Noms.

As some of you might have noticed, the word "dinner" is oh-so-magically apparent in the title of the blog in web address form. I like to consider that a happy accident, since I love food like Chris loves tech/geeky stuff/quoting "Star Wars" when it might not be the best time to do so (but it's always funny. The boy's got timing).

I've noticed lots of sites where comments on food articles range from "This is a wonderful way to make delicious food!" to "You are trying to put women back in the kitchen FOR SHAME SIR!!" I consider myself a feminist, but I also consider it a boneheaded notion that I'm not about to cook something ass-kicking after a day of work. Said work might have been ass-kicking in a totally different way, but tough shit. I don't want a dinner of potato chips.

I'm definitely trying to rein in the spending when it comes to food, but then I enter the store. And there are piles of cheese. And olives. And other things. As you might guess, this financial restraint is really really hard for me to do. An easy way to do this, though, is to not order delivery, which leaves me with the antiquated task of (gasp!) cooking.

I love it. I really do. About the only thing I don't love is when Chris is podcasting and you can hear the oven squeaking in the background whenever I open the door; the reminder of our non-cutting edge appliances gets a little old. I also do not love green peppers, which shall never cross the threshold of our abode.

Last week I let Chris know that if there's a point in time wherein he becomes the major breadwinner, I'm totally quitting whatever painfully non-lucrative job I have and will become a cheesemonger/bread maker/something of that ilk. I don't know if he necessarily believed me, so I bet he'll be surprised when I start smelling like a bakery or something awesome after he locks up his awesome hypothetical job.

Now if he could just build me some sort of fancy robot to clean up after my kitchen mess, we would be gold, baby.