Lamb Vindaloo
The Professor needed the kitchen last night to do some preparation for tonight’s lamb Vindaloo meal. “The cookbook says one hour prep, one hour cooking,” he informed me. We both figured it would take him a little longer.
5:10 p.m. – I arrive home. The Professor is already in the kitchen. I take that for a good sign. He’s getting the preparations out of the way early. I feed the Clueless Wonder and the Kitten from Hell, grab a couple of cheese and crackers to tide me over, pour myself a glass of wine, and then wander off to find other work for myself.
7:00 p.m. – I’m really hungry. I suggest going out for something to eat when he finishes. I no longer want to have to wait until I get my chance at the kitchen, and The Prof shows no signs of finishing in the near future. He reminds me that I had been avid to get rid of the leftovers accumulating in the ‘fridge. I have to agree – I’m tired of throwing away what used to be perfectly good food because we don’t get to the leftovers in time. He has me shell out some cardamom seeds. I pour myself another glass of wine and play Snood.
8:00 p.m. – He brings the recipe over to me. He’d downloaded it off the web, and couldn’t figure something out about it. The ingredients called for two pounds of diced tomatoes, but the cooking instructions don’t state where to use them. I gave him my best guess as to where to insert them into the recipe. There’s no more wine left. I play more Snood, and answer some e-mail.
9:00 p.m. – I realize I’m not really all that hungry any more. I wander out to the kitchen, make some hot water for tea, and pull out the chocolate chip cookies I made Wednesday night. Tea and cookies wander back to the computer with me. I play Snood. The Prof, meanwhile, has unwrapped the package of lamb, and asks me to come out to explain how to cube it. He fails to be amused when I tell him to chop it a bunch of times, turn it at a right angle to itself, chop again, turn it to another right angle, and chop a third time.
9:15 p.m. – I finally go out and help him size up the meat, since I haven’t heard any chopping noises yet. There is a thin ridge of fat along the outside that he wants to know if he should trim. [No – it’s too thin and you’ll end up losing meat and time. Just let it cook, and you can skim the fat off the top when you’re done.] He makes a tentative first slice and then a second. There is a thin vein of fat running through the inside of the meat. “What’s that?” he demands of me. “It’s a vein of fat,” I respond. “It won’t hurt anything.” “Well, what’s that then?” he continues, pointing with the knife tip. I look more closely. There’s an even thinner vein of gristle running along the side of the vein of fat. “It’s OK to leave there,” I sighed. “It won’t affect the final product.” I consider offering him my surgical kit so that he can scientifically remove every cell that isn’t muscle tissue from the meat, but decide against it. The chances are too great he’ll take me up on it. I play Snood.
10:00 p.m. – The Professor wants to know what to marinade the meat in. He shows me a plastic bowl he’s found in the kitchen that he proposes using. “Why don’t you use one of the new metal bowls?” I suggest to him. Plastic is porous and tends to hold onto strong flavors I point out, nearly adding “like spicy Indian marinades”. I decide that diplomacy dictates I leave out that last bit. I play Snood.
10:15 p.m. – I get a shower. The Prof is still in the kitchen. I’m not sure what he’s doing. I hope he’s cleaning up.
10:25 p.m. – I finish my shower. The Professor is making some more of that Industrial Grade lentil soup that he made last week. I kiss him and head for bed. When I close my eyes, I see the ugly grey Snood creatures.
11:30 p.m. – I wake up to find the Kitten from Hell has somehow snuck into the bedroom and is trying to suffocate me. I kick her out, and check in on the Professor. He is eating lentil soup in front of his computer. At least he isn’t playing Snoods. I go back to bed, take a hit off of my inhaler, and go back to sleep.
6:30 a.m. – Morning. I leave the house, avoiding the kitchen. The deal is that when one person cooks, the other cleans. It is too early in the morning, and I am not yet strong enough to find out he has left for me to wash yet.