Confessions of an occasional cook

If I haven't already told you, dear reader (because I tell anyone who will listen), I belong to a group of people who comprise four households and who all take turns cooking dinner for each other. Four nights a week, I get a home-cooked meal delivered to my door. One night every other week, I cook for eight.

It is the most enlightened thing I've maybe ever done. Dude! It makes. So. Much. Sense. Economically, and time wise, and, if I'm going to be honest, I like cooking. I just don't like cooking often. A couple times a month is kind of perfect.

I do it the night before my assigned day and spend three or so hours prepping, cooking, and cleaning. (I'm so slow a cook my mom used to kick me out of the kitchen because my utter lack of haste--or even efficiency--made her "nervous.") When I'm done and the fruits of my labor are nestled in the refrigerator, I go to bed with the best feeling, like I made something really important with my hands.

Haiku for April 9, 2013

Pans in the oven
Drink wine, smell savory steam
Tired and satisfied