In previous blogs, I’ve mentioned how after three and half months of living in Delhi Hubby and I still hadn’t cooked dinner in our own home. Well, Hubby made an amazingly yummy salsa one night but that was the extent of our forays into the kitchen.
The problem wasn’t know-how. We have lots and lots of cookbooks. (Although none written by my mother. Hint. Hint. Hint.) And it wasn’t lack of talent. Hubby is a phenomenal cook: from simple falafel dinners to Ethiopian Stew he’s practically a professional chef. Although I don’t have Hubby’s skills, I do enjoy putting together a nice Sunday dinner of a wild mushroom risotto or the like. It wasn’t even a lack of desire to cook. We are both so sick of restaurant food; and so desperate for a home cooked meal we were only a week or so away from begging friends to use their kitchens.
The sad problem, dear reader, was that we have a gas stove and nary a drop of gas to get it lit. *sigh* This is a problem that, after living in our apartment since early August, has finally been resolved. Yay!!!
Yesterday, after weeks of promises the gas guy finally arrived. He hooked us up and now when I turn the knob on the stove I get a snazzy blue flame. Now, like my Neanderthal ancestors of yore, I will turn raw meat into dinner over the flame of life.
So if you’re in Delhi on Sunday night, give us a call and you join us for a dinner of pasta with Mario Sauce, bruchetta and maybe even a home made carrot cake. Let the cooking begin!
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