Cranky has been doing all the cooking lately, even if some of the food we're enjoying hasn't exactly been cooked.
This morning he served little bowls of yogurt cheese with sliced strawberries, sprinkled with balsamic vinegar and a crack of black pepper.
That just made us hungry for lunch, though, so now he's in the kitchen faking his way through some ma po tofu. I love that guy. I sit here noodling on the keyboard, and he's in the kitchen noodling with a sharp knife. (A lot better than knifing with a sharp noodle; believe me, I've tried.)
All his culinary contributions have gone to his head. Now he's art directing the food pictures I take. Where I would ordinarily get in real close and abstract-y, depth of field problems and all, he'd prefer to see representational photos of his dishes. You know, normal focus. Recognizable items. The old fart. But I play along. Pull back, get the long shot. (I've offered to let him take the pictures himself, but so far, I'm Still Mad and I Take the Pictures. His way, sometimes.)
The other day Cranky whipped up a faux salade Niçoise. Keeping in mind that tomatoes aren't in season yet, and that asparagus will be gone from the markets in a couple of weeks, he created a charming and unbelievably tasty version... his way.
PS: I took a bunch of pictures. Here's the one I would have published, but, see, Cranky is in charge. Hm. Maybe he does have better taste than I do.