I hurt myself the other night. And I've been worried about people. Even though I'm sorta not feeling well, I tried really hard this evening to make a delicious spaghetti with baked meatballs and homemade marinara. But I was so dizzy and out of it, Not in the right mindset.
I don't mean to toot my own horn, but my daughter usually says something like "That's the best "X" I've ever eaten, whenever I go out of my way to make something really special. Cooking is my way of saying I love you. It drives up my dopamine to see other people smile.
But this meal. Wow. I've never messed up meatballs. But somehow, although they were cooked separately, with separate ingredients, the sauce and the meatballs ended up tasting saltier than seawater. So much salt you wouldn't believe it. Like when I tasted everything, I could not even swallow the food.
I was almost in tears, because I had worked so hard for over an hour. I swear it was made with so much love. So very much love in that awful meal. A meal that I have memorized, and every time turns out fantastic. I wanted to cry, because I hate wasting food, and all the big pots were filthy.
But my sweet daughter, she made me sit down. She looked around the messy kitchen, and almost cried, at the amount of food that was wasted. She sighed and went to the fridge.
She made grilled cheese sandwiches on the Foreman grill, and little mugs of cream of mushroom soup. Glasses of milk on the side. It was grand. Very simple, and comforting. I tasted the love in that meal.
There was so much love in my meal too... unfortunately there was an equal amount of salt added.
So yeah, that's my food flop. My sweet daughter, she knows I hurt myself. She's in the kitchen right now washing dishes, even though I told her we don't have to do dishes tonight. But she doesn't want me to do them.
Sigh.