Bonjour, world...

Mealtimes were getting stale. Almost every night we were eating some form of chicken and pasta with Salsa Emilese, emphasis on the la-zy. Either that or ordering Chinese. No bueno. What happened to my extensive repetoire gleaned from the world's cuisines? The Moroccan spice-crusted chicken with orange sauce? The tangy tarrgon-infused vinegary breast of chicken from the bistros of Paris? The sweet burn of Thai Basil Chicken? The creamy drunkeness of Poulet Normandie with Calvados and cider??? Okay, so it's still all chicken, but jeez! What about the sweet, warm meditative comfort of my risotto with sundried tomatoes and basil, lovingly finished with butter and parm... off the heat, of course? My Penne à la Vodka?
I know what happened. Weight Watchers happened and I'm glad it did.
A new job happened and I'm glad it did.
Kevin's new job happened- bets are still out on that one.
Point being we were fit, we were trim, we had money. We were tired and stressed.
We had money and started eating out... which made us not so fit, not so trim, just as tired and more stressed because we were no longer so fit, so trim, or so moneyed.
Whew.
We had a fight.
About dinner.
It was ugly.
I lifted the ban on purchasing cookbooks, went out and bought Marcella Cucina at Half-Price Books and started reading. And cooking.
The first new recipe was a chicken (shocker!) fricassee with cherry tomatoes in a white wine sauce. Cut up a whole chicken, brown it, dump in white wine, lower heat, cook till tender, toss in tomatoes, cook till they split.
Served it with a crusty bâtard and a spinach salad.
It was so easy.
And it was divine.

Three weeks have passed since we've had chops and sauce, and I've lost 5 pounds. Whoo-hoo!

Every time I turn on the oven now, the fire alarm goes off.
Thank god we're moving in less than a month.
We'll have a bigger kitchen, too.