Why can I walk into almost any kitchen, be presented with a bunch of random ingredients, and throw together something delicious, and quick -- except my own? In my own kitchen I stare into the refrigerator piteously and wonder why the idiot in charge of purchasing hasn't been sacked.
This is exacerbated by the end of the quarter. I have been putting in long days at school, and I come home at night wanting a lamb roast, new potatoes, a slice of pie, and half a bottle or so of something dry and red. Needless to say none of those things are waiting for me. It's already eight o'clock, so no time to cook a lamb roast (if I had one). So it's frozen ravioli, pasta sauce from a bottle, and a handful of frozen spinach in the sauce to keep me from biting the neighbors. It's not bad...
I think I'm going to interest a friend or two in the idea of roast lamb sometime soon.
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