I cooked dinner two nights ago. Yes, this is a fairly large event in our household. During our wedding I actually vowed to Daniel that I would cook dinner once a month, but I’ve already screwed that up (unless you count making burritos, which really only happened once and barely counts as cooking anyway).
Wednesday night I found myself without a class to attend, excessive homework to do, or any other obligations. Due to my being a jerk about dinner the night before and my campaign to have a better attitude, I decided that I should pull my weight and make us dinner.
The only problem is that I honestly don’t know how to cook anything. I spent all Wednesday surveying my grad school friends about easy recipes, stressing out, and searching on the internet for easy ideas that could turn my thawing chicken breasts into something delicious. I tried to look on Smitten Kitchen, as the hubs loves that blog, but I quickly remembered that that blog just makes me bitter and insecure.
So I ended up googling “chicken spice rub,” making up my own rub since I didn’t have all of the ingredients suggested in the first search result, and going from there. D$ was enlisted to purchase wine and set the heat on the burners.
The result: delicious, if weird-looking, chicken couscous.
Was I totally proud of myself? Yes.
Did I cook in a teddy and an apron? Obviously.