Last night, my husband and I reached a sort of renaissance in our culinary attempts. We each prepared a new dish. We usually reserve this kind of adventurism on weekends when we have time and energy to debate on liquid conversions and slicing preferences. Last night, however, we moved with confidence and divvied up the tasks with nary an argument. I took over chicken soup and he made fajitas.
Since the rains came, both of us have been hankering for hearty soup. Last week, we did seafood chowder – basically made of McCormick premix and bounties of the frozen section. It would have been good enough if not for my stroke of genius. The additional shrimp cube reduced the almost-instant soup to an industrial mix. Even now my taste buds are suffering from the resulting metallic and sodium-rich essence.
The experience so frustrated me that I promised to wow Michael with authentic, made-from-scratch chicken soup. Yep, the one that will surely nourish my husband’s soul. I had already made stock last Sunday (just a lot of boiling – err simmering involved). The recipe for Cream of Chicken Soup does not look complicated at all. I know that we are reaping the fruits of our past kitchen misadventures when we decided to just go ahead and try a new dish on a Tuesday night. We did not even mind the twin pressures of hungry-from-work tummies and our 9 o’clock favorite TV show.
In record time, our oven took the brunt of simmering soup and sautéing beef. The wooden spoon — his preferred utensil — changed hands like a baton. He was steaming the tortillas on top of the beef dish — a last minute improvisation– while I was whisking cream into the soup. We were enveloped with the mouth-watering smell of caramelized onion, carrots and celery, the freshness of parsley and thyme and our noses were teased with something wickedly earthy coming from the fajita mixture. Ooh, the rumblings of our stomach are almost too much to bear but we persevered. In less than an hour, a perfect dinner was set.
We assembled our tray and went up to watch CSI:NY. The soup was filling and truly hit the spot. There is after all some truth to the myth involving chicken soup. Michael finished his bowl in a flash — the best compliment ever. Holding on to his soup plate, I saw his eyes move undecided between a second serving of soup or to attack the fajitas. He asked for the fajitas and proceeded to demolish one tortilla-wrapped beef slathered in sour cream and topped with luscious tomato bits. He knew he had achieved a bestseller in less than 15 minutes cooking time. For a moment there, it was a tight contest between fajitas and CSI:NY. But never underestimate a man’s capacity to multi-task between tube and food. Evidently, both can be enjoyed simultaneously without diminishing pleasure.
Indeed, it is a MAN’S capacity to watch a grisly TV show and eat at the same time. I was halfway through my soup when the show revealed its first corpse. It was a woman with a hacked open chest. A sleepwalking neighbor was massaging the corpse’s heart in an attempt to resuscitate. I can barely swallow the last spoonful of my soup.
But, wait, here comes the second corpse —- a pickpocket with a bludgeoned face. He was so mashed up — his implanted contact lens blinded him. I tried looking away and concentrate on my fajitas while the mandatory scene with the coroner came on. Yet, however I tried, the sour cream took on a sinister taste and the beef was starting to look all bruised and swollen up. The tortilla was as appealing as white sheet covering a dead body.
My appetite had taken a quick exit and left me unable to arouse any sense of satisfaction from the feast we have lovingly and winningly prepared. Definitely a new house rule is in order — culinary inspirations will be disregarded on Mondays to Wednesdays (CSI runs on these nights at 9PM). Henceforth, these shall be instant noodles nights.
As the credits rolled, my husband gave me a big grin and said – thanks for the great dinner! And to prove his satisfaction, he helped clean up and do the dishes. Ahh, maybe, I should re-think the new rule. I need to go on diet anyway.
