It's one thing to have a husband who can cook. It's another thing entirely to have one who does. Add to that a sister who shows up at your door with a swooning bunch of daffodils, a mother-in-law who ships remarkably soft and chewy gummy bears by the bagful, and you have the makings for a perfect evening.
Friday night went something like this: Eli rubbed down a chicken with rosemary and thyme, stuck a lemon between its knees, and roasted it up with some baby red potatoes, carrots, and onions. I got some roasting in myself thanks to the heads of broccoli and cauliflower rolling around in our fridge. When the rice had soaked up the last drops of water in the pot, dinner was served.
We opened a not-very-good bottle of wine, knowing full well that it was not very good. When it's just family, you can do that sort of thing.
Eli did the dishes while Kase and I sprawled out on the green sofas and got to work on those gummy bears.
The night wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it filled me up in just the right way. Who knew that family and daffodils and a roasted bird and all-done dishes and remarkably soft and chewy gummy bears could add up to such perfection? I'd like to bottle it up, that sweet and mellow evening. And, well, this little blog of mine is the closest thing I have to a bottle.
It sure is neat having a place to store the precious bits that might otherwise float away.