Cooking at home

Ten days in another country constantly eating in restaurants is exhausting. You get homesick for your own food. Or I do anyway. My mom, once, on a trip with me and my wife-in-the-eyes-of-the-Lord, to England, started crying and when I asked her what was wrong, she said she missed her spaghetti. I totally feel that. So did his Royal Mountedness. The first thing he did when we got back to Berlin after Italy was claim dinner. Surprisingly, he made Thai curry. I suppose, well, it is curry so maybe that counts but it was not what I was expecting. When it came my turn I made white bean soup (which he said was delicious—he rarely comments on food, or the food I make anyway) and mushroom lasagna.

I loved it. He did not comment. I used a packet of “forest mushroom” soup as the sauce—as a side note, this is not like using a packet of McCormick’s turkey gravy since it is in a foreign language—I took the time (I had nothing but time) to shingle the sliced mushrooms on the top. Unfortunately that was entirely lost in the final production.

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