Sometimes I cook fancy things.
I chop. I peel. I cut.
I knead. I slice. I season.
I go on long convoluted shopping trips in order to track down 60 separate secret ingredients for Sambal, Bun Bo Xao and Garam Masala.
But fussy people do not want this.
They demand Macaroni Cheese.
They care not for my hours spent slaving over books and spices, the succulent marinaded meats and the more-ish mezzes.
They want only the greatest dinner known to man or child.
The fabled Orange Dinner
Fishfingers.
Orange dinner
Waffles.
Waffley nice
Baked Beans.
Beans means none of that fancy food please
I feel such a failure as I grumpily serve the Orange Dinner.
I see the overly bright, processed, pre-packaged meal as an admission of failure to please.
But their happy grinning faces as the plates appear makes me see I am succeeding to please.
I wonder what Chef Ramsey would say if this happened to him?
Don’t make the chef angry
the crone 