal together.

Besides waking up in his arms in the morning, preparing dinner is the second best part of my day. It is great to be Mrs. Kitchen.

Lesson: An accomplished grasshopper shall not fear the art of passion.