Sunday Dinner

...and me at the stove. The years in a college dorm had made me forget the feeling I experience when I have a stovetop at my beck and call:

Fear? A bit (what if I've forgotten how?!).

Joy? A heap big plate full (my shimmying should attest to that).

Contentment? Yes, embarrassingly so (nesting syndrome leads to bruised ribs).

But all joking aside, I find it hard to express into words the emotions which flow through me as I plate up my cooking, pass it to a loved one and say "Eat it." In truth, it's something I don't want to give up again now that I have it back. I refuse. I will pout, I swear!

So yes, Sunday dinner.

The Foursome had come together, as is our want to do (and yes, we do refer to ourselves as such), and in celebration of my possessiveness of the stove I had set out to create the proverbial Sunday dinner. We're talking roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, and cake... all made from scratch. There was no grocery store rotissery, no box of flakes, no Stove Top, no can, and no boxed ingredients. And yes, the kitchen did look like a small explosion had gone off... or atleast, Hurricane Sabrina made its' first touch down in the history of... well, ehem, since the last time (always wonderful when a joke I'm making is stalled by a realization that the punch line is too close to a lie, but hey, what's an endeavor without a bit of mayhem?). But, even amongst the mess, it was glorious! ... if I do say so myself: which I do!

This, so you are aware, is where you smile and nod. Agreement is in your best interests--not Midol, nor chocolate (well maybe some chocolate)--lest you wish to encur a form of wrath that will leave you clutching your nether regions and suspicious of any food prep in the near future.

But I digress. Sunday dinner was a hit. My guests voiced their approval, they stuffed themselves, and they promptly and contentedly, if I may add, dozed close to waving the little white flag and succumbing to food comas.

(Insert the aforementioned shimmy)

Overall, I am left on Monday morning with a continued smile as well as enough leftovers to feed the small army I had apparently imagined would be attending. So, here's a toast to good days, to good friends, and to good food.